Pamela Yaye - Seduced By The Mogul

“Get going, Sharpe. I’m timing you.”

Jordana grabbed her tote bag and fled her cubicle. Walking through the office, she noticed how bleak the mood was and stared out the window. Thick clouds covered the sky, and smog cast a dark haze over the city. The dreary weather mirrored her disposition, but Jordana was determined not to wallow in self-pity. She had a lot to be thankful for. She had great friends, auditions coming up, and the best news of all, her mom was healthy again. Painful memories surfaced, but she quickly shook them off, making up her mind to focus on the future, not the past.

In the washroom, Jordana touched up her makeup and assessed her look. Peering into the mirror, she adjusted her leather beaded headband. Her tunic-style dress skimmed her hips, and her fringed sandals drew attention to her legs. Thanks to her Cuban father and Haitian mother, she had wild, unruly curls, a complexion smoother than honey and more curves than a winding road. Dante told her she had an exotic, one-of-a-kind look, but in a city overrun with beautiful women, Jordana didn’t know if he was telling the truth or just being nice.

Images of him filled her mind and a smile overwhelmed her mouth. Dante was one of her best friends, someone she could count on. Jordana felt fortunate to have him in her life. On the surface, they seemed to have nothing in common. She was a small-town girl from a broken home living paycheck to paycheck, and he was a real estate mogul who made millions in his sleep. Surprisingly, their differences drew them together, not apart. Once a week they met at his favorite pub, and over appetizers, they’d have long, intense discussions.

Curious how Dante was doing—and her favorite four-year-old, Matteo—Jordana took her cell phone out of her bag and punched in her password. To her surprise, she had a new text message from Dante, and although it was only two sentences, it made her feel incredibly special. No surprise. The high-powered businessman was in a league of his own, and his thoughtfulness never ceased to amaze her. He wanted to take her to lunch at the best Italian restaurant in the city, and the thought of seeing him again excited her. Funny, considering the first time they met she thought he was an arrogant prick. Over time, she’d realized there was more to Dante than what met the eye, and they’d become fast friends.

Before she could respond to his message, her cell phone rang, and her mom’s picture popped up on the screen.

Dread churned inside the pit of her stomach. Her mom didn’t call often, only when there was a problem at home, and Jordana feared the worst. What was it this time? Was her mom short on money again? Was she calling to beg her to come back home?

Conquering her nerves, she blew out a deep breath, and hit the FaceTime button. A gasp fell from her lips. Mascara stained her mom’s cheeks, and her hair was disheveled, sticking up in every direction. As a child, she’d thought her mom was the most beautiful woman in the world, but life hadn’t been kind to her, and the dark circles under her eyes made her look older than her fifty-eight years. “Mom, what’s wrong?”

“I—I—I got another letter from Wells Fargo,” she stammered.

Confused, she frowned and shook her head. “Another letter?” she repeated, trying to make sense of her mother’s words. “When did you receive the first one?”

Helene sniffed, hanging her head.

“Talk to me, Mom. I want to know what’s going on.”

“I didn’t want to bother you at work, but when I read the notice I got scared and I didn’t know who else to call...” Trailing off, she wiped at her eyes. “I thought of giving your brothers a ring, but these days they never pick up when I call. It’s like they’re avoiding me.”

“Mom, don’t worry. You’re not bothering me. I can talk.” It was a lie, she couldn’t, but Jordana didn’t want to make her mom feel worse than she already did.

Glancing at her bracelet-style watch, she realized she’d been gone for six minutes, and hoped her supervisor wasn’t actually timing her. Mr. Lundqvist took great pleasure in embarrassing people, especially the female staff. But at the moment, Jordana didn’t care. Helene was upset, and she wasn’t going to abandon her mom in her time of need.

“I’m going to lose my house...the house I raised you and your brothers in...”

Hearing a bang, Jordana cranked her head to the right. What was that?

“Jordana, are you in there? You’ve been gone seven minutes. If you don’t come out right this instant I’m writing you up for insubordination!”

Startled, she stared at the bathroom door. Her supervisor was yelling her name like a deranged lunatic, but Jordana didn’t move. Screw him. She’d explain the situation to him later, and if that didn’t work, she’d take the matter to HR. She wasn’t letting a psycho with a superiority complex bully her.

The banging stopped, and Jordana released the breath she was holding.

“Mom, I have to get back to work, but can you read me the letter before I go?”

Panic streaked across her face. Growing up in Haiti in a family of eight, her mother had never gone to elementary school. She didn’t learn to read and write until she immigrated to America at nineteen. In spite of the setbacks she’d faced, Helene had tried her best to be a good mother. She didn’t always get it right, and continued to struggle with her own inner demons, but Jordana adored her mom, loved her more than anything in the world.

Her dad was another story.

At the thought of him, her stomach churned. Fernán, was an athletic recruiter for a professional soccer team. The more money he’d made, the less time he’d spent with their family. He traveled the world, living it up like a frat boy with no responsibilities. Jordana resented him for leaving them behind. And for favoring her two older brothers, Carlito and Raymon. She’d never had a good relationship with her dad, not even when she was a kid, and these days they rarely spoke. They’d had a heated argument at Carlito’s wedding, and a year later Jordana was still seething about the hurtful things he’d said about Helene. For that reason she’d never ask him for financial help. “Take your time, Mom. You can do it.”

Jordana heard papers ruffle, watching as her mom wiped her tear-stained cheeks, and put on her eyeglasses. “Go ahead,” she prompted, with a nod of encouragement. “I’m listening.”

Helene straightened in her chair. Holding her head up high, she rested a hand on her chest and cleared her throat.

“Dear Ms. Sharpe. This letter is a formal notification that you are in default of your obligation to make payments on your home loan, account number 573189. This account holds a current sum of thirty-nine thousand dollars, payable on June 30...”

Her mom struggled to read some of the words, but it didn’t matter. It was a foreclosure notice, the worst piece of mail a homeowner could ever receive, and the more Helene read, the sicker Jordana felt. Slumping against the tile wall, she touched a hand to her clammy face. Her mouth watered, craving a cold drink to quench her thirst. In the past, when she felt stressed, she’d hit the clubs with her girlfriends, dancing and drinking for hours.

God, I’d do anything for a— Jordana pressed her eyes shut, blocked the thought from entering her mind. I’ve changed. I’m a different person now. And I won’t live in the past.

“This amount has been overdue for ninety days, and you have ignored multiple requests to make a payment,” Helene continued. “Unless the current sum is paid by the listed due date, we have no choice but to begin the foreclosure process on your home...”

The air thinned, and the walls closed in, making it impossible for Jordana to breathe. Her head was spinning, throbbing in pain, and her throat was so dry it hurt to talk. “Ninety days? Mom, why haven’t you been making your mortgage payments?”