Rochelle Alers - Because of You

“What’s that?”

“I’m proud to be a Wainwright. The name gives me entrée to places open to a privileged few, while it also allows me to do things for other people with less.”

“Tell me about your family.”

Jordan shook his head. “I’ll leave that for another time.”

“Why?”

“I can’t tell you about the Wainwrights without revealing my mother’s side of the family. Have you ever heard the Cher classic hit ‘Gypsies, Tramps and Thieves’?” Aziza nodded. “If she’d been singing about the Wainwrights and Johnstons, then it would’ve been miscreants, pimps and thieves.”

“You’re kidding.”

“I wish I was, Zee,” he said, shortening her name.

“Where did you go to college?” Aziza asked.

“Harvard, undergraduate and law. After law school I went to work for my father, but after a few years I was bored. I quit and worked as a litigator for Trilling, Carlyle and Browne.”

She whistled softly. “They’re one of the top firms in the city.”

Jordan nodded. “My salary topped out at high six figures, including bonuses, but the trade-off was working an average of sixty to seventy hours a week. That left very little time for socializing. Whenever I was able to take a vacation I was too tired to do anything more than sleep, get up and shower, eat and then sleep some more. I knew I couldn’t continue at that pace, so I walked into the office of one of the senior partners and handed in my resignation.

“My grandfather wanted me to come back to Wainwright Developers Group to head the legal department and set my own hours, but that would be like taking a step backward.”

“What did you finally decide to do?”

Jordan’s hands moved up and over her calves. “I moved out of my parents’ house, bought a condo and spent the next four months relaxing in a villa in Costa Rica while it was renovated and decorated.”

Aziza stared at the long fingers gently massaging her legs and feet, wondering if Jordan knew how much his light touch had aroused her. The area at the apex of her thighs pulsed with sensations she hadn’t felt in a while. She wanted to tell him to stop, but didn’t because the seemingly innocent stroking was so pleasurable that she wanted it to go on—forever.

“How could you go away and not monitor what was being done?”

“The architect and interior designer emailed me weekly updates.”

She smiled. “Clever.”

“The internet ranks right up there with the finest French champagne and Persian beluga caviar.”

Aziza wrinkled her nose. “I wouldn’t know about that because someone ate mine.”

Jordan rolled his eyes. “Okay, I’m sorry I ate your caviar. I’ll make it up to you.”

“How?” she asked, pouting as she’d done when her older brothers wouldn’t let her tag along with them whenever they’d wanted to hang out with their friends.

“I’ll buy you a tin.”

She shook her head. “I don’t need a tin. One toast point or a tiny spoonful will do.”

Jordan released her legs and got up from the love seat. “I’ll go and see if there’s any left.”

Aziza watched him leave, silently admiring the way his trousers fit his waist and hips. It was obvious Jordan didn’t buy his clothes off the rack. She unfolded her legs, slipping her feet into her shoes, and stood up. Walking across the room, she opened the door and plowed into her brother.

“I was just coming to get you. You did promise to dance with me,” Alexander said when she gave him a blank stare.

She held back when he grasped her hand. “I need to wait for Jordan to get back.”

“Jordan will know where to find you.”

Aziza knew physically she was no match for Al, so she followed his lead where revelers had crowded into the atrium that was designed to resemble an indoor rainforest. A DJ was busying spinning tunes, while couples were on their feet dancing to an infectious Black Eyed Peas song.

“Now, isn’t this better than sitting home alone?” Alexander said in her ear as he swung her around and around in an intricate dance step.

“It’s all right,” she admitted.

“Liar!”

“Okay. I’m having a good time.”

The truth was Aziza was really enjoying herself, and she knew Jordan was responsible for keeping her entertained. She’d felt comfortable talking to him, and he exhibited none of the brashness she’d seen during the televised news conference. Perhaps that was what he’d wanted the audience to see. After all, she’d performed more times than she could count in the courtroom. Some judges didn’t care for theatrics, so Aziza knew to keep it to a minimum.

Alexander tightened his grip on his sister’s waist. “Does Jordan Wainwright have anything to do with you having a good time?”

Aziza missed a step, then caught herself. “Why would you ask me that?”

“Do you realize the two of you have been behind a closed door for more than an hour?”

“Hel-lo, Al. Weren’t you the one who wanted me to talk to Jordan?” Eyes narrowing, Aziza stopped midstep. “I hope you’re not thinking I would…” Her words trailed off.

Alexander pulled Aziza closer. “Don’t turn around, but Jordan’s standing there staring at you like a lovesick adolescent. I told you not to turn around!” he said when his sister ignored his warning.

Jordan held up a piece of toast with caviar, put it into his mouth, chewing it as if in slow motion, then made a big show of wiping his hands. “No, he didn’t,” she whispered.

“What the hell is going on, Zee?”

“He ate my caviar.” Aziza managed to free her right hand, made a fist and pretended to blacken both his eyes.

This was an Aziza Alexander hadn’t seen in a very long time. She’d always been a practical joker and had the most carefree and spontaneous laugh of any woman he’d known. She was as tough as she could be feminine, and he’d believed growing up with three brothers had prepared her to navigate the male-dominated law profession. What she hadn’t been prepared for was being sexually harassed, or her husband not having her back. The result was she’d lost her husband and her job with the law firm that had recruited her even before she’d passed the bar.

That spark and zeal for life she’d always exhibited hadn’t burned as brightly as it had before she’d married Lamar, but tonight it was back. And he felt sorry for Jordan Wainwright, because there was one thing Alexander knew about his sister, and that was she was a scrapper—in and out of the courtroom. If the high-profile attorney wanted to play with fire, then he’d better be prepared to be singed.

He smiled. “Maybe I should rephrase my question.”

“And what’s that?”

“Do you like Jordan?”

Aziza’s brow furrowed. “Like him how? The way a woman likes a man?” Alexander nodded. “No, Al. It’s nothing like that. He’s nice and he makes me laugh.” And he’s very easy on the eyes, she added silently.

“Would you ever consider dating him?”

“I doubt it,” she said quickly.

“Why?” Alexander questioned.

“He’s a lawyer, and you know that we don’t mix.”

“Just because Lamar was a horse’s ass doesn’t mean you have to lump all attorneys in that category.”

“Don’t forget about the one who sexually harassed me, then got his buddies to cover his ass. So, right about now I’m not feeling the male species.”

The song ended, and Alexander led Aziza over to a corner of the atrium where they were partially concealed by the leaves of a banana tree. “You can’t blame all men for a few idiots. Remember what you told me about women when Nikki cheated on me, then posted it on her Facebook.”

Aziza lifted a glass of water off the tray of a passing waiter and took a deep swallow. “Maybe we’re the Flemings who’re destined to be unlucky in love. Nana and Grandpa were together more than fifty years before he passed away. Mom and Dad will celebrate their fortieth anniversary this year and Danny and Omar have passed the seven-year-itch mark. It’s just you and I who seem to keep blowing it.”