Working Man (4 page)

“Okay, Miss Lady, have I convinced you that I can be trusted? Are you going to allow me to do what I do and get your house in order?”

As if she had no will of her own, Dakota felt her head going up and down as she nodded yes. “But I'll still need a place to stay. Are there any residence hotels nearby? Those executive suite places?”

Nick rose and came around the desk, holding out his hand to her as he did so. “Baby, I told you I've got it all handled. Come with me and I'll show you what I mean.”

Lordy, what am I getting myself into now?
she thought as she accepted his hand.

As though he could read her thoughts, Nick suddenly pulled her up out of her chair and touched her chin with the fingers of his free hand. “You gotta trust me, baby. I got this. Let's go.”

D
akota was just getting out of the shower when her cell phone went off. She pulled the luxurious towel around her body a little tighter and sat on the edge of the bed to answer it, smiling when she heard her sister Billie's voice.

“So what's going on with you? I've heard some disturbing stories,” Billie said with a teasing laugh.

“I see you've been talking to our brother,” Dakota said dryly. “That boy can't keep anything to himself.” She sighed and tried to get more comfortable on the edge of the huge bed.

“I heard the brownstone you bought turned out to be in the projects and you were sleeping in your car, that's all,” Billie said. “Is any of that true?”

“None of it! You and Johnny both need to quit exaggerating. I'm sure he didn't say I was sleeping in my car,” Dakota said impatiently. “You two are so dramatic. I don't know what I'm going to do with you.”

Billie had a quick answer for her. “You're going to keep being our favorite sister, that's what. Johnny didn't say anything like that, of course, but he was really pissed about that so-called friend of his. So what happened, exactly?”

“The brownstone is a mess, but I have a builder who's going to get it hooked up. He's also going after the guy who did the number on me, says he's a bum and he's done it to other people, too, mostly women. And I'm not sleeping in my car. I'm staying in a furnished apartment, as a matter of fact.” She waited two full beats and then added, “I'm staying in
his
apartment.” Her mischievous tone of voice did the trick as all she heard was a loud scream from the other end.

“You're staying with him? Girl, have you lost your reason? No wonder you told Johnny not to tell Daddy! I should tell him myself, you idiot. You don't know this joker from a can of paint and you're staying with him? Are all the hotels in Chicago booked up or something?”

“Ooh, girl, you really need to chill. Look up the word
overreaction
in the dictionary and I'll bet your picture will be there. I said I was staying in his furnished apartment, I didn't say anything about him being here, too. He lives in a house, thank you very much, and he just happens to have several rental properties. This apartment is the last place he lived before moving into his home,” Dakota told her.

“Oh.” Despite her earlier outburst, her sister sounded a little disappointed that Dakota wasn't cohabiting with a stranger. “Well, fill in the gaps then. Don't keep me in suspense.
Give,
woman. Who is this man, where did you meet him and what makes you believe he's not just another con artist? Johnny feels terrible about it, by the way. He's big-time pissed-off at his so-called friend and he plans to do something about it. But tell all, dear. Inquiring minds need to know. Who is this man?”

“His name is Nick. Nick Hunter. He was teaching his niece how to drive a stick and she bumped into my rear end yesterday. I got out of the car spittin' nails, you know how I am when I'm tired and cranky, and he's there trying to make sure I'm okay. The next day he came over to bring me flowers to apologize and he saw the poor excuse for construction that louse Bernard Jackson left me. He looked the place over, went to get us something to eat and when he came back, he told me he could get it fixed.

“I didn't believe him at first, but he took me to his offices and showed me all his credentials and introduced me to his staff and he even drove me by some of his projects. He also put my furniture in one of his storage facilities until all the work is finished,” she added.

Billie pounced on that bit of info. “He has more than one? Is he a dealer or a booster or something?”

Dakota laughed. “Get your mind out of the ghetto, child. He owns three storage facilities. He has about twenty rental homes and four apartment buildings as well as a bunch of other commercial property. He's a builder, land developer, whatever. He's a legitimate businessman, trust me.”

“You looked him up, didn't you? As soon as he turned his back you got on your BlackBerry and you were digging into his past like a gopher, I know you,” Billie said with amusement.

“I did not look that man up,” Dakota retorted. She let a haughty silence build for about thirty seconds before admitting, “I called Harold and he did it for me.”

Harold was one of her best friends. They were both investigative reporters and Harold was one of the fastest and most thorough researchers Dakota knew. When she called him he was more than happy to jump on the Internet and pull up more information than she needed. “He's legit,” Harold had informed her. “He's a self-made man, and he's very well-respected. Originally from Georgia, grew up in dire poverty, went into the army and came out with a burning desire to be a black Donald Trump apparently. Anyway, he's considered to be one of the best in his field and he does a lot of community work, putting ex-cons to work, that kind of thing. Donates a lot of money, works with Habitat for Humanity and leaps buildings in a single bound. You can trust him.”

Dakota recited some of what Harold had told her and Billie gave a low whistle. “Whoa, sounds like he's quite the man. Dare I ask what he looks like?

Dakota clicked her tongue in disgust. “He's handsome,” she said dully. “Tall, fair-skinned, curly black hair, a body that could stop traffic and a deep voice that sounds like he gargles gravel every morning. He's sexy,” she said dispiritedly.

Only her sister would understand why the prospect of working with a drop-dead gorgeous man would make a sane woman sound as depressed as Dakota did at the moment. Billie hastened to offer comfort. “Look honey, just because you were engaged to the world's biggest fool doesn't mean that all men are cut from that particular cloth. Lying, cheating, insincere cloth,” she mumbled. In a normal speaking voice she went on. “Just because that jughead did what he did doesn't mean you have to spend the rest of your life distrusting men.”

“You've been watching Dr. Keith again, haven't you? Look, I'm just trying to get my house fixed properly. This guy could look like Alfred E. Neumann and I wouldn't care. The fact that I'm on an emotional hiatus which may prove permanent has nothing to do with this man, believe me.” Her words sounded a little too emphatic, even to her own ears. “He has green eyes, did I tell you? With long eyelashes.” Horrified, she covered her mouth even though no one could see her.

Billie, bless her heart, was trying gamely to change the subject. “So what's the apartment like?”

“Like a pimp's pleasure palace,” Dakota said succinctly.

“Quit exaggerating! It doesn't look like that,” Billie said with a laugh.

“Oh, yes it does,” Dakota said promptly. “This is the tackiest place I've ever seen in my life.”

 

Earlier that day, while he was endeavoring to prove to Dakota that he was worthy of her trust, Nick had taken her over to his brother's house to meet his family. He figured that if she met some sane, down-to-earth people who could vouch for him it would go a long way towards convincing her that he wasn't an ax murderer or something worse. So they went to the house and everything was the very image of an all-American family on a Sunday afternoon. Paul was grilling in the backyard and Patsy, wearing an apron over her church dress, was stirring a big pan of fried corn on the stove. Ebony was putting the finishing touches on a tasty-looking tossed salad which she almost knocked off the table when she looked up to see the person standing next to her uncle.

“Oh my God,” she gasped, earning a stern look from her mother.

“What have I told you about taking the Lord's name in vain?” She shook her head and patted her hands dry on a linen towel as she smiled at Dakota. “Come on in, sweetie. I'm Patsy Hunter, Nick's sister-in-law. This is my daughter, Ebony, and she's a little beside herself because she's such a fan of yours. She's read everything you've ever written.”

Ebony sat frozen in her chair, nodding her head like a bobble-head doll and then she found her voice. “Miss Phillips, I'm so sorry about yesterday, I really am. I feel really, really awful about it, I do. And I'm probably your biggest fan in the world,” she said sincerely. “I'm majoring in journalism because you inspired me so much and I've always wanted to meet you and I really hate that I wrecked your car to do it,” she ended with a sad face.

Dakota smiled at the young woman and went to the kitchen table in the center of the large sunny room to take a seat across from her. “That was the nicest apology I've ever gotten, although it was totally unnecessary. Driving a stick isn't the easiest thing in the world to learn and you have nothing to be sorry about. I should apologize to
you
for being such a harpy yesterday. I was just overly tired, although that's no excuse for making you feel bad.”

Ebony was beaming so brightly it looked as if her face was going to split. Patsy was smiling, too. She batted her eyes at Nick and said, “Well, this is the sweetest lady you've ever brought over here, Nick. I hope we see a lot more of her.”

Nick was leaning against the wall, watching the scene in front of him with amusement. Dakota was trying to control her face, but he knew she'd heard what Patsy had just said. He could have made it easy for her, but he was enjoying the little tableau too much. He liked seeing Dakota off her game for a minute so he could see the real woman behind the mask she wore for the public. She looked pretty and flustered and a little embarrassed and it was cute as hell. It gave him a feeling of power over her and he liked it, liked it a lot for some reason. And when Patsy insisted she stay for dinner, he wasn't the least bit surprised.

Dakota protested, saying she didn't want to impose, and Patsy and Ebony assured her it wasn't an imposition in the least. Paul came in with a tray of grilled chicken and steak that smelled heavenly and in short order they were all sitting around the dining-room table enjoying a lovely meal. Ebony was questioning her about her work and Patsy was hanging on every word while Paul kept looking from Nick to Dakota and trying hard not to laugh. Nick knew he was eating her up with his eyes, but he didn't care. Every so often she'd look at him with her pretty black eyes sparkling like stars and he loved every little sensation that resulted from her glances. For some reason he was comfortable around her, more comfortable than he could remember being in a long time and he enjoyed the feeling immensely.

She seemed to be having a good time, too. She answered all of Ebony and Patsy's questions with genuine interest, and she had some words of advice for Ebony regarding her chosen major. “And I'll help you get an internship next summer,” she promised the young woman. Ebony's eyes welled up with happy tears and Dakota, who was seated next to her, squeezed her hand firmly.

“Don't thank me. You may end up hating me before it's over. It won't be easy,” she cautioned. “But you'll learn so much it'll be worth it. Nothing beats on-the-job training. And by the way, I'd love to take a look at some of your writing.”

Ebony's eyes had widened and she got up from the table, telling Dakota she'd be right back. As she was leaving the room, Dakota glanced at the clock on the wall and told Nick she needed to get back to the brownstone. “I really need to get back and see about my girl. She's been alone way too long and there's no telling what she's gotten into. And I need to feed her, too. She's probably starving by now.”

Patsy looked horrified. “You left your child alone at that half-done house?” she sputtered indignantly.

Dakota opened her mouth to explain, but Nick was already taking care of it. “Her ‘girl' is her cat, Patsy. This cat is something else,” he said. “Her name is Cha-Cha and she looks like a fox. She's kinda red with a big fluffy tail and big ears and big green eyes. She'll follow you around like a dog and if you throw a ball or a stick she'll go fetch it. And she eats greens and cornbread, believe it or not. Miss Cha-Cha is a hot mess,” he chuckled.

Patsy's eyes widened and she threw her husband a quick glance before turning to Dakota. “What kind of cat is she?”

“She's a Somali. They're kind of rare, I guess. I'd never seen one until I was doing research for a book about this poor woman who was…well, let's just say she met an untimely demise. Anyway, she was a breeder of Somali cats and her family was so happy that I was writing the truth about what happened to her, they gave me a kitten. She's a handful, but I love her to death. They act kind of like dogs in a way because they're very active and they rip and run through the house a few times every day. They're also very smart and they can get into anything, cupboards, refrigerators, drawers, you name it,” she said.

“Yeah and they can lock doors, too. Miss Cha-Cha locked Dakota out of her house today,” he said with a sexy smile that was just for Dakota.

“She's a mess, but I still have to feed her. I don't like leaving her alone in a strange place for so long.”

Nick agreed it was time to go get Cha-Cha and take her to her new home. “I'll even stop and get her some soul food on the way.”

Dakota smiled and shook her head. “You're going to spoil her. She's already crazy about you and you're just making it worse.”