Pleasure at Midnight ; His Pick for Passion Read online

  “Geneviève’s not at her estate in Philly. She’s staying in the Hamptons with her sister...”

  Frowning, she stopped outside of the den and listened closely. Geneviève knew eavesdropping was wrong, but her mom was talking about her, and she wanted to know why. The door was closed, but she heard every salacious word that her mother said. Geneviève didn’t know what to think, what to do, and thought maybe she was dreaming. Had to be. There was no way her mom was in cahoots with the tabloids. It was impossible, unthinkable...or was it? A cold breeze flooded the hallway and Geneviève shivered.

  “And if you want the address it’ll cost you ten thousand dollars,” she continued, her voice brimming with confidence. “Throw in an extra five grand and I’ll tell you about Geneviève’s red-hot fling with Memphis rap star Rashad J.”

  Geneviève inclined her head. What in the world? This can’t be happening. Her stomach churned, and a million conflicting thoughts raced through her head. She considered all of the conversations she’d had with her mom in recent weeks and swallowed the lump in her throat.

  It wasn’t her staff selling her out to the press. It was her mom. Now she understood how the tabloids knew so much about her personal life, how the photographers always knew where she’d be and why her mom insisted on knowing her whereabouts.

  Desperate to get to the bottom of things, Geneviève opened the door and marched inside the room. Althea was sitting in a velvet armchair with her legs propped up on the mahogany desk, talking on her cell phone. The scales fell from Geneviève’s eyes as she continued listening to her mother’s conversation. Althea erupted in laughter, but when she spotted her standing in the doorway she gasped, and her iPhone fell from her hands. The look on her face said it all: she was guilty. “G-G-Gigi,” she stammered, rising to her feet. “How long have you been standing there?”

  “Long enough to know that you’re a liar.”

  “Watch your mouth. I’m your mother, and I won’t let you disrespect me.”

  Geneviève exhaled. Her mother’s behavior was impossible to ignore and hard to justify, but she governed her temper, didn’t lash out at her. “Mom, how could you do this to me?”

  “You’re only as big as your next song, so to keep you relevant I sell stories to the press from time to time.”

  “But they’re lies.”

  “Who cares? All that matters is that the tabloids print the pictures, and I get paid.”

  “Paid?” she repeated, her eyes widening. “You have luxury cars, several expensive homes and enough money in the bank to last you a lifetime. Isn’t that enough?”

  “It will never be enough.” Sniffling, Althea shifted her slipper-clad feet. “I was a great singer with an aspiring music career, but I had to give it all up when I got pregnant with you at twenty-three...”

  Her voice cracked, and seconds passed before she could finish the rest of her sentence.

  “After your father left, I struggled for many, many years to provide for you and your sister, and deep down I’ll always be scared of losing everything I’ve worked so hard for.”

  Silence fell across the room, and Geneviève was glad to have a quiet moment to reflect on everything her mom had said. They were millionaires who could afford to buy anything they wanted, and even if Geneviève decided to retire from the music business they’d still live a comfortable life. She wished she could see inside her mother’s head to understand her rationale, but Geneviève suspected her mom was afraid of history repeating herself, and sympathized with her. She’d single-handedly raised her two daughters with no financial or emotional support from her ex-husband, and for as long as Geneviève lived, her mom would always be her hero. But, that didn’t mean she was going to let Althea control her, or sell lies to the press.

  “Gigi, I’m sorry,” she said with an apologetic smile. “I never meant to hurt you.”

  “Mom, you’ve been deceiving me for years. What did you think was going to happen?”

  “I don’t know. I guess I wasn’t thinking.”

  “That’s it? That’s all you have to say for yourself?” Geneviève scoffed. “I broke up with Roderick because I thought he betrayed me, but he didn’t. You did. You were the one who called the press in Madrid and told them where I was.”

  Stepping forward, Althea took Geneviève’s hands in her own and squeezed them. “I’ll stop selling stories to the tabloids. I promise.”

  Geneviève stared at her mom for a long moment, but she couldn’t tell if Althea was telling her the truth.

  “Mom, I love you, and I’m grateful for everything you’ve done for me over the years, but if you ever sell a fabricated story about me to the press again, I’ll fire you.”

  Her eyes wide with alarm, Althea cupped a hand over her mouth. “You don’t mean that.”

  “Yes, I do,” she shot back. “You work for me, not the other way around, and if I find out you’re in cahoots with the tabloids I’ll replace you without a second thought.”

  “Gigi, you’re blowing things out of proportion. I didn’t do anything cruel or sinister...”

  Her thoughts wandered, and images of Roderick flashed in her mind. I have to see him, now, before it’s too late. I was wrong, and I have to apologize for shutting him out. The memory of their first kiss was burned in her brain forever, and thinking about that tender, romantic moment at the tapas bar caused her temperature to rise. She’d found love when she’d least expected it, and wanted to spend the rest of her days and nights with Roderick. But first she had to make things right with him.

  Anxious to see Roderick again, she spun around, marched out of the den and rushed down the hallway. She took her cell phone out of her jacket pocket, typed her password and searched for his cell number.

  “Gigi, come back here! We need to talk!” Althea pleaded. “Where are you going?”

  Without breaking her stride, Geneviève glanced over her shoulder and flashed a cheeky smile. “To get my man, of course.”

  Chapter 20

  “Damn, bro, you look like hell.” Morrison clapped Roderick on the shoulder. “What’s wrong?”

  Roderick raised his flute to his mouth and drank some champagne, savoring the fresh, citrus taste. He was standing at the custom-made bar inside the great room of his childhood home in the Hamptons, surrounded by friends, family members and business associates. Roderick was supposed to be celebrating his brother’s birthday, but his heart was so heavy he couldn’t even smile. The estate was filled with black-and-white helium balloons, bearing heartfelt messages to Duane. Metallic streamers hung from the ceiling, party banners decorated the walls and tuxedo-clad waiters carrying silver trays offered guests appetizers and cocktails. “Thanks, Mo,” he said sarcastically. “I can always count on you to cheer me up when I’m down.”

  Leaning against the marble counter, Morrison wore a sympathetic smile. “Are you still bummed about your argument with Geneviève, or the meeting you had with your boss?”

  Both. All across the room, people socialized, snapped pictures and danced, but Roderick didn’t have the energy to mingle with the other guests. His thoughts were a million miles away.

  The conversation he’d had with Mr. Welker yesterday played in his mind, and every time he remembered the things his boss had said anger coursed through his veins. Inwardly seething, Roderick gripped the flute so hard he was surprised it didn’t shatter in his hands. Althea had made good on her threat and filed a formal complaint against him. To appease the feisty momager, Mr. Welker had given Roderick a written reprimand, revoked his transfer to LA and issued a three-month pay cut. During the meeting, he’d learned that Mr. Welker was the one who’d revealed Geneviève’s location to Althea, but he still didn’t know who’d tipped off the press about the rental cabin.

  Initially, he’d planned to fight the disciplinary action, but after discussing the situation with his brothers last night while having drinks at t
heir favorite Brooklyn pub, he’d changed his mind. Duane and Morrison had given it to him straight; he’d broken the rules, upset one of the law firm’s richest clients and deserved to be punished. He’d been annoyed with them, pissed that they’d sided with his boss, but deep down Roderick knew they were right.

  “I’ll be fine.” It was a lie, but he didn’t want his brother to worry about him. To get Morrison off his back, Roderick jabbed him in the side with his elbow and asked, “How are the honeymoon plans coming along? Have you finally decided where to take Karma after you tie the knot?”

  “No, and I’m running out of time. It’s a toss-up between Tahiti and Amalfi Coast, but—”

  “Oh brother, not again. Do you ever talk about anything besides your fiancée?”

  Roderick turned around, took one look at Duane and burst out laughing. Chuckled long and hard. His brother was wearing a gold party hat tilted to the side, birthday-themed sunglasses, and a round, shiny button that said It’s My Birthday was pinned to his suit jacket. “Happy birthday, old man,” Roderick teased, giving Duane a one-arm hug. “How does it feel to be a year older, but not wiser?”

  Duane popped his shirt collar. “Bro, don’t hate, congratulate. I’m living the American dream, I’m fine as hell and I don’t look a day over twenty-one.”

  “Are you high?” Morrison scoffed. “You must be, because you’re talking crazy again!”

  While his brothers traded jabs, Roderick finished his drink. Morrison and Duane were a riot, and listening to them crack jokes helped him momentarily forget his problems. Roderick reached into his pants pocket, clutched his iPhone and discreetly checked the screen. His shoulders slumped. He didn’t have any voice mails or text messages from Geneviève. Why hasn’t she returned any of my calls? Doesn’t she know I’m losing my mind without her?

  All week, he’d been tracking her social media pages, and last night she’d posted a series of cryptic Tweets about relationships, then added pictures of herself with an NFL quarterback at a trendy café. His mind had gone to a dark place, but when he remembered all of the good times they’d shared in Madrid—and their explosive, passionate lovemaking—he dismissed all thoughts of Geneviève hooking up with other men. To alleviate his fears, he’d reached out to Demi and learned that Geneviève was serious about taking a break from music, and was spending her time off writing songs, taking art classes and volunteering at inner-city music programs. The news had made him smile. There was no doubt in his mind that she’d be a hit with her students, and he was proud of her for giving back to the community.

  Heaving a deep sigh, Roderick glanced around the room. Guests danced to the R&B music playing on the stereo system, and the iconic Lauren Hill song made Roderick think of Geneviève. It wasn’t until he’d lost her that he realized how much she meant to him, how much he adored her. She’d put some spice into his life, excitement, spontaneity and adventure, and he wanted to create more wonderful memories with her.

  A month ago, he’d been obsessed with becoming senior partner at his law firm, but now Geneviève—not Welker, Bradford and Davidson—mattered more to him than anything. Demi had agreed to speak to her sister on his behalf, but Roderick wasn’t going to sit around and wait for Geneviève to contact him. Couldn’t risk that NFL pretty boy stealing his place—and her heart.

  Roderick checked his watch. He was anxious to leave, but decided to slip out the back door after dessert. Once the party ended, he was going to Geneviève’s Philadelphia estate, and he wasn’t leaving her gated mansion until she agreed to speak to him. Since his engagement ended, he’d avoided getting close to anyone, had purposely kept the opposite sex at arm’s length, but her cheeky smile, exuberant laugh and spirit had won him over, and now he wanted her to be his girlfriend. He couldn’t imagine his life without Geneviève. He pictured them dating long-term and hoped she could find it in her heart to forgive him. Roderick regretted pressuring her to continue the European tour, but the accusations Althea had made against him were false, and Roderick was desperate to clear his name. It took losing Geneviève for him to realize how much she meant to him, and if she forgave him he would never take her for granted again.

  “Roderick, you’re the best!” Karma gushed, throwing her arms around his neck.

  A grin curled his lips. The salon owner was a spitfire, a ball of positive energy, and her crimson red, fit-and-flare cocktail dress complemented her bright personality. “It’s good to see you, too.”

  “I can’t believe Geneviève’s going to sing at my wedding! It’s a dream come true.”

  Morrison cleared his throat. “Your wedding?”

  “I mean our wedding.” Wearing a sheepish smile, Karma linked arms with Morrison and rested her head on his shoulder. “Sorry about that, baby. I didn’t mean anything by it. This is our wedding, and it’s going to be an incredible day because I’m marrying my one true love—”

  Roderick interrupted her midsentence. “How do you know Geneviève agreed to sing at your wedding? I spoke to her about it in Madrid, but I never told you she agreed to perform.”

  “Duh,” Karma said with a smirk. “Geneviève told me herself and I almost fainted when she did!”

  Roderick scratched his head. “I don’t understand.”

  “Brother-in-law, are you okay?” Stepping forward, Karma peered at him like a specimen under a microscope. “You’ve been acting strange ever since you returned from Madrid two weeks ago, and I’m worried about you.”

  “Love can do that to a guy,” Duane joked. “And trust me, Roderick’s got it bad.”

  Ignoring his brother, Roderick raised his voice to be heard over the noise in the room. “When did you speak to Geneviève, and how did you get her cell phone number?”

  “I didn’t. I saw her in the foyer and introduced myself.” A proud smile curled her lips. “It’s not every day I get to meet my shero, and I wasn’t going to let the opportunity pass me by.”

  It took a moment for her words to sink in, and when Roderick glanced over his shoulder and spotted Geneviève standing in the foyer with his parents, his mouth fell open. Seeing her was a shock to his system, and he feared his legs would give way. Looking striking in a one-shoulder, mustard-colored dress, gold accessories and stilettos, Geneviève took his breath away, and his heart soared to unimaginable heights.

  “Bro, snap out of it. Quit staring at Geneviève like a deer in headlights and go talk to her.”

  Roderick wanted to take Morrison’s advice, but his leather Armani shoes were glued to the marble floor. He tried to speak, but his lips wouldn’t move.

  “Get going.” Duane shoved him toward the hallway. “This is your big chance, so don’t screw it up. We’re counting on you.”

  Snapping out of his mental fog, Roderick marched through the corridor, reaching the woman he loved in four quick strides. He knew everyone was watching him—his friends, his family and the professional photographers his mother had hired for the party—but he took Geneviève in his arms anyway and kissed her. He couldn’t help himself, couldn’t resist his flesh. She tasted better than he remembered. He put one hand on her hip, the other on her cheek, and devoured her lips. Forgot about everyone else and focused on pleasing her. “Am I ever glad to see you,” he whispered against her mouth.

  “I know. I can tell.”

  Whistling, Roderick caressed her hips. “Wow, that was some kiss.”

  Geneviève winked. “You’re welcome.”

  “I can’t believe you’re here. You should be in Philly, maxing and relaxing at your estate.”

  “No, I should be right here with you.” Her smile was sad. “I came here to apologize. I shouldn’t have accused you of selling me out to the press, or betraying my trust...”

  His eyes narrowed. He spotted Reagan at the other end of the hallway, and his niece was waving with such gusto it looked like she was fending off a bee. Behind him, he heard his parents whisperin
g to each other, and Roderick wished they’d return to the party instead of listening in on his private conversation, but before he could ask them to leave Geneviève spoke, and the words died on his lips.

  “I made a mistake, and I hope you can find it in your heart to forgive me because I’m absolutely crazy about you, and I want to be your girlfriend.”

  His mother oohed and aahed as if she were watching the most romantic movie of all time, and answered on his behalf. “Of course Roderick can forgive you. You’re only human, and it’s obvious you love my son very much, and that’s the best news ever!”

  Roderick loved his parents, but he wanted them to disappear. Wanting privacy, he considered taking Geneviève into the media room, but he knew Viola would follow them so he stayed put. He held her tight, inhaling her floral perfume, and his thoughts returned to the night of her final concert in Madrid. Seeing Geneviève fall onstage had been the most terrifying moment of his life. He’d wanted to help her, to protect her, and from now on he would. He was going to be her ally, her biggest supporter, and would do everything in his power to keep her safe. He’d been given a second chance with the Philly beauty, and he wasn’t going to blow it.

  “Roderick, there’s no pressure.” Geneviève spoke in a quiet voice. “We’ll take things slow, but if the stress that comes with dating a pop star becomes too much for you and you decide you don’t want to be with me just tell me the truth. I’m a big girl. I can handle it—”

  “That’s not going to happen. You’re the perfect woman for me and I don’t want to lose you again.”

  “I’ve been a mess ever since you left the cabin, and every time I think about the things I said to you that morning I feel sick to my stomach...”

  Holding her close, Roderick stroked her hair, her neck and shoulders. He didn’t care that everyone at the party was watching them with wide eyes and gaping mouths. He’d been given a second chance with Geneviève and he wanted her to know how much he loved her, even if he had trouble saying the words.