This Tender Melody

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Louise shook her head. “Maid will be in tomorrow, so go on home. I’ll see you at the offices tomorrow.”

She kissed her mother on the cheek again, then left, closing the front door behind her.

Outside, she climbed into her midsized SUV and started the engine. Alone in her car, she thought about the look that had come over her father’s face when she mentioned taking over at FTI. She was the only heir to the business, and she’d worked hard alongside her parents to make it a success. Could he really doubt her abilities now, after everything she’d put into her work?

The city lights twinkled in the darkness, dotting the I-77 corridor like gems. Easing into the turn lane, she took a moment to take in the sight of the city. For a few seconds she admired the skyline. Then the light changed, and she turned her truck in the direction of her house.

* * *

Darius Winstead lifted the lid of his grill and turned over the four steaks on the grate. As he closed the lid, he took in the magnificent view from the patio of his vacation condo. Only a few hundred yards away, the Atlantic Ocean ebbed and flowed beneath a beautiful crystal-blue sky. The view was part of the reason he had bought his little Emerald Isle retreat, and he had plans to spend many more days here during his awesome retirement.

Just beyond the patio steps, his boys were competing in an epic game of volleyball, using the net he’d perched in the sand the day he’d bought the place. The three of them were his closest friends in the world; they all shared the same passion for sports and music—jazz in particular. They were grunting and shouting, and making serves and volleys as if they were professional athletes and the championship hung in the balance. The sight of it tickled him. If he weren’t busy tending the grill, he’d be out there with them.

At twenty-eight, Darius had been a hot commodity in the tech world. Having graduated at the top of his class from North Carolina Agricultural and Technical State University with his master of science in information technology, he’d earned the opportunity to intern for his mentor, Joseph Franklin, at his software company. In a little less than four years, Darius had created the first smartphone operating system and sold it for $300 million. He then happily left the office politics and stuffy meetings behind. Even Rashad, Darius’s closest friend, had called him a dumb ass for getting out of the software game when he did, but he had no regrets. He’d loved the creative side of software development, but the business side of things had pushed him far away. He didn’t want to spend the rest of his life sitting in board meetings, going over expense reports and kowtowing to stockholders.

Now, at thirty-six, Darius spent his days doing the things he loved, and felt incredibly blessed to be able to do so. His time was his own, and that was just the way he wanted it. Just a few days after his official retirement party, he’d done the one thing he’d always wanted to do, the thing he’d been planning for months—form a band. He’d given up playing his bass during his early days in the tech business, but the day he’d picked it up again was as if he’d never put it down. His boys had been happy to join him in practicing, and once they’d felt comfortable with their skills, he’d started marketing the group. He and his friends were now the Queen City Gents, a jazz quartet that played regular local gigs and enjoyed an enthusiastic, mostly female following.

He watched Rashad McRae, his buddy since undergrad, take a flying leap that would have made any professional basketball player jealous as he returned the ball to Ken Yamada and Marco Alvarez on the other side. Rashad, who was the band’s pianist and vocalist, had always imagined himself as the world’s most powerful athlete. Darius wasn’t a bit surprised that he’d chosen to play alone against their bandmates.

The grill’s timer buzzed, and he opened the lid once again. He punctured the steaks with a fork to be sure they’d reached medium-well perfection. Satisfied, he grabbed his tongs and began moving the steaks to a ceramic platter. “Yo! Steaks are done!”

What had just moments ago been the most serious volleyball game ever played immediately came to a halt. The saxophonist, Marco Alvarez, captured the ball between his hands instead of returning it. All eyes turned toward Darius standing by the grill.

He made a gesture with his tongs, and the three men jogged up the sandy slope.

Rashad got there first, and leaned over the platter, inhaling deeply. “Smells good, man.”

Darius jabbed him in the shoulder with the nonbusiness end of the tongs. “I know, but if you don’t go wash your hands and quit breathing on my steaks, me and you are gonna fight.”

Ken, toweling the sweat from his brow, chuckled. “He’s right, Rashad. Don’t let your hot breath overcook them.” The laid-back drummer rarely spoke, but when he did, no one could predict what would come out of his mouth.

“Hardy har har.” Rashad gave Darius a slap on the back before disappearing into the condo through the open French doors.

Darius shook his head. They were a crazy bunch, but that was part of their charm. “That goes for all of you. Go wash them funky, sweaty hands before you come near my food. And put on some damn shirts while you’re at it.” The last thing he wanted was a bunch of sweaty shirtless dudes hanging around his culinary masterpiece.

While they went inside to do as they’d been told, he moved to the round table a few feet away from the grill. There, he’d set up the side items: grilled corn on the cob, baked beans and a Caesar salad. He placed the platter of steaks in the middle and set out the matching plates and the silverware. Then he lifted the lid of the cooler on the patio floor near the railing and pulled out four ice-cold beers.

By the time the guys returned, hands clean and chests covered, he was already sitting down, looking out over the water. They joined him around the table, loaded their plates and dug in.

Later, they were still reclining in their seats as the sun began to dip on the horizon. The bands of color seemed to go on forever, until they met with the rising waves. The sound of lapping water could be heard in the silence, along with the calls of a few seagulls.

Ken drained the last of his beer. “That’s a beautiful sight, man.”

Marco nodded, tossing his own empty bottle into the recycling bin. “Sure is.”

“Yep. Wish I could stay longer, but I gotta go to work in the morning.” Rashad stood up from the table, dragging his long dreadlocks into a ponytail at the base of his neck.

Darius groaned. “Aw, come on, y’all. You just gonna abandon a brother like that? How can you walk away from a sunset this magnificent?”

Marco snickered. “Easy. I just think about my mortgage.”

“I work for the county, dude. I can’t just not show up—my assistant will be happy to take my job in my absence.” Rashad worked as register of deeds for Mecklenburg County.

Darius turned to Ken. “What about you? You work for yourself. Don’t you wanna hang out here for a few more days, and enjoy the place with me?”

“I would, man, but I didn’t bring my computer.” Ken offered a shrug. “No laptop, no work.”

Marco leaned back in his chair, stretching his arms above his head. “I could be convinced to stay if you pay my mortgage.”

“I’m with Marco. Pay my bills and I’ll hang out with you as long as you want, D.” Rashad cocked a thick eyebrow, waiting for his response.

Darius looked at his watch. “Um, never mind. Y’all better get out of here.”

Chuckling, Marco got up. “Yeah, I thought so. We’ll see you when you get back to Charlotte.”

“Bye.” Darius watched his buddies file into the condo to get their things. A short time later, he waved to them as their vehicles pulled out of the small lot in front of his condo.

Back inside his condo, he stripped out of his T-shirt and athletic shorts to climb into a hot shower. He stood there, enjoying the multiple jets of steamy water hitting his body from all angles. Once he’d dried off, he slipped into a pair of black boxers and stretched across his bed.

He mused on when he’d go back to Charlotte and decided he’d head back in a few days. He had a pet-sitter who looked after his golden retriever, Chance, so he’d just let her know when he was coming back. He would have loved to bring Chance along on the trip, but for some reason the dog hated Marco. Every time the dog got within ten feet of Mr. Costa Rico Suave, he growled and bared his teeth. What made it particularly weird was that Chance loved Ken and Rashad, the maid, the mailman and just about any other person who came by the house. Knowing Chance would’ve freaked the hell out if he had to be near Marco over the weekend, he’d decided to leave the dog with the sitter. But when he traveled alone to his vacation place, Chance was always by his side.

The faint sounds of the water splashing against the shore reminded him that he’d left the patio doors open. He got up to close and lock them, and to crack the kitchen windows to allow the breeze to flow in, before sprawling across the bed once again. He reached behind him and grabbed the remote from the niche in his headboard.

He turned on the fifty-inch flat-screen television occupying a wall of the bedroom and flipped through the channels. He paused at one of those dating reality shows, where some guy in a suit was offering a flower to a squealing girl in a too-tight dress, and scoffed. It wasn’t that he didn’t believe in true love, but he damn sure didn’t believe it could be found on some corny, scripted show. He couldn’t figure out why those shows were so popular, but he guessed there had to be someone, somewhere, who really thought you could find love that way.

But he’d witnessed true love as a kid, so he knew it existed. He’d also seen what losing a true love could do to a man, when his mother had waltzed out the door, proclaiming her urge to sing was stronger than her maternal instincts. The day she’d left him and his father to fend for themselves was a day he couldn’t forget, no matter how he tried. He’d seen his father, the man he looked up to and respected more than anyone in the world, reduced to tears that day. And even at a young age, he understood that his father was in pain, and that he never wanted to suffer that way.

Still, as he stretched out in the king-sized bed, he had to admit that it might be nice to have a beautiful woman pressed up against him. He wrapped himself up in the crisp white sheets, which was as close as he was going to get to being held tonight. Sure, there were one or two ladies he could call on to warm his bed, but they didn’t really meet his requirements. A woman he would fully let into his life would have to be intelligent, independent and graceful, but most of all, she’d have to be loyal. He required nothing less than total devotion from a woman, because he had no plans of ending up like his father; disrespected, disgraced and deserted.4

She would also have to accept the fact that he didn’t have any desire to get married. To him, marriage represented nothing more than a legal contract, a piece of paper for the paperwork jockeys who worked down at the county courthouse with Rashad to sign off on. His parents had been married, but that hadn’t stopped his mother from dishonoring her vows and basically spitting in his father’s face when she left him. Why bother going through all the trouble of signing something, having a ceremony and putting on airs? None of that meant anything without a true commitment, and as far as he was concerned, there were already enough pretenses in the world.

The buzzing of his cell phone drew him back to reality. Reaching over to where it lay on the nightstand, he picked it up and looked at the display. The caller ID said Unknown, and he wondered who would be calling him on a Sunday night. Curious, he lightly touched the screen twice, answering the call and engaging the speakerphone.

“Hello?”

“Darius, is that you?” The female voice on the line sounded vaguely familiar, but he couldn’t place it. Since he’d had the same cell phone number since grad school, there was really no telling who it was.

“Yes, who’s this?” He stared at the phone’s screen.

A few moments passed in silence, as if the woman were hesitant to reveal her identity. Finally, she took a deep breath. “This is Louise Franklin.”

Chapter 2 (#ulink_19f21753-ccaf-5b69-9682-97f52d8eff1c)

Eve secured the crystal-beaded elastic around her low bun, then gave her reflection a final glance in the mirror. Satisfied with the look of her chocolate-brown pantsuit, gold jewelry and muted makeup, she flicked off the light on her vanity and rose to her feet. She was due at the monthly board meeting in less than an hour, and she knew she needed to get on the road in order to avoid the usual traffic in downtown Charlotte.

Within a few minutes, she’d made herself a cup of coffee and a bagel, grabbed her purse and briefcase, and flown out the door.

She strolled into the boardroom ten minutes before the meeting was set to begin. Glancing around the room, she could see that the seats around the long polished table were empty. Confused, she paused a moment, then backtracked to the open conference room door. There, a simple typed sign had been affixed to the glass. She read it—the board meeting had been postponed until 10 a.m. the next day. No explanation had been given.

She shrugged and returned to the corridor to get back on the elevator. The conference room was on the building’s third floor, along with the employee lounge and the security offices. Her office was on the seventh floor, where the entire finance department was housed. She slipped into the car, jabbed the appropriate button on the elevator’s panel and waited for the doors to close.

A half a second before the doors could meet, a hand wedged between them, making them part again. Her gaze followed the rather large hand up an arm clothed in a raven-black suit, the cuff of a cherry-red shirt visible at the wrist.

The doors opened fully, and in stepped the finest brother she’d ever had the pleasure of laying her eyes on. He wore a gray, red and black striped tie, a bold complement to the well-cut suit and crisp shirt. His hair was close cut, a neat fade. His chiseled, bronze-toned face was framed by a carefully trimmed beard and mustache. Two dark, mesmerizing eyes fixed on her, and two full lips turned up into a sinfully sexy smile. “Good morning.”

For a moment, she just stood there, staring. The second he’d stepped into the space, he’d brought with him an intoxicating, masculine aroma. She picked up notes of sandalwood, eucalyptus and something else she couldn’t quite identify.

Exhaling, she tried to form a verbal response, though her brain was a bit slow to cooperate. When she found her voice, she returned his greeting.

If he noticed how dumbfounded she looked, he didn’t mention it. He gripped the strap of the attaché case slung over his shoulder with one hand, and used his free hand to press the button for the eighth floor. “Good, you’re already going up. Wouldn’t want to keep a lovely lady like yourself from any important appointments.”

She tried to stop herself, but before she knew it, her tongue darted out to wet her bottom lip. Damn, this man was fine. So fine she could barely think. Looking at him was like looking at the sun—awfully pretty, but it sure did make your eyes hurt. Rather than put her foot in her mouth, she simply smiled and nodded.

No one said anything for the few moments they shared the elevator car. She was perfectly fine with pressing her back into the corner, gripping the handrail and staring at his back. The dark suit fit him so well it must have been custom-made. Despite her father’s efforts to hire on as many people of color as possible, there just weren’t that many brothers working at FTI. That was why a well-dressed brother like him stood out, or at least that was what she told herself.

As the automated voice announced their arrival at the seventh floor, she extricated herself from the corner and prepared to get off. The doors opened, and she attempted to ease by him without making eye contact.

She succeeded in doing that, but didn’t manage to evade him entirely. As he stuck his arm out to make sure the doors didn’t shut on her, his hand brushed against her arm. She glanced back, and found his smiling eyes on her.

“Have a great day, beautiful.” He gave her a wink.

She stepped back, out into the hallway, and the elevator doors closed. Just like that, Mr. Sexy Mystery Man was gone. That disappointed her a bit, but at least she could think straight now that he’d taken his sexiness and delicious scent elsewhere.

Swiveling to her right, she strode down the hall toward her corner office. By now, her secretary should have some coffee made—maybe a kick of caffeine would help her concentrate on her work and put the fine, nameless brother out of her mind.

Stepping into her custom-designed office put a smile on her face, as it did most days. Her parents had given her free reign to decorate the office in any manner she liked. She’d chosen a calming color palette of cream and periwinkle. The brocade-textured wallpaper, shelving units and furniture all reflected her tastes. She’d had light oak hardwood floors put in, and covered them with soft throw rugs in muted shades of blue. The theme started in the reception area, and carried through her personal office and washroom.

In the reception area, she found Mimi Chin, her secretary, stationed at her desk. After they’d exchanged greetings, Eve made a beeline for the coffeepot. The smell of the brew met her before she was fully in the room, and she noticed it was stronger than what she usually drank. Picking up the pot, she turned toward Mimi. “What’s this?”

“French roast. I try to make something with a little more gusto on board-meeting days.” Mimi was typing furiously on her keyboard, and didn’t look up.

“Thanks.” Even though the board meeting had been delayed, she could still use the kick to get her going.

As she headed toward the door to her private office, her phone buzzed. Removing it from the outer pocket of her leather hobo, she looked at the screen.

It was a text from Lina. Opening it, she found a picture attached of Lina and two of their girlfriends in bathing suits, standing on the beach. The message read, Girl, you missed it!

She smiled, shaking her head. Lina was about as straitlaced as could be when it came to her work as an attorney specializing in employment law. But when Lina cut loose, she did it like she was doing it for TV. She spent another moment looking at the picture, and was about to close it and tuck her phone away when she noticed something in the background.

Or rather, someone.

Standing behind her friends, mere feet away, was a handsome man, wearing nothing but a pair of bright blue swim trunks and a silver chain. The photo had been taken with him in midair, smacking a volleyball over the net. His muscled arms and chest glistened in the sunlight as he hovered a couple of inches off the ground. Dark shades obscured his eyes, but the distinctive facial hair was a dead giveaway.

The man in the picture was the same man who’d stolen her breath when he stepped into her elevator car.

* * *

Fingers laced together, Darius tucked his hands behind his head. He’d been told to make himself comfortable in the swanky eighth-floor office he’d been directed to, and was taking those instructions to heart. The burgundy chair he sat in was so comfortable he never wanted to get up. He could feel his butt sinking into the fabric, and sighed with pleasure. There was nothing like a comfortable chair to put him in a good mood. As a bonus, the chair faced a wall made entirely of glass, giving him an impressive view of the Queen City’s lush skyline beneath a sun-filled sky.

It had been years since he’d been in this building, let alone this office. Back then, he’d been fresh out of school and eager to learn everything he could about software development. His passion for innovation had been at its zenith. There was no way he could have guessed that his enthusiasm for designing programs would be extinguished by the rigors of the business side of things. The day he’d graduated, he thought he’d spend his life in the field. But in reality, he’d spent less than ten years in the industry before he became burned out.

His thoughts drifted to the lovely lady he’d been on the elevator with earlier. She was taller than most of the women he ran into, though still nowhere near his six-foot-three-inch frame. Aside from that, she had a figure that could only be described as voluptuous—full breasts, a tapered waist and round hips, all encased in a little brown pantsuit. While the suit was very professional and not at all revealing, it did nothing to hide her shape and he was glad of it. He clearly recalled the way her glossy, straight brown hair was tucked into a demure looking bun. It looked so soft, he’d had to shove his hands in his pockets to keep from touching it. But the thing about her that really got his blood flowing was her lips—plump, pouty, perfect. She’d painted them with some kind of shimmery raspberry-colored gloss that made them look incredibly tempting. If his boys had been in the elevator with him, they’d probably have come to blows over who would get to ask her out.

Behind him, the double doors of the office opened, then closed again, but he didn’t turn around. He was too busy enjoying the view.

“Sorry to keep you waiting, Darius.” Joseph Franklin marched across the room to engulf Darius in a paternal embrace. Then he took a seat behind the big desk between Darius’s comfy chair and the wall of windows. “What has it been, three or four years since I’ve seen you? How have you been?”

“Yeah, it’s been about that long. I’ve been great. Retirement suits me quite nicely.” Taking in the sight of his mentor, he could see the older man had changed a lot since he’d last seen him. His shoulders slumped just a bit, his kind face had many new lines and his once dark hair had gone gray. In a word, Franklin looked tired. “How about you?”

“Busy, but good.” Franklin leaned back in the leather executive chair, running his fingertips through his graying beard.

Never one for small talk, Darius thought it prudent to proceed with the matter at hand. “I was surprised to hear from Mrs. Franklin the other night. I talked to her for a little while, but just so I’m clear, what is it you need me to do?”

Joseph hesitated for a moment, then sighed. “I know you’re enjoying your leisure, but I could really use your expertise here at FTI.”

“Okay. So you want me on a freelance basis? Some consulting?” He would do what he could to help the older man out. After all, he’d gotten his start in the tech world under Franklin’s watchful tutelage.

“The role would be a little more involved than consulting, Darius.”

Darius was becoming more and more impatient to find out what exactly Franklin wanted. He leaned forward in his seat. “What are you really asking me for, Mr. Franklin?”

“Why so formal? Call me Joe.” A ghost of a smile crossed his face.

His eyebrow hitched up. “Ok, Joe, what are we really talking about here?”

Joseph leaned forward, braced his arms on the surface of the big desk. “Darius, I’d like you to take over as CEO.”

Darius blinked, then focused on Franklin’s face again. Had he heard what he thought he heard? “Excuse me?”

“This isn’t easy for me to ask of you, Darius.”

He raised his hand, scratched his chin. His first instinct was to say no. All he wanted to do was extract his butt from the seductive chair, leave the building and get back in his car so he could go home and practice for his band’s next gig. His time was his own now, and that was just the way he liked it. No clock to punch, no boss to answer to and the freedom to pursue his own interests, any way he saw fit. He was living the life most people dreamed of, and at a very young age. He’d received plenty of offers and requests to come back to the tech business since he’d gone into retirement, but this time was different. If it hadn’t been for Franklin, he might never have had the means to take his retirement when he did. How could he flatly turn down the man who’d given him his first shot in this game? The answer was simple: he couldn’t.

Still, there was another contingency here, one that needed to be discussed. “What about your daughter? I assumed she’d be the one to take over things here when you retired.”

Franklin rose from his chair, easing toward the windows. His eyes seemed focused on the goings-on outside as he spoke. “So did I. But she isn’t ready quite yet.” His flat tone conveyed a measure of disappointment.

Having never met Franklin’s daughter, he didn’t know what her skill set was. During the time he’d been at FTI, she’d been in college and studying abroad. She might be less than prepared in Franklin’s eyes, but he found the old man’s assessment a little blunt. “Come on now, Joe. Any daughter of yours has got to be bright enough to learn the ropes, with time and training.”

He shook his head, still gazing out the window. “True, but time is a luxury I don’t have anymore. I waited too long to train her the way I should have—I thought she would’ve caught on a bit faster on her own. Now...” He stroked a hand over his head, but didn’t complete the statement.

A few moments passed in silence before Darius spoke. “Is there something else I need to know?”

“My health isn’t at its best, Darius. I’m going in for some tests this week, because if I don’t, my wife won’t give me a moment’s peace. I really don’t know what the doctor is going to tell me, but I know I’m not getting any younger.”

“And there’s no one you could promote from within the company ranks?”

Franklin shook his head. “I believe what FTI really needs is a cutting-edge, youthful approach. Besides, you’ve got the brightest technological mind to ever grace the halls of this building.”