Love Not Money: An Interracial BWWM Billionaire Romance Read online

  Chapter One: Alisha

  Tall, tanned, and fit, Nikos Antoniadis prowls up the courtroom aisle toward me. Sun-streaked tawny hair frames his lean, square face. He could be a soap opera star with those angles. I glimpse sculpted torso through the button of his seersucker shirt. His toned thighs and confident gait shape straight-leg cotton pants. He looks like what he is: Rich, handsome, virile, man.

  We are in Judge Bear’s courtroom on the top floor of the Palm Beach County courthouse. A glass wall looks over the West Palm Beach waterfront to the yachts on the Intracoastal, the mansions of Palm Beach island, and the endless Atlantic Ocean beyond. We are here because Nikos Antoniadis is suing me. I have been arguing against his henchmen for three months. He seeks to prove that I am a liar and a thief.

  Today is the first time Antoniadis himself has appeared. He is the dynamic force behind The Antoniadis Company. That is how they refer to themselves; The Antoniadis. These builders of luxury resorts for the uber-rich. The Antoniadis Company. The Antoniadis Palm Beach. The Antoniadis Malibu. The Antoniadis Ibiza. And now, The Antoniadis himself.

  He surveys the courtroom and nods at the stocky man with short gel-spiked hair who stands across the aisle from me. Jeremy Cutter, Antoniadis’s lead lawyer, is almost the same height as I – five feet nine inches. He has short gel-spiked hair and a stocky build. He is a bulldog in a Brooks Brothers suit. But no question Antoniadis leads the pack as Cutter returns a submissive nod. Cutter is ambitious. I am nothing more to him than a rung on the ladder he hopes to climb to advance in Antoniadis’s multi-billion-dollar empire.

  Antoniadis lowers himself to a bench midway up the courtroom, leans forward, rests his elbows on his knees, links his fingers, and fixes his dark gaze on me. I wonder what he thinks of my off-the-rack red polyester pantsuit. Why did I wear open-toe pumps when I know I need a pedicure? Warm shame crawls up my body. Then, what the hell am I thinking? Who cares? If Nikos Antoniadis gets what he wants, he will destroy me and everything I have worked for.

  I turn back to Judge Bear. Time to fight. “Your Honor,” I say. “Over the past five years, Stavros Antoniadis made numerous and generous donations of money and land to HomeU.”

  I am the attorney and Chief Executive Officer for HomeU, a social enterprise in West Palm Beach, Florida. We provide transition housing, mental health services, and job training and placement for those who find themselves unable to maintain stable housing.

  I continue. “As we are all aware, Stavros and Hannah Henry died more than one year ago in a tragic airplane crash.”

  Stavros Antoniadis was the founder of The Antoniadis Company. Hannah was my best friend and the founder and CEO of HomeU. We were both homeless fifteen-year-olds when we met fifteen years ago. We became each other’s family as we did what we felt we had to stay out of Florida’s foster care system. Eventually, we got our GEDs. I went on to earn business and law degrees while Hannah built and operated HomeU, our dream of a facility that treats the homeless as human and worthy of time, money, and hope. When the plane carrying Stavros and Hannah crashed into the Caribbean Sea, Stavros was married to Olivia Antoniadis, who was then battling stage-three pancreatic cancer. Olivia succumbed to cancer shortly after the plane crash.

  “Only after his mother’s death did Mr. Nikos Antoniadis file this lawsuit claiming that Ms. Henry defrauded The Antoniadis of land and money. I have repeatedly argued that the plaintiff’s allegations are unfounded and vague and the court must dismiss this case. Nevertheless, in a show of good faith, I filed with the court copies of every transaction between Stavros Antoniadis and HomeU.”

  I filed the copies because the plane crash also almost took HomeU’s reputation and donor list down with it. Although HU is a for-profit social business, we rely on charitable donations to our foundation to fund much of our work. The death investigations revealed Hannah and Stavros’s affair. Many of HU’s donors were friends and acquaintances of the Antoniadis. The press lauded Olivia as the betrayed dying wife and scorned Hannah as the venal money-grubbing jezebel. Olivia’s friends circled their wagons and withdrew their financial support for HomeU.

  “This court allowed The Antoniadis to amend his complaint. Yet, Antoniadis still has not alleged any specific facts to support fraud. He cannot do so for one simple reason, Your Honor. There has been no fraud.”

  But that does not mean I have nothing to hide. Hannah had been having sex with Stavros for money. At least, that is what the hand-written contract I found in a Cayman Islands safety deposit box and signed by Hannah and Stavros said. The bank contacted me two months ago on the anniversary of Hannah’s death, as Hannah had instructed the bank president to do. So far, I believe I am the only person alive who knows about that contract. To keep it that way, I need this lawsuit to go away.

  “This lawsuit is a fishing expedition intended to harass HomeU and I respectfully ask again that the court dismiss this action with prejudice.”

  “What say you, plaintiff?” Judge Bear looks at Cutter. Judge Bear earned the nickname “The Bear” because he hides among the foliage of judicial procedure to give himself every opportunity not to be wrong. “Ms. Padgett appears to have a point.”

  Cutter smirks at me before turning back to The Bear. “I say, Your Honor, that the plaintiff calls to the stand Karen Tankey.”

  Everyone turns to look at the blonde-ombré in Lily Pulitzer who sits at Cutter’s table. I have never seen her before. But Antoniadis must think she has something blockbuster to add if he has come in person to survey the play.

  I stay with Judge Bear. “This is trial by ambush, Your Honor. I have no idea who Ms. Tankey is or what she might be about to say.”

  Judge Bear nods and looks at Cutter. “This is not how we practice law in my courtroom, Mr. Cutter. What is going on here?”

  “Your Honor,” Cutter says, and I know he is up to no good because he sounds particularly obsequious. “Ms. Tankey is a handwriting expert who will testify that she has found apparent irregularities in the so-called land conveyance documents that call into question the veracity of Mr. Stavros Antoniadis’ signature thereto.”

  And so, Nikos Antoniadis establishes that he is not above manufacturing evidence. Bedlam inside my head. “Apparent irregularities? So-called documents?” But his move is devilishly clever. If he can raise the specter of forged or altered documents, he can convince Judge Bear to grant discovery requests not just for HomeU’s documents, but all of Hannah’s too. Perhaps, even mine. So far, I have managed to keep the court from ordering that I produce financials. But if the court orders me to do so, I will have to turn them over. By the time I disprove Ms. Tankey’s allegations, it will be too late. Antoniadis will have probed our finances and everyone will know what Hannah did.

  I turn and glare at Nikos Antoniadis. It is powerful to be so unscrupulous. “A year into this litigation and suddenly the plaintiff manufactures an expert.” It is not a question.

  His dark eyes are fixed on me. My chest tightens and my face grows hot as he rises in a single sleek motion. I swelter in my cheap polyester. That relaxed look of inherited wealth is a lie. Danger stalks as he prowls toward me. He studies me the way the lion studies the antelope. Through the red haze of my anger, I cannot deny his animal magnetism.

  I cannot read his expression, except that he seems to be searching my face for something. The courtroom is silent as we study each other. I am incensed that I am attracted to a man who thinks I am a thief and a liar and who wants to humiliate me and my dead best friend with his outsized wealth and power. I straighten my spine and keep my eyes on him. “Do you think just because you are rich you can do whatever yo
u want?”

  Nikos’s eyes dip to the B-cup breasts I have inadvertently brought into the conversation. I am possibly more infuriated with myself for being attracted to him than I am furious at him for being an unethical villain. When did the antelope ever look back at the lion and think, ‘Yum?’ Foolish, foolish antelope.

  “Your Honor,” says Cutter with fake outrage.

  “Settle down, Ms. Padgett,” says Judge Bear.

  I remain fixated on Nikos. “Are you seriously accusing me of putting forth a forged document?”

  “Good morning, Your Honor,” Nikos says with a nod toward The Bear, but his eyes stay on me. His bass voice rumbles in my breast.

  “Mr. Antoniadis, I presume,” Judge Bear replies.

  “The man, indeed,” Cutter says. “Your Honor, we are presenting Ms. Tankey’s testimony to support our allegation that the defendants engaged in specific acts of fraud and to support our requests for the production of the defendants’ financial documents.”

  So, there it is. What Antoniadis is after. I am still looking at him when I say, “Your Honor, I object.”

  Antoniadis is still looking at me when he says, “Your Honor, I’d like to have a few moments with Ms. Padgett. I believe I have a proposition that will settle this matter.”

  Double-dealing and trickery, I have no doubt. “Other than the plaintiff’s complete concession that there have been no financial or documentary improprieties, there is no proposition the plaintiff can make that I will accept. People’s lives depend on it.”

  But, alas, The Bear sees an opportunity to hide in the woods. He knows that we cannot appeal from a negotiated settlement. “I appreciate your passion, Ms. Padgett,” he says. “And I appreciate that you have not yet had a chance to depose this witness. But you are a social enterprise and you are now looking at the cost of a deposition, having to hire a competing expert, and at least one more court hearing. The Antoniadis is offering to discuss settlement.” The Bear brings the gavel down. “I’m ordering you to talk to the man.”

  Chapter Two: Nikos

  When I walk into the small, windowless mediation room, a long government-issue table separates me from Alisha Padgett. She stands defiantly with folded arms and her back to the oat-colored wall. Her fire-engine red pantsuit is the perfect foil for her pecan skin. Her high-ponytail and the sterile fluorescent track-lighting dramatize the upward tilt of her chocolate-brown eyes, the angles of her cheekbones, and the curve of her cupid’s bow. Tall and slender, the curve of her hips is unexpected and exciting.

  I did not have to come to this hearing. Cutter fights for my money as if he plans to make it all his someday. One of my junior attorneys has been surreptitiously recording the court hearings. It is one way to keep track of Cutter. But it also allows me to study Alisha. I am Greek. Much of our native language is in our hands and our bodies. I play the violin. Alisha Padgett’s hands illustrate her arguments in ways that make me imagine those hands on me. Her movements resonate through me like an expertly-played cello. I have dated supermodels, superstars, and superstar-athletes and I showed up in court today because I could not stay away from Alisha Padgett.

  She seems surprised when I enter. She looks to the door behind me. She expected Cutter. I stop just inside the door and close it, never taking my eyes from her. “It will be just you and me.”

  My lawsuit is a sham. I recognize my father’s signature on the HomeU documents. But I agreed when Cutter proposed the lawsuit because I needed a way to delve into Hannah Henry’s true character. I believe she was a liar and a thief and she used my father to funnel money into her own pockets. I intend to prove it. But I believe that in his desire to impress me, Cutter has manufactured Ms. Tankey and her report. Ms. Padgett is a good lawyer. I have no doubt she will soon prove that Ms. Tankey is nothing more than a Cutter family friend with a magnifying glass. Cutter believes we will buy the time we need to go through HomeU’s, Hannah’s, and Ms. Padgett’s finances with a fine-tooth comb. But I think he underestimates Alisha Padgett.

  She wets her lips. I stare. Her motion is the first sign that she may be hiding emotions. Nervous, perhaps? Her eyes flash to me. She is an enchanting blend of passion and beauty and, for a moment, I lose all thought.

  “It doesn’t matter which of you I talk to,” she says coolly. “What I say stays the same. I cannot say the same for you.”

  During the lawsuit, I had Cutter research everything he could about Alisha and Hannah Henry. I learned they were both children of criminally neglectful parents. They met as teenage runaways from the foster care system. Cutter was able to get copies of their sealed juvenile records. Both Hannah Henry and Alisha Padgett were taken into juvenile detention on several occasions because authorities believed they were engaging in prostitution.

  I step up to the table and place my hands palms down upon it. I lean forward and capture her gaze with mine. Her beauty almost numbs my mind. “Every year my company holds a retreat at a private island in the Caribbean Sea. Unfortunately, I think what began as a simple show of appreciation has turned into some kind of marriage-mart. Apparently, I am a single man in possession of a good fortune. I would like you to attend this weekend with me as the woman I have been seeing for several months and who is in love with me.”

  Chapter Three: Alisha

  I stare at Nikos Antoniadis with all the mental acuity of a zombie. Did Nikos Antoniadis just quote Jane Austen? Did he just ask me to spend a weekend with him? Did I just lose my mind? “Excuse me?”

  He straightens up from the table and holds my gaze. “I would like you to accompany me as the woman I have been seeing for several months and who is in love with me. If you do this, I will dismiss the lawsuit.”

  I stare at him, waiting for … the punchline, the clowns through the door, the hidden camera. I must have misheard him. “You’re suing me.”

  “I know.” He almost smiles. “That is why I said if you do this,” he says it slower as if speaking to a child, “I will dismiss the lawsuit.”

  “You have some nerve!” This is a step too far. This scoundrel has sabotaged the court hearing to make a frivolous and sure-to-be-rejected offer to distract from the fact that he is presenting false evidence to the court! “Your lawsuit is a joke. This settlement offer is a joke!” I back up from the table and start rounding it, my eyes on the door. I do not know why I am so surprised. He showed me who and what he was when he filed this baseless lawsuit. “Your attorneys are lucky I have not yet filed Bar complaints.” He watches me as I approach the door. “I get it. You have no respect for me, my time, my work, my intelligence. This is all some diverting exercise to avenge your mother’s honor and punish my friend, our company, me. Fine.” He simply steps back from the table and into my path. I will have to go through him. I stop moving. “But your actions have devastating consequences for desperate people who have done you no harm. What you are doing is illegal and unconscionable and I am done being understanding.”

  “I am offering you everything you want,” he says calmly.

  “You have no idea what I want.”

  “Try me.” He never raises his voice and he never looks away from me. The challenge ripples in the bass timbre of his voice. I feel it on my skin, seeping into my flesh. Goosebumps.

  I challenge him. “Drop this lawsuit and admit it should never have been brought.”

  “Done. Just give me one weekend.”

  I am staring. I cannot help myself. He is up to something. His offer makes no sense. “Why? What do you want? Sex?”

  “See? That is why I am asking you.”

  And there it is. The demeaning, casual cruelty. “Please, go to hell.”

  The words are barely out of my mouth when he continues, “Because you get right to the point. I’ve been watching you in court. You don’t lie. I am asking you because I want you to tell me about my father and Ms. Henry.”

  My mouth drops open. I do not know that there is anything else he could have said that would have shocked me more. “What?”
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br />   Had I not been looking right at him, I would have missed the anguish that flashed briefly across his face. A shiver runs through me. Danger slithers around me.

  He looks down at the table. “I —.” He hesitates.

  This is a trick, of course. This hesitation, this sudden appearance of humanity. He considers that my life’s work is caring for the homeless and he tries to play upon my empathy. And damn my empathy if that moment of hesitation, that manufactured suggestion of insecurity does not clutch my traitorous soul. What could give such a confident unscrupulous man pause?

  He looks back up at me. “I have watched you during this litigation,” he says. “I believe in your integrity. I trust you to tell me the truth about my father and your friend.”

  I just stare. I do not know what to make of him. I do not know him well enough. I do know that very rich people sometimes become unmoored from the reality the rest of us must acknowledge. Perhaps that is happening here. Or perhaps he is simply trying another tactic of vengeance against Hannah, HomeU, and me. “But why?” I hear a hint of pleading in my voice. Why is he doing this?

  His body relaxes as he whooshes out a breath. He slides his hands into his pants pockets. I definitely do not look at the way his action pulls his pants taut over his groin.

  “I have been angry at my father for a long time,” he says. “Maybe I have been looking for someone to blame.” His look at me is rueful and, I think – heaven help me – honest?

  “I think it’s time I faced the truth, whatever that is, and moved on.”

  The lawyer in me handles this because the woman is wavering. “How do I know this is not some trick? Another Karen Tankey?”

  He looks down at the linoleum floor, like a child trying not to lie about who put the empty milk carton back in the fridge. It is a silent acknowledgment that Ms. Tankey is a hired gun. “The settlement agreement will make no mention of what we are talking of here now.” He looks back up at me and holds my gaze. “It will simply say that I voluntarily dismiss the lawsuit with prejudice because my allegations have been proven baseless. It will completely exonerate you, HomeU, and Ms. Henry of any wrongdoing.”