Man of Fortune. Rochelle Alers
“I’m not beating up on you, Tamara. I just want you to realize that all men aren’t like your ex or the lawyer who swindled you out of your money while not bothering to represent you.”
Tilting her chin, Tamara stared into the large, clear brown eyes with the dark centers. “If I’d known you, would you have advocated for me?”
“If I’d been your financial planner, I would’ve told you to keep your money separate from your husband’s, especially if it was money that you’d accumulated before the marriage.”
She closed her eyes for several seconds. “It was only after I’d completed my undergraduate studies when I told my parents that I’d applied to and been accepted into medical school that they changed their minds about me becoming a doctor. Mother and Daddy put up the money for my first two years of medical school and both sets of grandparents covered the last two. My only consolation was that I wasn’t saddled with having to pay back six-figure student loans.”
“You were luckier than most students. I have clients who make more than adequate salaries but they’re still paying off student loans.”
“Who do you work for?”
“I work for myself,” Duncan said smoothly, with no expression on his face.
Tamara was slightly taken aback. She didn’t know why, but she’d expected him to mention one of the major investment companies. “Do you work from a home office?”
He pointed to her left side. “Scoot over a little and reach into the breast pocket of my jacket. There’s a case with my business cards. Take one.”
Seeing the label stitched on the inside of Duncan’s suit jacket and the monogrammed silver card case told Tamara all she needed to know about the man sitting beside her. Duncan Gilmore treated himself very well. She took out a card, smiling. It was made of vellum with raised black lettering.
“DGG Financial Services, LLP,” she read aloud. “Is your office uptown?”
Duncan smiled. “It’s smack dab in good old Harlem, U.S.A.”
Tamara heard the pride in his voice. “I take it you’re a Harlem native?”
“Born and raised. At least until I was fourteen. Then I moved to Brooklyn.”
“If you work in Harlem, then why don’t you live there?” she asked.
“That’s another story for another time.”
A slight frown creased Tamara’s smooth forehead. “What are you talking about?”
“I snapped at you, Tamara, therefore I owe you dinner.”
She waved a hand. “You don’t have—”
“But I’d like to,” he interrupted.
A warning shiver snaked its way up Tamara’s spine. She shuddered visibly despite the heat. There was something in the way Duncan Gilmore was looking at her that made her feel uncomfortable. “I can’t, Duncan.” she whispered.
“Why can’t you, Tamara?”
“I have to work.”
“Do you work twenty-four/seven?”
“No but—”
Duncan held up a hand, cutting her off. “All I’m asking for is one dinner date.”
She gave him a sidelong glance, finding it hard to understand why a man who looked like Duncan Gilmore would insist she go out with him. She didn’t know what his motive was, but he’d find out soon enough that Tamara Wolcott was nothing like the wide-eyed young woman who’d succumbed to her med school teacher’s influence. Duncan claimed he didn’t have a wife or girlfriend, but he hadn’t said he was into women. Perhaps he was gay, and if that were true then she was in luck. The last thing she needed was a physical relationship with a man, because each time she slept with one it ended badly.
Some women could have an affair and when it ended they were able to move on. But Tamara always found herself getting too emotionally attached and wanting more. And the more was total commitment. In that way she and Edward were alike. He had confessed that he didn’t like sleeping around, and when he did sleep with a woman he usually wanted to marry her. However, what Tamara hadn’t known was that she was the third Mrs. Edward Bennett and probably wouldn’t be the last.
She forced a smile. “All right, Duncan. I’ll go out with you.”
A frown distorted his beautiful male face. “Why do you make it sound as if you’re doing me a favor?”
“Aren’t I?” Tamara drawled.
The seconds ticked off as they stared at each other. A smile replaced Duncan’s scowl. “Yes, you are. And I thank you for accepting.”
“You’re most welcome.” She glanced at the card again. “Which number should I use to call you?”
Duncan held out his hand. “Please give me the card.” Reaching into the pocket of his shirt, he took out a pen and wrote down a number on the back of the card, then returned it to Tamara. “That’s my home number. If I don’t pick up, then leave a number where I can call you back.”
“I…” Her words trailed off with the sudden movement of the elevator. The overhead lights came on as the car descended slowly. Tamara and Duncan shared a smile. “Free at last,” she whispered.
Duncan wasn’t ready to lose Tamara’s company. She looked nothing like the women he was normally attracted to, but something about her was intrinsically feminine despite her overtly tough, in-your-face attitude. She’d been deceived, hurt, was in pain, and it was apparent she had no desire to let go of that pain.
It was also apparent she had no use for men, either, believing all they were out for was to take advantage of her. But Duncan wanted to prove her wrong. There were good men, those who loved their wives and their children, men who’d chosen not to marry, yet who remained faithful and supportive boyfriends.
All she had to do was meet his boyhood friends Ivan Campbell and Kyle Chatham. The three of them had taken an oath when they were young to remain connected always, to stay away from the drugs that plagued Harlem and to one day own one of the stately brownstones along the many tree-lined streets in the historic neighborhood. And to their amazement, their dreams had come true.
Pushing to his feet, he extended his hand and pulled Tamara up with minimal effort. “How long will it take you to get to the hospital?”
She checked her watch. It was six-ten. “Probably about twenty minutes.”
He slipped into his jacket, then leaned over to pick up his case. “May I interest you in sharing a cab?”
“No thank you. I’ll walk.”
Duncan wanted to tell her that she was already late for her shift, but held his tongue. He’d gotten her to agree to have dinner with him, and given her track record with men, he considered himself quite fortunate.
The snail-like movement of the elevator came to a complete stop at the first floor and the doors opened. Several workmen in coveralls were milling in the area, along with the doorman.
“Are you all right, Dr. Wolcott?” the doorman asked, as lines of concern creased his forehead.
Tamara hoisted her tote over her shoulder. “Yes. Thank you for asking.”
Duncan, resting his hand at the small of her back, escorted her across the lobby and out onto the street. Barricades blocked off the street, barring vehicular traffic as emergency personnel from the FDNY, NYPD and Con Ed filled the street and sidewalk.
He walked with Tamara to Twenty-Third Street. Smiling, he stared at her natural beauty in the light of the sun that was sinking lower in the summer sky, casting shadows over the towering buildings that made up the Manhattan skyline.
“This is where I leave you.”
Tamara