Here I Am (Arabesque) - By Rochelle Alers Page 0,84
most incredible ten days of her life with a man she loved, only to return home to accusations that she preyed on wealthy men like a scavenger on carrion.
Brandt rubbed the back of Ciara’s neck. “Why don’t you go upstairs and lie down? If Jordan needs anything else, he can talk to you tomorrow.”
“Okay.” She stood up, Jordan and Wyatt rising with her. “Thank you for everything.”
Wyatt and Jordan waited until Ciara left the room, then sat down again. A hint of a smile played at the corners of Wyatt’s mouth when he met Brandt’s angry expression. He was impressed that his favorite nephew had managed to keep his temper in check.
“You’ve got yourself a live one, boy.”
Brandt wanted to laugh, but he didn’t feel like laughing given the seriousness of the situation that had prompted his cousin and uncle to come to his home. It wasn’t often Wyatt displayed his softer side.
“I like her,” Jordan stated without guile.
“I like her spirit,” Wyatt said.
“I’d like to buy that rag and then fire Poppy,” Brandt mumbled.
Wyatt and Jordan exchanged a smile. “That can be arranged,” the older man said.
Brandt leaned forward. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”
Jordan crossed his arms over his chest. “In today’s economic climate, advertising revenue is down and papers are issuing pink slips left and right, so it has to be just as bad or worse for the tabloids. A journalist isn’t legally bound to reveal his or her sources, but I think if we…”
“What are you hatching, Jordan?” Brandt asked when his cousin didn’t finish his statement.
“I can’t tell. If I do then that would you make you culpable.”
“Culpable to what?”
Jordan flashed a sinister smile. “Just say I’m prepared to make the owner of The Informer an offer he can’t refuse.”
“What if he refuses your offer?”
“Then I’ll sue the hell out of him, Poppy Rayburn and his rag.”
Brandt put up a hand. “Do what you have to do to clear Ciara’s name.”
Bracing both feet on the floor, Wyatt leaned forward. “How serious are you about this girl, Brandt?”
Brandt decided to be forthcoming. “Very serious.”
“Serious enough to marry her?”
Brandt knew going away with Ciara had changed him and her. A few times he’d fantasized they were married and on their honeymoon. Her presence offered him a peace he hadn’t thought possible. It’d been six weeks since she’d walked into his life, and in less than six weeks she would walk out.
“Yes. I’m in love with her.”
“Have you told her?”
Brandt smiled. “Of course.”
“What did she say?”
His smile faded. “Why the cross-examination?” he asked.
A sudden iciness flashed in the older man’s eyes. “I need to know when I write a check to clear your girlfriend’s name. The price goes up if she’s your wife, because then she’ll be a Wainwright.”
“I don’t need your money.”
“I know you don’t, Brandt. But as head of the family—”
“Your patriarch status is null and void where it concerns Ciara,” Brandt countered. “You take care of what belongs to you, and I’ll take care of what belongs to me. Jordan, once you find out whatever it is you need to seal your deal, let me know and I’ll forward you a bank check. I don’t want to appear rude, but I’m going up to check on Ciara.”
Jordan stood up. “No problem, cuz. I forgot to tell you that Zee won her sexual harassment case. Rather than go to trial, Kenneth Moore took a plea. His license was revoked, and he won’t be able to practice law for the next ten years. He’ll also have to give up two and a half million for her pain and suffering. Zee plans to use the money to set up a foundation for sexually abused women.”
Brandt smiled for the first time in hours. His brilliant attorney cousin had brought down the sexual predator that had harassed the woman who would become his wife. Now he was counting on Jordan to clear the name of the woman he wanted as his wife.
“The slug got off easy. Uncle Wyatt, how were sexual predators dealt with in your day?”
Seventy-eight-year-old Wyatt Wainwright blushed to the roots of his snow-white hairline. “I never witnessed it, but I did hear of some guy losing his family jewels in a botched circumcision. He almost bled to death, but somebody called the cops who took him to the hospital. Word was he was never the same.”
Jordan grimaced. “Damn. I suppose Moore did get off easy.” He rested a hand on Wyatt’s shoulder. “Let’s go, Grandpa. Zee and