A Miami Affair

Chapter 1

You’ve reached The Aunt Penny Foundation. Sorry, we are unable to take your call at the moment. Please leave your name, number and a detailed message, and we’ll get back to you as soon as possible.

Joshua DeLong cringed at the sound of the annoying beep indicating that he had to leave yet another message for Becca Wright, the director of public relations for The Aunt Penny Foundation. It was even more frustrating that he didn’t have Ms. Wright’s direct cell phone number, forcing him to call the main line. Just as he was about to leave a voice mail, he got another call.

At least someone is calling me back today, he said right before he switched to the incoming call. The call went precisely how he wished most of his business calls would go. Brief and in his favor.

Josh welcomed the light breeze that twirled through his curly cocoa-colored hair. It was the perfect Miami June morning to spend outside on the upper deck of his luxury yacht that was more of a home to him than his condos in New York and LA. Maybe he preferred his yacht more than his other homes because it was the only one that offered the opportunity to escape reality whenever he wanted to. It’s not that Josh normally needed a break from his everyday life, but lately he hadn’t found solace living in any place that wasn’t gently rocking from the waves made by boats leaving the private South Beach marina.

Josh placed his iPhone on the polished teak table and picked up his iPad while scoffing at his sunny-side up eggs and crisp turkey bacon. A quick glance at the time indicated that the morning was already getting away from him. He needed to leave for LA in the afternoon, so he had to be productive this morning. Unfortunately, Ms. Wright played an important part in that. Last night, he’d emailed a couple contacts to see if they could get ahold of Ms. Wright’s personal cell number, but he hadn’t heard back yet.

He scrolled through the articles about The Aunt Penny Foundation he’d bookmarked yesterday and began reading where he’d left off last night. It was an interview with Becca Wright and the founder of the organization, Haley Adams. Although both women had impressive résumés, it was Becca’s that had caught his eye. Ivy League graduate with years of charity and fundraising experience. Accomplished violinist. A host of academic accolades. Given what he’d briefly read about Becca in two other articles, he wasn’t surprised by those details.

A calendar reminder popped up on his iPad prompting him to call his friend and fellow Prescott George member Daniel Cobb. Josh remembered a time when he’d been building his brand as a corporate raider, hoping for an exclusive invitation to join Prescott George—or the Millionaire Moguls as they were informally known—a prestigious, all-male national organization that was as powerful as it was discreet. However, he’d always assumed it was wishful thinking. Prescott George didn’t invite just anyone to join, especially a man of his caliber, who was considered a nouveau riche tycoon instead of an old-money legend. The latter were handed invitations into the organization based on their last names or historic financial statuses. When he’d finally gotten invited, by another member of the nouveau riche, he’d jumped at the opportunity to join Prescott George.

Staring at the calendar reminder once more, Josh reset the notification to have it ping him in another hour. He scrolled a little further through the article he was reading until he landed on a picture of Becca Wright. She was wearing a white collared shirt buttoned to the neck underneath a black suit jacket that appeared two sizes too big for her. Either that or she just had broad shoulders. He couldn’t tell.

Josh opened another tab on his iPad to Google images of Becca. More pictures appeared, each one more conservative than the next. One photo made him pause. In it Becca was wearing a beige cardigan over a plain white top. Her hair was pulled atop her head in a tight bun and her large black-rimmed glasses were a tad too big for her oval face. She was wearing little makeup and although she was smiling, her smile didn’t reach her eyes. Have I seen her somewhere before? There was something vaguely familiar about her photo, but he couldn’t quite place it.

Grabbing his phone, he decided to call the foundation once more and leave another voice mail. Once again, he was greeted by the beep.

"Hello, this is Joshua DeLong from Prescott George calling for Ms. Wright, again. As you know, The Aunt Penny Foundation has been chosen as the charity beneficiary for our annual fundraising gala this summer. As I stated in my previous voice mail, I have to go out of town this afternoon and therefore..." His voice trailed off as he realized why Becca looked so familiar. She looked exactly like Ms. Perkins. His horrible middle school principal. Although according to his research Becca was only twenty-eight years old, Josh had no doubt that his middle school principal—who was much older than Becca—had been dressed in the exact same shirt and cardigan, with the exact same hairdo and glasses, for one of their school pictures decades ago.

We need to meet this morning, Josh said, abruptly ending the call. He had definitely planned on leaving his cell phone number and a couple other details in his voice mail, but he hadn’t been able to shake the feeling that Becca reminded him of the woman whose office was still etched in his memory, since Josh had always found himself in some type of trouble.

He obviously knew that he hadn’t been leaving a voice mail for Ms. Perkins, but the minute the realization had hit him, he hadn’t been able to shake the feeling. Ms. Perkins was probably the meanest woman he’d ever met in his life, and that was saying a lot since Josh had met his fair share of unpleasant people.

I couldn’t stand that lady, he said aloud to no one but himself. She made my childhood hell. He shivered as he glanced at Becca’s photo once more. He could only hope that he wasn’t dealing with Ms. Perkins’s clone.

* * *

Ten, nine, eight, seven... Becca Wright tried her best to calm her rattled nerves as she shuffled through stacks of unruly papers and file folders on her desk. Six, five, four, three, two, one. She stopped what she was doing and took a deep breath. She’d been doing intervals of ten while trying to organize her desk for thirty minutes straight, then taking ten-second breaks in between.

Ever since the receptionist for The Aunt Penny Foundation suddenly quit last week, Becca had been under more stress than she’d ever been before. Usually she was great at multitasking and managing several projects simultaneously. However, the temporary receptionist that had arrived yesterday had spent more time chatting on the phone with her friends or stepping outside for cigarette breaks than actually doing the work she’d been hired to do.

Stacy! Becca yelled after her short break was over. Where is the file for the incoming students who arrived yesterday?

After several minutes, Stacy strolled around the corner, loudly smacking her gum. Um, what do you expect from me? I just started a few days ago, so why would I know where it is?

Becca rapidly blinked her eyes. Teenagers today... I’d never talk to my boss like that. Well, yesterday your only project was to enter the information for the new students who just joined The Aunt Penny Foundation into our intranet. It was a simple job.

Stacy gave her a blank stare.

Becca waved her hands in frustration. Never mind. Just tell me where you put my messages. I’m expecting an important call.

Don’t you have a cell phone?

Yes, Becca said through gritted teeth. But not everyone has my cell phone number and it’s your job to answer the phone. I haven’t heard it ring off the hook for a while, so at least you’re doing that.

Oh no, I’m not. Stacy flipped her long black hair over her shoulder. I took it off the hook because I couldn’t hear my phone call over the loud ringing. A Jonathan Delaney kept calling.

Becca went through a mental checklist of important calls she was expecting and couldn’t recall that name. Nor did she find it in her Rolodex.

You know, Stacy continued, you should think about getting rid of the landline and only using your cell phone. No one uses landlines anymore. They don’t keep business cards, either. Everything is online now.

Unbelievable. I’m surprised you even know what a landline is. Normally, Becca would have had some more choice words for the young woman, but for now, she just needed to check her calls. Haley was working offsite with a few students, which meant Becca had a lot to accomplish with zero help from the useless temp. She wanted to confirm her appointment tomorrow with the Prescott George representative she was scheduled to meet. What was his name again? She scrunched her forehead and snapped her fingers when it came to her. Joshua DeLong.

Oh no, Becca said as she rushed out of her office to the main desk. What are the odds that Jonathan Delaney is actually Joshua DeLong? She hoped her inkling was wrong, but given her week so far, she feared he was the one who’d called before Stacy had taken the phone off the hook.

The front desk was even more unorganized than hers was. She moved Stacy’s oversize book bag from the desk. After a little more digging, she finally found the phone and was able to listen to the messages. She skipped a few until she heard the deep, silky voice of a man who introduced himself as Joshua DeLong. He’d called twice and the last abrupt voice mail he’d left was from an hour ago.

Stacy! Becca yelled again. And yet again, Stacy took her sweet time strolling to the front desk. Don’t you remember me mentioning yesterday that I was expecting an important call from Joshua DeLong? Did you even stop to think that maybe you heard his name wrong when he called?

Oh, that explains it, Stacy said, nodding her head. He sounded even more annoyed during his last voice mail.

You listened to his messages and didn’t tell me?

Instead of responding, Stacy just shrugged and walked away. Becca jotted down the number Joshua left and called him back.

Hello, this is Joshua DeLong.

Mr. DeLong, it’s Becca Wright with The Aunt Penny Foundation. I want to apologize for not receiving your voice mails until now.

It’s quite all right. I still have a couple hours before I have to go to the airport. Can you meet today?

Sure, just name the place and time. Meeting Mr. DeLong today as opposed to tomorrow was a bit of an inconvenience, but the foundation needed the assistance of Prescott George so rearranging her schedule was a necessity.

So I’m meeting you at the Southern Royal Yacht Club in South Beach? Becca was a little taken aback by the location. One had to be a member to even enter the gate of the high-class boutique marina. Members included the rich, famous and elite.

Yes. I’ll meet you at the clubhouse gate entrance. And in case you have any apprehensions, rest assured that you’ll be fine. We Royal yachtees get a bad rep since we’re so exclusive, but we’re just regular people.

Yeah, right. Okay, not a problem. I can be there in forty minutes. She ended the call a little less frazzled than she’d been before. She was sure Mr. DeLong was unaware of her upbringing since she rarely discussed her family’s social or financial status in interviews. However, she knew exactly what type of members frequented the Southern Royal Yacht Club and regular was not the word she would use to describe them.

Oh, he is hot.

Becca turned at the sound of Stacy’s voice. What did you say?

Stacy tapped her phone a few more times before walking over to Becca. Have you seen the photos online of Joshua DeLong? I Googled him while you were on the phone.

You can’t do any work, but you can eavesdrop on my calls?

Stacy didn’t respond, but instead passed her phone to Becca. Mercy. His deep blue eyes were the first feature she noticed. They were striking against his toasted-caramel complexion and curly cocoa-brown hair.

Hot, right? Stacy asked. Becca stared at the photo a little longer before passing Stacy back her phone.

Listen, I have to meet Mr. DeLong and I don’t trust you to be here by yourself, so I’m locking up the office. Why don’t you just come back tomorrow.

I still get paid for today, right?

Becca glared at Stacy. Note to self: call the temp agency after my meeting with Mr. DeLong.

Stacy, just pack your things so I can lock up. Becca needed to be fresh and alert for her meeting with Mr. DeLong and the only good thing Stacy had done since arriving was showing her that photo.

On the drive to the marina, Becca recalled everything she’d read about Joshua DeLong. Thirty-five. Never been married. No kids. Recently named one of the most influential black men in America. Built his fortune from the ground up as a corporate raider. Despite his accomplishments, she also recalled another article that named him one of the most ruthless men in America. Judging by what she knew about corporate raiders, she had to agree with some of the statements in the second article. Building your career on the misfortune of others was hardly admirable. Especially since Becca had spent the majority of her life on the opposite end of the spectrum by trying to provide fortune to the misfortunate.

As she neared the yacht club, she noticed a tall male figure standing just outside the main gate wearing basketball shorts and a white tee. Hardly the outfit one would wear for a business meeting.

She parked her car in an open spot and made her way to Joshua DeLong. The closer she got, the more nervous she got. Oh, come on, Becca, you’ve seen attractive men before. She couldn’t even make out all of his facial features since he was wearing Ray-Bans and a baseball cap, but just the way he was standing was enough to make her take notice. His posture was confident. Self-assured. He may have looked casual in his clothing, but his aura seemed anything but.

Hello, I’m Becca Wright, she said as she approached. It’s nice to meet you in person, Mr. DeLong.

Please, call me Joshua or Josh. He extended his hand.

Only if you call me Becca. She accepted his warm handshake and was rewarded by a smile that displayed a brilliant set of white teeth.

Please follow me, Becca. Becca had assumed they were meeting inside the clubhouse, until Josh walked past the building and began leading her down a ramp toward the boats.

Where are we going? she asked after several minutes.

To my yacht.

She quirked an eyebrow even though he couldn’t see her. Your yacht? As in your own private yacht?

His head slightly turned over his shoulder in her direction. Yes, my own private yacht.

She frowned. Wouldn’t it be better if we conducted business in a more public place like the clubhouse?

No. Josh continued to walk, offering her no additional explanation.

No? That’s it?

She was so busy trying to keep up with him, she hadn’t noticed that he’d slowed his stride. We’re here. He motioned for her to walk up a ramp that led to a beautiful three-story white yacht. There wasn’t much that left Becca speechless, but the sight before her hijacked her words. The yacht was grand and one of the larger vessels in the marina.

When she arrived on the first level, she noticed two packets placed on a sleek wooden table.

Please, have a seat, Josh said as he pointed to an L-shaped timber sofa with black cushions and white pillows.

She didn’t hesitate to take a seat, secretly eager to feel if the cushions were as lush as they appeared. Even more lush, she thought, adjusting herself in her seat. Josh took a seat adjacent to her.

As Becca was relishing her comfort, Josh removed his baseball cap and ran his fingers through his brown curls. I wonder if they’re as soft as they look.

Okay, shall we get down to business? Josh shuffled through some papers before he removed his Ray-Bans and glanced at her. Oh my. He smiled in a way that she assumed made women drop their panties instantly. Of course, she didn’t feel the effects of his smile, but she could see how many women would.

Yes, let’s get started. She tried her best to