Tempting The Mogul. Marcia King-Gamble

had always thought it a total waste that a studio like TSW would focus on lighthearted sitcoms and trashy talk shows. They should be making documentaries educating the public on the HIV situation in African countries, or life in war-torn Iraq.

      He rapped on the door while Diane hissed behind him, “Salim, come on now. Your dad’s in the middle of an interview.”

      Without waiting for an invitation, Salim waltzed in. He found the mogul on his knees in front of the seated woman he was supposedly interviewing. Tanner looked up, his pinched expression reflecting his surprise.

      Salim cleared his throat. It was obvious what the dirty old goat had been up to or was about to do. And to think he’d admired the woman and thought she was classy.

      Tanner slowly got to his feet, dusting the lint off his slacks.

      “I gave Diane instructions I was not be disturbed,” he said all bluster.

      “Yes, I know.”

      The woman was watching them intently. She didn’t seem overly concerned.

      “Your pearl earring has to be here somewhere, Kennedy,” Tanner said, brusquely. “I’ll have the cleaners look for it before they vacuum. If it can’t be found I’ll replace it.”

      As though Salim was supposed to believe that. So much for initial impressions; wholesome she was not. She was just another ho, except this one was more cleaned up.

      The studio head now stood with his arms crossed. He was a tall, distinguished-looking man with silvering hair, wide shoulders, a bit of a gut and an intimidating stance. Yet women were drawn to him like a magnet. Salim never could understand why. It certainly couldn’t be his overbearing personality, so he had to attribute it to his power and wealth. And Tanner was a powerful man with influential contacts.

      “When a door’s closed it usually means a person is busy,” his father barked.

      “I knocked. You wanted to see me and here I am.” Salim glanced at his watch. “I have to be some place in exactly thirty-five minutes.”

      His father’s woman stood, smoothing the skirt that had slid up to her thighs. She was as cool and brassy as they came.

      “Thank you for your time, Mr. Washington,” she said. “You’ve certainly given me a lot to think about. May I get back to you tomorrow with an answer?”

      She sounded formal, almost prim; a departure from the usual classless type Tanner went for. It was an act, had to be.

      “Of course you may, and if I can do anything more to help make up your mind, don’t hesitate to call.” Tanner handed her a business card. “I’ll see you out.”

      With a smile and a nod she made her way by Salim. Tanner stopped for a moment to make introductions.

      “Kennedy Fitzgerald is a leadership consultant. I’m hopeful that she will soon join our team of executives. Kennedy, this is my son, Salim.”

      Kennedy’s handshake was brief but firm. Salim swallowed the bile at the back of his throat. The audacity of the old man, hiring a woman he was involved with, as if he hadn’t embarrassed his wife, Lucinda, enough.

      “It’s a pleasure to meet you. Were you in the lobby earlier?” Kennedy Fitzgerald asked.

      “I was.”

      Salim took his time looking her over, letting his eyes slowly slide up and down her long legs. She wore sensible pumps and her navy suit reminded him of a banker. The plain white blouse under it covered her full breasts. Kennedy’s hair was held back from her face with a tortoiseshell headband and was evenly trimmed.

      Now he knew that conservative outfit was a cover. The sparkle in those slightly slanted eyes indicated she was not as prim as she looked. He’d seen with his own eyes his father on his knees between those long legs of hers.

      “Is something wrong?” the Fitzgerald woman asked as he continued to stare.

      “Actually, I was thinking that you might not be a very good fit for a television studio. Creative artsy types tend to get wild and you are as conservative as they come.”

      “Am I, now?”

      She was as cool as an icicle. He doubted anything rattled her.

      Tanner’s brows furrowed and his eyes flashed disapprovingly. Salim continued to smile. Tanner nodded curtly in his direction. He held his latest by the elbow and eased her toward the door.

      “We’ll talk tomorrow. If I can do anything to sweeten the pot just let me know,” he said, closing the door behind her.

      Arms folded across his chest and gut, camouflaged in an expensive suit, Tanner faced Salim. “How dare you!”

      “How dare I what?”

      “You come barging in here when you obviously knew I was in a meeting.”

      “You said you wanted to see me. You had Diane call.”

      Salim looked directly into the eyes of the man he’d been told he was the spitting image of. At thirty-three he refused to be intimidated. They looked nothing alike. He favored his mother, not this arrogant man with the overinflated ego.

      “And you informed Diane you were too busy and couldn’t make the time to meet with me. You said you were jet-lagged.”

      “I was. I still am.”

      “But you made the time to see your mother.”

      “I always have time for my mother.”

      Unlike you. The unspoken words hung between them.

      “Have a seat,” Tanner said, waving Salim toward a huge black leather couch.

      The casting couch.

      He’d be damned if he sat down on that thing. Who knew what disgusting things lived in that sofa?

      “I prefer to stand,” Salim answered, arms also folded, mimicking the man who had given him life. “What’s so urgent that it required me being here? We haven’t spoken in months.”

      “That was your decision,” Tanner reminded him quietly.

      Yes, indeed it had been his decision. He was sick and tired of watching this man hurt his mother. Their lifestyles were so very different anyway. Tanner loved living large and enjoyed the glitz and glamour that came with the television business. Salim despised it. He much preferred to do something useful like help change lives. His money was used to make a difference in other people’s circumstances. That’s why his last jaunt to Africa had been so satisfying. He’d enjoyed seeing what a little money could do to enhance lives. This upcoming trip would be even more rewarding. The clinic in Haiti badly needed staffing and money for medical supplies. He’d managed to get some substantial contributions.

      A few years ago Salim and a partner had started a foundation that helped promote safe sex globally. Their ultimate goal was to educate and stem the transmittal of the HIV virus, particularly in some African and Caribbean countries.

      The good thing about having a trust fund was that it gave him the freedom to travel and donate funds as he saw fit. A nine-to-five job would not allow him to pick up and leave whenever he wanted to. Of course he preferred not to remember that TSW Studios made his way of life possible.

      “Perhaps you had better take a seat,” Tanner repeated, his expression serious. “What I am going to say will take some time, and then we’ll need to meet with the lawyers. There’s some paperwork to go over.”

      Since it sounded serious Salim sat. He would strangle the old bastard with his bare hands if he told him he was going to divorce his mother and replace her with a younger model.

      Kennedy Fitzgerald to be exact.

      Kennedy had a lot to think about. Tanner Washington’s job offer had come out of the blue, and at the perfect time. But it sounded as though she would be