Tempting The Mogul. Marcia King-Gamble

to Haiti. That one-hundred-dollar cancellation fee could have fed numerous orphans or treated HIV-positive babies. Wasting that money made him angry and thinking about what he would be responsible for in the next several months made him even angrier.

      He was not at all interested in the television business, nor was he cut out to be an executive. But now he was expected to step into his father’s shoes and make decisions that meant nothing to him. It seemed ironic that after doing everything he could to avoid the corporate trap, fate had dealt him this blow.

      Much as he despised his father, it was his father’s money that had allowed him to travel to third world, HIV-ridden countries. And no matter how much Salim disliked his dad, Tanner was sick and someone had to at least try and keep the company running. It was the whole family’s livelihood. But that didn’t mean he had to be happy about it.

      The cell phone clipped to his waistband played a rhythmic jingle.

      “It’s Diane,” his father’s assistant said in her no-nonsense voice. “What’s your schedule like for Thursday this week?”

      “I was supposed to be in Haiti. Now it seems I am free.”

      “Good. I’m scheduling a meeting for 2:00 p.m. Please be sure to be on time.”

      “And the agenda is?” Salim probed.

      “That I don’t know, but the newly hired leadership consultant will be there, as well.”

      “Leadership consultant? Tell me you’re kidding.”

      “Didn’t you meet the young woman?”

      “If I did, she wasn’t very memorable.”

      “Her name is Kennedy Fitzgerald. She was being interviewed last week when you were here. That was the day you barged in on your father.”

      Salim recalled the woman in the blue business suit, the one he’d thought classy and different, until he’d realized she was involved with his father.

      “Uh, she’s a leadership consultant?” he scoffed. “I’ve heard it called a lot of things.”

      “Actually she has excellent credentials, and as of this week she’s officially on the payroll. I’m going to have to run, I have several phones ringing.”

      When Diane hung up, Salim paced for several minutes before making another call. Why would TSW Studios need a leadership consultant? Maybe they planned on shooting a sitcom about a life coach and the woman had agreed to be the consultant. More likely, his father needed a legitimate reason to keep his girlfriend around. What gumption and what a total waste of money. Money he could use to do something good.

      He decided to call his sister, Christiane. She was usually good at putting things in perspective.

      “Salim, it’s good to hear from you,” Christiane said the moment she heard his voice.

      They caught up on the family issues before he broached his real reason for calling.

      “Did you know that the old man had three minor heart attacks and is now scheduled for bypass surgery?” he asked.

      “No I didn’t!” Christiane cried. “Dad’s never said a word, but that explains his frequent trips to Houston. They have some of the best heart surgeons there. Mom must have known something about this, but she never let on.”

      “That’s because the old buzzard told her to keep her mouth shut. You know she’ll do whatever he asks,” Salim muttered bitterly.

      “Oh, Salim, there you go again. Can’t you make peace with Dad and move on? He could probably use your help and support right now.”

      Salim snorted. “In that case he shouldn’t have hired his girlfriend to work at the studio.”

      “What!”

      “You heard me. I know squat about the television business and now I’m being railroaded into coming on board.” A horrifying thought gripped him, one he was reluctant to put into words.

      “You have no proof,” Christiane admonished. “Dad’s pushing sixty. He’s getting up there in years and we’re the only two children he has. Why is it you always want to believe the worst of him?”

      “I can’t summon up compassion for a liar and a cheat. Don’t you recall what he put our mother through growing up?”

      “You and your assumptions.”

      “Not assumptions. There’s been proof.” Salim began to recite events and situations, all captured either on film or in the newspaper.

      But there was no swaying Christiane to his way of thinking. She was Daddy’s girl, always was and always would be.

      Perhaps it was high time he paid a visit home.

      Talking to his mother on the phone was one thing, but seeing her face-to-face was another. He’d planned on taking her out to lunch and giving her the gift he’d brought back from Africa anyway. There was no danger of running into the old man midafternoon, so why not just go on over?

      Rather than take his pickup truck, he opted for his Vespa scooter. There was something about riding that sleek machine with the wind blowing in his face and the motor throbbing between his legs that made him feel invincible. He’d always marched to the beat of his own drummer anyway, and he wasn’t about to change.

      Zooming in and out of traffic, Salim whipped across the bridge and onto Mercer Island where the family had its home. He navigated several winding roads before heading up a tree-lined driveway. He left the Vespa parked in front of the rambling brick mansion that he’d called home growing up.

      Salim used the house key he kept on his key ring, but seldom used.

      “Salim. Did somebody die?” Tilly the housekeeper who’d been a second mother to him asked as he sailed through the front door. She wiped her hands on the apron wrapped around her ample waist.

      “No, no one died. I’m here to see my mother and you.” He gave her the full force of his smile.

      “Consider yourself lucky that I like you,” she said, offering up a plump cheek for his kiss. Matilda, Tilly for short, was one of those rotund, ageless women whose fat prevented her from wrinkling.

      She frowned at him. “You need to leave those muddy boots on the doormat. The floors were just done and I’ll be damned if I’m going to have you mess them up. How was Africa or wherever you’re coming from this time?”

      “Lots of work, Tilly. I’m exhausted.” Salim slipped off his boots and left them where she’d instructed.

      “Your mother’s in the bedroom. She has one of her headaches, probably brought on by you,” Tilly snorted. “Is that gift for her?”

      “Yes, it is.”

      Salim left her and headed down a long hallway toward his mother’s bedroom. Although she didn’t think he knew it, it had been years since she and Tanner had shared a room. The old man’s room was on the opposite end of the hall close to the staircase so that he could come and go as he pleased.

      What a way to live.

      Salim knocked lightly. He heard a stirring from inside and then his mother’s voice came at him.

      “Tilly, didn’t I say I didn’t want to be disturbed?”

      “It’s me, Mother.”

      “Salim! You’re back.” There was genuine joy in her tone. “What brings you here? I would’ve thought you’d be home sleeping and jet-lagged.”

      The door opened slowly. Lucinda, dressed in an elegant silk robe, embraced him. It reminded him of when he was a little boy and got hurt. It was always his mother’s arms he sought.

      They’d always had a special bond. Lucinda understood his need to carve out a life for himself. Her easygoing nature and acceptance of others made her a pushover for her dominant