Shelly Ellis Bio:
Shelly Ellis began her romance writing career when she became one of four finalists in a First-Time Writers Contest at 19 years old. The prize was a publishing contract and having her first short-story romance appear in an anthology. She has since published more short stories, two novels, and was chosen as a finalist for 2012 African American Literary Award in the romance category. Shelly released the first book in her critically-acclaimed women’s fiction, Gibbons Gold Digger series in 2013. The latest book in the series, Another Woman’s Man, comes out May 2014.When she isn’t writing novels, or editing and writing articles for her day job as a magazine editor, she and her husband are chasing after their 1-year-old daughter and catering to their tabbie cat.Visit her at her web site www.shellyellisbooks.com, on facebook at http://www.facebook.com/shelly.ellis.524, and on twitter at @ellisromance.
Shelly Ellis began her romance writing career when she became one of four finalists in a First-Time Writers Contest at 19 years old. The prize was a publishing contract and having her first short-story romance appear in an anthology. She has since published more short stories, two novels, and was chosen as a finalist for 2012 African American Literary Award in the romance category. Shelly released the first book in her critically-acclaimed women’s fiction, Gibbons Gold Digger series in 2013. The latest book in the series, Another Woman’s Man, comes out May 2014.When she isn’t writing novels, or editing and writing articles for her day job as a magazine editor, she and her husband are chasing after their 1-year-old daughter and catering to their tabbie cat.Visit her at her web site www.shellyellisbooks.com, on facebook at http://www.facebook.com/shelly.ellis.524, and on twitter at @ellisromance.
Another Woman’s
Man blurb:
Dawn Gibbons is shocked when her
long-lost father reappears in her life. Seriously ill, his dying wish is to
reconnect with her. But for Dawn, it’s complicated—her wealthy father comes
complete with jealous relatives—and a handsome young lawyer Dawn finds dangerously
sexy. He’s dangerous because he’s engaged—to her newfound half-sister. One
thing a Gibbons woman doesn't do is steal her sister's man. Yet for the first
time, Dawn may care about love more than money. . .
Xavier Hughes isn't easily thrown,
but the electricity between him and Dawn leaves him unsettled. And when his
suspicious fiancée insists he investigate Dawn's background, it only pushes him
closer to the one woman he should resist. Soon, holding back isn’t an option,
and both Xavier and Dawn will have to face the consequences of breaking the
family rules.
Buy either the
paperback or ebook version at most book retailers, including
Amazon: http://amzn.com/0758290381
Barnes &
Noble:
http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/another-womans-man-shelly-ellis/1116150354?ean=9780758290380&itm=1&usri=shelly+ellis
Chapter
1
(Unwritten) Rule No. 5 of the Gibbons Family Handbook:
Family always
comes first—while men come somewhere between shoes and handbags.
He’s
amazing!”
“I
know! Isn’t he brilliant?”
“The
show is wonderful! Just wonderful!”
If they only
knew,
Dawn Gibbons thought as she glanced around the crowded gallery.
She
looked at the people strolling throughout the exhibition space, at the couples
who stared at the canvases on the exposed brick walls and nodded in
appreciation, and she wanted to give herself a toast. She hadn’t thought she
would be able to pull this off, considering the limited amount of time she had
to organize this exhibition, considering how much arm twisting she had to do to
get tonight’s featured artist to just pick up a paintbrush and paint something! But she had done it.
Despite all the obstacles she had faced, tonight had been a resounding success.
Dawn didn’t toast herself, but she downed what was left of her Moët &
Chandon and smiled.
“Great
work, darling!” said Percy, the gallery’s owner, in his British accent as he
sailed toward her.
He
was wearing a leather jacket and faded jeans today—an outfit that was much too
young for a man his age. His thinning gray hair was pulled back with a rubber
band, leaving a knobby stub of hair at the end. The three top buttons of his
silk shirt were open, revealing the wiry hairs on his pale chest. He wrapped a
skinny arm around Dawn’s waist and gave her an affectionate squeeze.
“Thanks,
Percy.” She wrinkled her nose at the overpowering smell of his cologne and
nodded. “It did turn out well, didn’t it?”
“We
should go somewhere after the show and celebrate, darling,” he whispered warmly
as he leaned toward her ear. The smell of his cologne became five times
stronger. The heat of his breath on her cheek almost singed her. “Maybe you’ll
finally let me take you out to dinner.” His hand descended from her waist to
her ass. He petted it gently—like he would a purring kitten—and winked one of
his blue eyes at her. “What do you say?”
“Oh,
you don’t have to do that.” She slowly removed Percy’s hand from her bottom.
“But thank you for the offer.”
Percy
was one of the few rich men in Dawn’s social circle whom she hadn’t dated, and
quite frankly, she didn’t have any plans to ever date him. He was her boss! Her
art and her work as gallery director were more important to her. Unfortunately,
Percy wasn’t accustomed to women turning him down, which probably made him even
more eager to get her to dinner and finally get into her pants. She was a
challenge to him now, the Mt. Everest that he had yet to climb. But she
desperately wished he would take his mountain boots and pick and climb
somewhere else.
“I
should go around the room and mingle.” Dawn patted his arm soothingly, hoping
to soften the blow of her rejection. “You know, make sure everyone is enjoying
themselves and—more importantly—buying the artwork.”
“Yes.
Yes, of course, darling.” His smile tightened, barely masking his
disappointment. “Mingle! Mingle! Don’t let me keep you.”
She
turned and walked away, handing off her empty glass to one of the waiters who
strolled around the room with Lucite trays covered with hors d’oeuvres and
champagne glasses.
Her
sister Lauren’s restaurant Le Bayou Bleu was catering the event with
Southern-style, high-end cuisine that all the patrons couldn’t seem to get
enough of. In fact, she heard whispers from the staff that they were
dangerously close to running out of food.
Lauren
couldn’t be here tonight herself to supervise. She was still on maternity leave
and was at home with her infant son, Crisanto Jr., but Dawn’s other two sisters
had shown their support by coming to the event. Her very pregnant sister,
Stephanie, had waddled through an hour ago. She had purchased one of the
smaller pieces on display before leaving the gallery with a mouthful of shrimp.
Dawn’s eldest sister Cynthia had left fifteen minutes later. She said she had a
date with a very wealthy construction company owner and had to run home to
change clothes.
“He’s
handsome, charming, and he pulled in seven figures last year, girl. You never
know,” Cynthia had remarked. “He could be the
one!”
By
“the one” Dawn assumed Cynthia really
meant number three, since this would be Cynthia’s third husband if she managed to get this one down the aisle.
Though, truth be told, Dawn had little room to talk herself. She had been
married twice before also, continuing the long tradition in her family of women
who married often and divorced just as frequently. But unlike Cynthia, Dawn had
little interest in finding a third husband.
Dawn
had been doing some soul-searching and self-examination lately with all the
changes that were going on around her. Two of her sisters had fallen in love.
One had recently had a baby and the other had one on the way. Dawn felt like
she had reached a point in her life when obtaining a rich husband wasn’t as
important to her anymore. Besides, rich men were a lot like the temperamental
artists whose work she featured at her gallery. They both required coddling and
their egos had to be constantly fed. She didn’t have time to cater to both
right now.
Dawn
continued her path across the gallery, adjusting the cowl neck of her maroon
top and the hem of her asymmetrical wool skirt as she went.
“Congratulations,
dearest,” said Madison McGuire, a small-town girl who made good by marrying one
of the most powerful lobbyists in Washington, D.C. Now the wealthy D.C.
socialite patronized the local art scene.
“Thank
you for coming, Maddie!” Dawn said, leaning forward and lightly kissing the air
beside Maddie’s rouged cheek.
“Oh,
I wouldn’t miss it for the world!” Maddie exclaimed. She took a sip from the
champagne glass. “The exhibit is fascinating . . . and of course, I have to do
my research!”
“Research? You know, a little birdie told me that you’re thinking about buying Sawyer
Gallery, but I wasn’t sure if that was just a rumor.”
Maddie
laughed. “Oh, it’s not a rumor. I can assure you of that! Martin Sawyer is
ready to move on to a new venture, and I told him I’d happily take the gallery
off his hands. We signed the paperwork a month ago. I plan to hold our grand
opening sometime in the spring.” She leaned toward Dawn and whispered, “Do you
think you would be interested in changing venues? I’d love to have you at the
helm of my gallery.”
Dawn
glanced across the room at Percy, who was idly groping some bouncy young blonde
as he stood among a circle of friends.
Maddie’s
offer was certainly tempting. Unlike with Percy, Dawn wouldn’t have to worry
about Maddie patting her ass and trying to seduce her on a weekly basis. Plus,
Dawn had always admired Maddie. If there was nothing a Gibbons girl loved more,
it was a fellow woman who used her wiles and her wits to climb the
socioeconomic ladder, a woman who knew how to “get her hustle on” but to do it
with grace and style.
But
Dawn liked the control Percy gave her over the gallery. She loved her staff.
She was comfortable here.
Dawn
sighed. “I don’t think I would, Maddie, but thank you for the offer.”
Maddie
glanced in Percy’s direction. He and the blonde were now making kissy faces at
each other, making Dawn cringe.
“Are
you sure?” Maddie asked again. “I
heard Percy can be quite the handful.”
You have no idea, Dawn thought.
She hesitated then nodded. “I’m sure.”
“Oh,
well. It was worth a try.” Maddie waved her hand. “Always good to see you,
Dawn.”
“You
too,” Dawn replied, continuing to make her way across the cavernous space. She
stopped now and then to talk to and kiss the cheeks of a few patrons, but she
soon noticed two men she hadn’t seen before. They were standing near one of the
floor-to-ceiling canvases on the far side of the gallery. They drew her
attention because their staid business attire made them stand out like sore
thumbs from the rest of the flamboyantly dressed art crowd.
The
shorter of the two stood in front of one of the paintings, gazing at it
admiringly. The elderly gentleman was dark-skinned and very distinguished
looking with his navy blazer, tan slacks, white dress shirt, and penny loafers.
He leaned his weight against a bamboo cane as he bent forward to read the
plaque near the painting.
Beside
him was a man who was almost a foot taller and was several decades younger. He
was less engrossed in the artwork than his companion. Instead, he stared in
amazement at the people in the gallery as if he were watching circus
performers. His honey-colored skin and short dark hair was in striking contrast
to his pale gray eyes that she could see distinctly even at this distance. He
was handsome, though a little too straitlaced for her taste.
Accountant? she thought as
she scanned his perfect black suit, sensible blue tie, and starched white shirt.
No, he’s probably an actuary, I bet. Any
person who dresses that boring has to be in insurance.
She
slowly walked toward them. Boring or not, they could be prospective
buyers—wealthy suburbanites with a lot of cash to spend who wanted to impress
their friends with the discovery of a hot new artist.
“Hello,”
Dawn said. She extended her hand. “My name is Dawn Gibbons. Is this your first
time at our gallery?”
She
offered her hand to the older gentleman first. He hesitated before taking it.
“Hello,”
he said softly, finally shaking her hand. His wrinkled face filled with warmth.
“It’s a . . . a pleasure to finally meet you, Dawn,” he began nervously. “I-I
had debated on coming here tonight. I couldn’t work up the nerve at first until
my friend, Xavier, here,” he nodded toward the younger man who stood silently
at his side, “agreed to come with me. But I really wanted to . . . Oh, listen
to me ramble. I should introduce myself first.” He cleared his throat. “My . .
. My name is Herbert Allen.”
“Pleased
to meet you, Mr. Allen.” She nodded in greeting. “Thank you for coming to our
gallery.” She pointed toward the painting. “So tell me, are you interested in
this piece?”
He
paused and gazed at her quizzically. “You’ve . . . you’ve never heard of me
before?”
Dawn’s
smile faded. She shook her head. “No, I’m sorry. I haven’t.”
He
looked deflated.
Now
put on the spot, Dawn quickly flipped through her mental Rolodex, trying to
recall the name, Herbert Allen, but she came up with a blank. She hoped he
wasn’t someone important. Percy would be royally PO’d if he found out she had
offended one of his friends.
Suddenly,
something came to mind. She snapped her fingers. “Oh, I remember now! I’m so
sorry. Tonight has been so crazy and I’ve been so frazzled!” She laughed and
patted his shoulder, turning back on the charm. “Herbert Allen. Yes, I
remember. We met at the spring benefit last year, didn’t we?”
He
and the younger man exchanged a look. He then
shook his head. “No, we didn’t meet at a spring benefit. In fact, we’ve
never met before. I had . . . I had hoped your mother had mentioned me, at
least.” He shrugged. “But I guess not.”
Dawn
frowned. “My mother?”
He
took a deep breath and gazed into her eyes. “I’m your father, Dawn.”
“What?” Her gaze
shifted between the two men. “I’m sorry. Is . . . is this some kind of a joke?”
“No,
it’s not a joke. I really am your father.”
He
took a step toward her and she took a hesitant step back, trying desperately to
process what she was hearing.
“Dawn,
I wanted to have a chance to—”
“Wait.
Wait! Stop! Back up!” She held up her hands. Her heart thudded like a snare
drum in her chest. “What are you talking about? What do you mean you’re my
father? I . . .” She took a deep breath, fighting to regain her calm. “I
haven’t seen or heard from my father in thirty-seven years and you . . . you
just show up out of the blue like this! You just blurt this out!”
His
eyes lowered to the hardwood floor. “I know and I’m sorry. I didn’t want to do
it this way, but I don’t have—”
“No!”
She furiously shook her head. “No, I’m not . . . I’m not doing this.”
Dawn
turned around and walked away from him. She angrily strode toward the gallery’s
revolving glass doors, ignoring the curious stares that followed her as she
passed. She felt as if she had been ambushed. Was he really her father? If so,
why did he choose tonight of all nights to announce himself? Why hadn’t he
picked up a phone and called? Couldn’t he have sent a letter? This was
ridiculous! She was practically trembling with anger and confusion. She had to
get out of there.
“Darling,
where are you going?” Percy called after her, but she ignored him.
Dawn
stepped into the gallery’s foyer. It was decorated for the holiday season with
garlands, holly, and twinkling Christmas lights, but she certainly wasn’t in
the holiday mood right now. Just before she reached the doors, she felt a
strong hand clamp around her wrist. She whipped her head around and looked up.
When she did, she was staring into the gray eyes of the wannabe actuary. His
warm touch and gaze instantly made her tingle, catching her by surprise. It was
a feeling she didn’t want right now. She yanked her wrist out of his grasp.
“Can
you hear him out?” he asked. “It took a lot of courage for him to come here
tonight!”
“Courage?” She glared up
at him. “Is that what you call it? Why didn’t he find that same damn courage
ten or twenty years ago? Where the hell has he been all this time? Why is he
doing this here? Why now?”
His
stern expression softened and once again she was struck by how handsome he was.
“Look,
Herb knows that he hasn’t been the best father to you. Believe me. But your
mother didn’t exactly make it easy for him these past years.”
Dawn
narrowed her eyes at the mention of her mother. She crossed her arms over her
chest. “Excuse me?”
“Look,
all that it’ll take is ten minutes of your time. He came all this way. Just . .
. Just let him explain himself. Please? He has a lot that he would like to get
off his chest and he doesn’t have much time left to do it.”
“What?
What do you mean?”
“Your
father is sick, Dawn. He has cancer . . . and the prognosis isn’t good.”
Dawn’s
arms dropped to her sides. She stared at him in disbelief.
God,
this was a lot to take in! Here she was in the middle of an exhibition and her
apparent long-lost father had suddenly popped up out of nowhere, and now she
had the added shock of finding out he was dying from cancer. What was she going
to find out next? That a spaceship had landed outside the gallery? Dawn closed
her eyes and raised her hands to her now-throbbing temples. She desperately
wished her sisters were here. She could use one of their shoulders to lean on
right now.
“Will you give him a chance?”
wannabe actuary asked quietly. “Hear what he has to say?”
Dawn opened her eyes. She was still
furious, but part of her worried that she would regret this moment if she
walked out the gallery and didn’t come back.
“Fine.”
She
then walked back across the gallery with wannabe actuary trailing behind her.
As she crossed the room, she
examined the older man more closely. He had skin the same shade as her own and
large dark eyes she could have easily inherited. Those dark eyes now gazed at
her worriedly.
Her
mother had never talked about her father—or any of Dawn’s sisters’ fathers, for
that matter.
“As
long as he takes care of his financial obligations to you, what difference does
it make whether you see him?” Yolanda Gibbons would ask when her daughters were
younger and they openly wondered why they had not received so much as a
birthday card or telephone call from any their fathers. “We’re important,” Yolanda would insist. “Not a man who knows
absolutely nothing about you.”
Though
Dawn had longed for her father in her younger years, she had gradually accepted
her mother’s opinion on the issue as she got older. If Dawn’s father really had
cared, he would have tried to contact her. He would have moved heaven and earth
to let her know he wanted her and loved her. Now as she watched the man
claiming to be her father take uncertain steps toward her, she knew there was
no real explanation he could offer for his absence all these years. But she
would listen. She would give him his ten minutes then send him on his way.
“Thank
you for coming back,” he said gently. He leaned most of his weight on his cane.
“I apologize for how I did this. I didn’t want to tell you this over the phone,
and I didn’t know how to—”
“Not here,” she said firmly, cutting
him off. “We can talk in my office.”
She walked around him and led him
toward a corridor filled with a series of rooms at the back of the gallery. She
paused at her office door and turned. “In here,” she said, motioning toward the
doorway.
He glanced up at the younger man.
“I’ll take it from here, Xavier,” he
said. “Thank you.”
Xavier looked at Herbert, then at
Dawn. Their eyes met. She cocked her eyebrow in challenge. Was he going to
insist he come along?
After
some time, Xavier finally nodded. “Okay, I’ll . . . I’ll wait here.”
Herbert continued down the corridor.
“But call me if you need me!” Xavier
shouted out to him.
Herbert nodded and waved him away.
“Don’t worry. I’ll be fine.”
“Is
he your bodyguard or something?” she whispered when Herbert stood next to her.
She
still eyed the actuary guardedly. He equally scrutinized her from the other end
of the hall.
“Close,” Herbert said with a soft chuckle.
“He’s my lawyer . . . well, corporate counsel for my company.”
Lawyer,
huh?
Well,
she guessed he wasn’t an actuary after all.
Dawn ushered Herbert into her small
eight- by eight-foot office and shut the door behind him. She had kept the
space simple in its décor with an industrial design desk and leather chairs. A
bookshelf was on the right wall. The only adornment in the office was the
several paintings by the gallery’s many artists and a few works of hers.
“Have a seat,” she said, gesturing
to one of the chairs opposite her desk.
She sat down in her rollaway desk
chair and watched as he carefully lowered himself into his. When he sat down,
he let out a barely stifled groan.
He
does look sick, she thought as she looked at his slightly ashen face.
“Dawn,”
he began, “I understand that you’re angry with me, but I didn’t want to put
this off another day. I’ve been putting off coming to see you for weeks now.”
“Why?”
He lowered his eyes. “Because I know
it’s something I should have done years ago and I feel like such a . . . such a
bastard for taking so long to do it, sweetheart.”
Sweetheart?
It was odd hearing a stranger call her that.
He
hesitated. “When you were a little girl, I had thought about seeing you. But
your mother and I did not part amicably, to be honest. I allowed my feelings
toward your mother to taint whatever possibility we had of developing a
relationship. I was . . . I was wrong for doing that.”
Dawn didn’t say anything in
response. What was there to say?
“I
didn’t find out about you until after you were born,” he continued. “My lawyer
at the time got a letter from your mother stating that she had a baby and that
she was seeking child support. I was . . .” He paused again. “I was very
shocked . . . and angry. You see, Yolanda and I hadn’t dated for very long.”
“Long
enough to make a baby, though,” Dawn interjected, leaning back in her chair.
“That
is true. I’m not denying that. But again, we had dated only briefly. We were
together for only a month or so and then I was transferred to my company’s
satellite office in Europe. I never got the chance to really know her. Then my
lawyer found out a bit more about her . . . her background. The marriages . . .
How she dated wealthy men almost exclusively. When I found out, I felt . . . manipulated
. . . duped, in a way. Like she had
used my affections and—”
“Trapped you?” Dawn finished
for him. She rolled her eyes. “Look, if you’re here to talk shit about my mom,
we can end this conversation right now.” She began to rise from her chair. “Thank
you, Mr. Allen, for your visit, but—”
“No,
no! That’s not what I intended. I just . . .” He took a deep breath. “I just
wanted you to know why I did what I did. There’s no excuse for it, but that was
my thinking at the time. Please, Dawn. Please sit down.”
Her
nostrils flared. She slowly lowered herself to her seat, crossed her legs, and
adjusted the hem of her skirt.
“Sweetheart,
I didn’t come here to insult your mother or to make you angry. I came here to
try to make amends. I’m not well. I have . . . I have prostate cancer, and
despite my doctors’ best efforts, it’s . . . it’s spread.”
“I’m
sorry to hear that,” she said quietly, and she meant it.
He
cleared his throat. “When you’re faced with an illness, you start to reexamine
your life and the mistakes you’ve made. Not building a relationship with you
was one of my biggest mistakes, and I would like to rectify that if I can.”
“How?”
“I’d
like to get to know you, Dawn, and to spend time with you, if you will allow
it. Maybe we can have dinner together or spend a day or two together. Whatever
you would like to do, I’m willing to do it.”
Dawn
closed her eyes again. She didn’t want to be cruel, but this was too much, way too much. She hadn’t even known this
man existed until fifteen minutes ago. Now he wanted to build a relationship.
She opened her eyes.
“Maybe.
But can I . . . can I take some time to think about this?”
He
gazed at her for a long time then finally nodded. “Sure, I understand.”
But
he didn’t look like he understood. He looked disappointed.
Dawn
rose from her chair and he followed suit. She walked him to her office door.
When she opened the door, he turned and looked at her.
“Even
. . . even if we don’t see one another again, Dawn, it was a pleasure to
finally meet you,” he said, offering her his hand.
She
shook it. “It was a pleasure to meet you too, Mr. Allen.”
He
gave a small smile. “Please, you don’t have to call me Dad, but at least call
me Herb.”
“It
was a pleasure to meet you, Herb.”
He
opened his jacket and handed her a business card. “If you do wish to meet
again, here is my number. I do hope . . . I do hope to hear from you, Dawn. I
sincerely do.”
“Thank
you,” she said, taking his card.
She
watched as he stepped into the corridor. He was still gazing at her as she shut
the door behind him. When the lock clicked, she fell against the wooden slab
and let out a pent-up breath she didn’t know she had been holding all this
time.
