Betrayal (33 page)

“So are you saying that you want to have a relationship with Lexi?” Mason asked, with an eyebrow raised.

“Not just yet, but … I’m open to dating.” Trey smiled. He felt happy for the first time in a long while. His dad had finally accepted his call. He and Ariel had reconciled, and there was a fine, sexy woman on the horizon who didn’t belong to another man. Yes, life was indeed good.

NAPA VALLEY
was picturesque. The rolling hills of endless vineyards and renovated, century-old tasting rooms were straight out of a movie scene. Being in Napa was like stepping back in time. The pace was slow and unhurried, with the focus being on creating great vintages. Preston had come to northern California to drink wine, relax in mud baths, eat scrumptious meals, and think. He had to get out of Washington. Ariel, Trey, and Michele had been calling him nonstop. He had called two days after the melee and fired Michele. He had spoken to Trey briefly, but had yet to address Ariel. He had checked with the messenger service, and they confirmed that his wife had received the divorce papers. He thought that he would have heard from her the second she received the papers, but he didn’t.

Preston couldn’t believe that his marriage was over. More importantly, he had a hard time digesting the fact that Ariel had fucked his son. For the past year, Preston had been living a lie, unbeknownst to him. When he woke up in the hospital, after his ministroke, he had no idea what had happened. The last thing he remembered was talking to Michele and Trey on the phone. They were at the airport on their way to the Cayman Islands for a long weekend. Their trip was
spur of the moment, as if Trey was trying to appease Michele for something he had done. Preston remembered asking Trey if he had gotten his hand caught in the cookie jar. Little did he know that Trey had been dipping in his private stash.

When he finally regained consciousness and saw his doctor, he was informed that he had had a ministroke, which short-circuited his short-term memory. The doctor told him not to worry, that his memory would eventually return. He wasn’t alarmed. He remembered everyone closest to him, and remembered working with Robert to secure the nomination. Preston was under the impression that he knew the important details of his life. But Ariel, Trey, and Michele were hiding one very important fact, the fact that his fiancée was cheating behind his back. What really unnerved him was that Ariel had the gall to go through with the wedding after she had fucked his son. He could almost understand her going to the Black Door, since he had been putting his career before their relationship. And he could almost understand her attraction to a younger man, but he would never in a trillion years understand how she could have had sex with Trey once she learned his identity. He had known Ariel since she was a law clerk, and thought that he knew her inside and out, but he was wrong. The woman that he fell in love with would never have betrayed him in such a hideous way. Her actions were unforgivable, and he had no other choice but to file for divorce. Preston only wished that he could have also filed suit against his son, but he couldn’t divorce Trey; it wasn’t that simple. He had given life to the boy—well, he wasn’t a boy any longer—and watched him grow into a man. But never in his wildest dreams did he think that his boy, his pride and joy, would betray him.

He swirled the wine in the handsome glass, stuck his nose in, and took a deep whiff. He then held the glass up to the sunlight, checked out the rich ruby color, and the legs slowly trailing down the side of the glass. He took a sip, and savored the fragrant liquor on his palate. This was not his first or second trip to the wine country. He had been there numerous times in the past, and was experienced at wine tasting. He knew exactly what to look for. The vintage Zinfandel was superb. It
was rich and buttery, with hints of berries and chocolate, and slid down his throat with ease. Preston was standing on the small balcony of Venge vineyards enjoying the view and the wine, but he knew that he needed to make an important phone call. He took his cell out of his jeans pocket—he had abandoned his suits for more leisurely attire, since coming out west—and dialed the ten-digit number.

“Trey, it’s your dad.”

“Hey, how are you?’ Trey was happy to hear from his father. The last time they talked, Preston had rushed him off the phone. “Are you back from your vacation?”

“No, but I thought we needed to talk.”

Trey swallowed hard, trying to brace himself for the tongue-lashing that he knew he deserved. “Dad, before you start, let me say that I’m so sorry for—”

“Stop, Trey. I didn’t call to hear your apologies again. I called to ask you how you convinced Senator Oglesby to support my candidacy.”

Trey hadn’t expected this question, but since everything had been exposed, he figured he might as well tell the entire truth. At this point, he was all out of lies. “When you were in the hospital, before you regained consciousness, Ariel called my cell, and left a message that you had had a stroke. Well, Michele and I cut our weekend short, and rushed back to the States. I went to the hospital, but you were still in a coma. That’s when Ariel told me that you had come to her apartment with knowledge that I owned the Black Door. All I could think about was you losing the nomination because of me. After going to the hospital to check on you, I went immediately to your town house. I was looking for evidence to link me to the Black Door. The first thing I saw once I entered your office was a crumpled-up piece of paper. I picked it up, and read that the senator had found out that I owned the Black Door. At that point, I put two and two together, and realized that the senator would probably withdraw your name from the candidacy list. I didn’t want’s you to suffer the consequences of my actions, so I called in a favor.” He then told Preston about the senator’s wife’s involvement with the Black Door. “You won the nomination, married Ariel, and as far as I was concerned, that was the end of the story.”

“But you were sadly mistaken. The story, as you are aware, didn’t end there.” Preston took another sip of his wine, savoring the point.

“Dad, please forgive me. I swear on my life that if I had known who Ariel was that first night at the club, I would have never given her a second look. And as far as going to her apartment, I don’t have an excuse …” his words trailed off.

Preston could hear the sincerity in his son’s voice. Trey was as much to blame as Ariel, but his heart went out to his son. Preston knew that sometimes a man thinks with the head between his legs, and not the head on his shoulders. Obviously, Trey’s hormones had gotten the better of him. He was a young man, after all, and guys his age were prone to momentary lapses of judgment. “Son, you get a pass just this one time. Do you hear me? Only one time!” Preston stressed.

“Yes, Dad, I hear you.” Trey was elated that his father had forgiven him. Even though Preston didn’t exactly say the word
forgiven
, Trey detected that he was off the hook.
So, blood is thicker than water
, he thought, but wouldn’t dare utter that phrase. “What are you going to do about Michele?” Trey asked.

“I called her two days after I kicked everyone out of the town house and fired her. I told her that I would be out of town, and to collect her belongings before I come back, leave her key, and vanish. I don’t want to ever see her again,” Preston said, with disdain.

Trey wanted to ask if they had knocked boots, but since he was treading in deep water, he decided against confronting his father. And even if they had been fucking, Trey couldn’t blame his dad. Michele was one hell of a sexy babe, and when she poured on the charm, what man could resist? After all, that was how he had gotten caught in her web. “Do you think Michele is still in D.C. or did she go back to New York?”

“I’ve read a few blogs on the Internet since I’ve been in Napa, and also heard from my sources that she’s been seen about town with Laird Forester,” Preston said matter-of-factly. He wasn’t surprised that Michele had latched on to another prominent political figure. It had taken him awhile, but he had finally figured out that she was a social climber, and was using him to gain access to the upper echelon.

“Laird Forester?” Trey asked. He knew that Laird was a bit long in the tooth, and wasn’t Michele’s type.

“Yes, you heard me right.”

“Well, God bless him. Because he’s going to need all the prayers in the world to handle Michele. She might look good on the outside, but she’s totally corrupt on the inside. The only person she cares about is herself,” Trey said, like a man who had been scorned.

“Son, you’ve said a mouthful. She had me going, but I’ve regained my senses now, and realize that she was trying to play me for a fool,” Preston confessed.

“Can I just say … let bygones be bygones. Dad, I love you and will never, ever, betray you again. Please forgive me,” Trey said, in earnest.

“Son, remember that women are dispensable, but blood is forever. I forgive you, but make no mistake. I won’t be as understanding if there is a next time,” he said sternly.

“Trust me, Dad, I’ve learned my lesson, and there will never be a next time.”

“That’s good to hear.” Preston looked at the prized Zinfandel that he was holding. “Son, I’ve got a glass of the best wine you’ve ever tasted waiting on me. I’ll call you when I get back to Washington.” With that said, Preston closed his cell phone, ending the call. He was glad that he and his son had come to a resolution, even though it had cost him his marriage.

MICHELE HAD
gotten fired, but she didn’t miss a beat. She should have been depressed, crying her eyes out, but she knew the inevitable was coming. Once Preston learned the truth, it was just a matter of time before she got the boot, and it didn’t take long to receive the proverbial pink slip. She got the ax only two days after the confrontation. Preston instructed her to retrieve all her personal belongings from the office while he was out of town, and to drop her key in the mail slot after she left. A part of her was sad that she wouldn’t be working for Preston any longer. Their affiliation had started off innocently, even though Ariel had suspected from day one that Michele had ulterior motives. However, initially she hadn’t had any.

Michele tried calling Preston on several occasions, but each time she was greeted by either his voice mail or answering machine. She wanted to at least try to mend things between them, and salvage their friendship. However, Preston wouldn’t accept her calls. Michele was no fool, and realized that trying to schmooze Preston was no longer an option. She truly admired his accomplishments, but admiration wasn’t going to get her where she wanted to be, so she moved
on to another more viable opportunity. Presently, Michele didn’t have a job, but she wasn’t worried about money—Laird provided her with a steady stream of cash.

Ever since that night at her apartment, when Laird loved her and then left, Michele had been working on him, hitting him up for money, and weaseling party invitations out of him. He was an easy target. All he wanted was sex, which she supplied readily. He wasn’t interested in her intellect, or the way she dressed. He couldn’t care less about appearances. Since they never arrived at the same function at the same time, he wasn’t embarrassed by some of her scandalous-looking outfits. Now that she didn’t have to impress Preston any longer, Michele had gone back to dressing like a floozy.

Laird’s wife, Leona, was out of town on a business trip, and Michele used the opportunity to get into one of the biggest parties of the season. She was meeting Laird at the Four Seasons for a charity benefit, and was ecstatic. Most of Washington’s heavy hitters would be there, and the event was sure to garner publicity from
Vanity Fair, Capitol File
, and the society pages of the daily newspapers.

Given the chance that she could be photographed, Michele wanted to look her best. She couldn’t afford to buy another designer dress, so she decided to wear the Roberto Calvalli gown that she had bought for the Congressional Black Caucus affair. She wasn’t concerned about wearing the dress a second time, since she hadn’t gotten into that VIP reception, and no one really noticed her. She took a leisurely bath, and afterward hot-curled her hair and expertly applied her makeup. Michele then slipped into the fire-engine red dress. She tried to zip the side zipper, but was having trouble. She inhaled, sucking her stomach in and continued tugging, until the zipper slowly crawled up the side of the dress. She felt like a stuffed pepper, and looked in the mirror to make sure that the dress didn’t look as tight as it felt.
I’ve got to go on a diet
. Michele had been lying around the apartment watching soap operas and snacking on potato chips, doughnuts, and soda since being laid off; now the pounds were starting to show. She sprayed her neck and wrists with perfume, grabbed the invitation, took the car keys off the kitchen counter, and headed out the door.