Man of Fortune Read online

  Tamara pulled her hands away. “You think I am?”

  “Yes.”

  She sobered. “Sorry. I didn’t realize I came off sounding that way.”

  It was Duncan’s turn to be repentant. “Perhaps I used the wrong word. I should’ve said you appear defensive.”

  “Don’t tell me you’re a therapist.”

  “Nope.”

  The seconds ticked off. “What are you?” Tamara asked when he seemed reluctant to answer her question.

  “I’m a financial planner.”

  “Are you a financial planner or an accountant?”

  “I’m both.”

  “Do you practice accounting?”

  Duncan shook his head. “Not in the traditional sense.”

  “Why did you get an accounting degree if not to practice or teach?”

  “It’s a long story.”

  Tamara gave him a winning smile. “Didn’t you say we have nothing but time? And besides, you have a captive audience.”

  Duncan returned her smile with a dazzling one of his own, unaware of the effect it had on the woman beside him. “I’ll tell you on one condition.”

  She gave him a skeptical look. “What’s that?”

  “If you snap at me again, then you’ll have to take me out to dinner. Then I’ll tell you what you want to know.”

  “And if I don’t?”

  “Then I’ll take you out.”

  “What are you going to say to your wife or girlfriend about taking a strange woman to dinner?”

  Duncan angled his head as he met Tamara’s eyes. There was amusement shimmering in the black orbs. “I don’t have a wife or girlfriend, so the issue is also moot.”

  Tamara gave him a long, penetrating stare. “I should’ve met you years ago before I was going through what became a very contentious divorce.”

  “Are you married now?”

  “No. And I’ve never been happier.”

  “You didn’t like being married?”

  “I loved being married,” she admitted. “It was just how it ended. My ex cleaned out our joint bank accounts, and because I wanted to be rid of the bastard I gave him our Upper Eastside co-op. And if that wasn’t enough he also wanted my dog.”

  “Did you give up the pooch?”

  Tamara’s eyes filled with tears when she remembered the fluffy white bichon frise that had been her constant companion. Edward Bennett had refused to sign off on the divorce papers until she gave up the apartment and the dog, then he promptly sold the co-op and gave her pet to an ex-wife she knew nothing about.

  “Yes. It was either give up Snowflake or go to prison for murder.” Her delicate jaw hardened. “I lost many sleepless nights thinking of the different ways I could take him out.”

  Duncan winced. “It was that bad?”

  “I was at the lowest point in my life and he knew it. I’d just completed my PGY-3. Third-year residency,” Tamara explained when Duncan gave her a confused stare. “I was just recovering from taking the fourth part of the medical boards and my nerves were shot from working thirty-six hours with little or no sleep. I suspected something was wrong because Edward started complaining that we never got to see one another, and when we did, I paid more attention to Snowflake than I did to him.”

  “Didn’t he know that when he married a doctor?”

  “He knew exactly what it took for me to become a doctor. He’d been through the same course of study. But it was apparent he’d forgotten.”

  Duncan went completely still. “He’s also a doctor?”

  Tamara nodded. “We met during my first year in medical school. He was my anatomy professor,” she said after a comfortable silence. “I was twenty, impressionable and very, very gullible. Edward was fifty-six, elegant, erudite, and I didn’t know at the time that I was to become his third wife, or that his daughter was also a medical student at Harvard.”

  “How did your parents react to your marrying a man more than twice your age?”

  “My father was upset because he and Edward were about the same age, but Mother, being the social climber that she is, was thrilled that her daughter had chosen to marry a doctor.”

  “How long were you married?”

  “Six years, and in the end I walked away with what I’d brought into the marriage—the clothes on my back. The apartment was his and he’d given me Snowflake as a gift.”

  “What about alimony, Tamara? You were at least entitled to that.”

  “I thought I was until my lawyer told me that Edward was paying alimony to two ex-wives and college tuition for three children.”

  Duncan was momentarily speechless in his surprise. It was no wonder she was angry, abrasive. Tamara had married a stranger, a man who’d managed to conceal his past until it had caught up with him. Was her ex that wily, or was Tamara that naive? It was probably the latter. If she was engrossed in med school, studying for the boards and working around the clock as a resident, then delving into her husband’s past was not a priority for her.

  “Do you still see your ex?” he asked.

  “Thankfully no. He transferred to a small medical school in Rhode Island.”

  “Has he remarried?” Duncan teased.

  “I hope not,” Tamara countered. “Being married to Edward taught me one thing—never to put all of my eggs in one basket. When he emptied the bank accounts he took the money my grandparents had given me as a gift for my education. I had to take out a loan to get an apartment because I knew I couldn’t continue to live with Edward, and also to have enough to pay a lawyer to handle the divorce. After I got my license, I worked double and triple shifts to pay off the loans.”

  “Your lawyer should’ve forced him to return your money.”

  Tamara heard the censure in Duncan’s normally melodic tone. He probably believed she’d given up too easily, that she’d permitted a man to take advantage of her. “There was no money for him to return, Duncan. He’d lost every penny in Atlantic City.”

  “If he was that broke, then your attorney should’ve insisted he sell the co-op and return your money.”

  “Easy, Duncan,” she teased, “you’re snapping at me again.”

  His face was a mask of icy anger. “You were screwed twice. Once by your ex and again by your lawyer.”

  “Don’t worry. It’s never going to happen again.”

  “Because you say so, Tamara?”

  “Yes, because I’ll never trust another man as long as I live.”

  “Do you think that’s fair?” Duncan asked.

  “What?”

  “That you lump all men into the same category.”

  “It’s not about what’s fair and not fair,” Tamara countered. “It’s about how men have treated me.”

  “It’s how you have let men treat you,” Duncan said in a quiet voice.

  “Oh, so you’re blaming me for not knowing that my ex hid the fact that he’d been married before? Or that he’d had children from his previous marriages? It didn’t dawn on me to do a background check on him.”

  Tamara inhaled and held her breath before letting it out slowly. The heat inside the elevator car was stifling and she was beginning to perspire—something she detested. She’d gone to a colleague’s apartment in the highrise to shower and change her clothes instead of going to her aprtment in the East Village. If she’d known she was going to be stuck in an elevator, then taking the downtown subway several stops would’ve been preferable, even though she avoided riding the subway whenever possible. Her usual mode of transportation was either a bus or a taxi, the latter only in an emergency.

  Despite the build-up of heat in the elevator, Duncan draped an arm over Tamara’s shoulders, pulling her closer. “I’m not beating up on you, Tamara. I just want you to realize that all men aren’t like your ex or the lawyer who swindled you out of your money while not bothering to represent you.”

  Tilting her chin, Tamara stared into the large, clear brown eyes with the dark centers. “If I’d known you, would you have a
dvocated for me?”

  “If I’d been your financial planner, I would’ve told you to keep your money separate from your husband’s, especially if it was money that you’d accumulated before the marriage.”

  She closed her eyes for several seconds. “It was only after I’d completed my undergraduate studies when I told my parents that I’d applied to and been accepted into medical school that they changed their minds about me becoming a doctor. Mother and Daddy put up the money for my first two years of medical school and both sets of grandparents covered the last two. My only consolation was that I wasn’t saddled with having to pay back six-figure student loans.”

  “You were luckier than most students. I have clients who make more than adequate salaries but they’re still paying off student loans.”

  “Who do you work for?”

  “I work for myself,” Duncan said smoothly, with no expression on his face.

  Tamara was slightly taken aback. She didn’t know why, but she’d expected him to mention one of the major investment companies. “Do you work from a home office?”

  He pointed to her left side. “Scoot over a little and reach into the breast pocket of my jacket. There’s a case with my business cards. Take one.”

  Seeing the label stitched on the inside of Duncan’s suit jacket and the monogrammed silver card case told Tamara all she needed to know about the man sitting beside her. Duncan Gilmore treated himself very well. She took out a card, smiling. It was made of vellum with raised black lettering.

  “DGG Financial Services, LLP,” she read aloud. “Is your office uptown?”

  Duncan smiled. “It’s smack dab in good old Harlem, U.S.A.”

  Tamara heard the pride in his voice. “I take it you’re a Harlem native?”

  “Born and raised. At least until I was fourteen. Then I moved to Brooklyn.”

  “If you work in Harlem, then why don’t you live there?” she asked.

  “That’s another story for another time.”

  A slight frown creased Tamara’s smooth forehead. “What are you talking about?”

  “I snapped at you, Tamara, therefore I owe you dinner.”

  She waved a hand. “You don’t have—”

  “But I’d like to,” he interrupted.

  A warning shiver snaked its way up Tamara’s spine. She shuddered visibly despite the heat. There was something in the way Duncan Gilmore was looking at her that made her feel uncomfortable. “I can’t, Duncan.” she whispered.

  “Why can’t you, Tamara?”

  “I have to work.”

  “Do you work twenty-four/seven?”

  “No but—”

  Duncan held up a hand, cutting her off. “All I’m asking for is one dinner date.”

  She gave him a sidelong glance, finding it hard to understand why a man who looked like Duncan Gilmore would insist she go out with him. She didn’t know what his motive was, but he’d find out soon enough that Tamara Wolcott was nothing like the wide-eyed young woman who’d succumbed to her med school teacher’s influence. Duncan claimed he didn’t have a wife or girlfriend, but he hadn’t said he was into women. Perhaps he was gay, and if that were true then she was in luck. The last thing she needed was a physical relationship with a man, because each time she slept with one it ended badly.

  Some women could have an affair and when it ended they were able to move on. But Tamara always found herself getting too emotionally attached and wanting more. And the more was total commitment. In that way she and Edward were alike. He had confessed that he didn’t like sleeping around, and when he did sleep with a woman he usually wanted to marry her. However, what Tamara hadn’t known was that she was the third Mrs. Edward Bennett and probably wouldn’t be the last.

  She forced a smile. “All right, Duncan. I’ll go out with you.”

  A frown distorted his beautiful male face. “Why do you make it sound as if you’re doing me a favor?”

  “Aren’t I?” Tamara drawled.

  The seconds ticked off as they stared at each other. A smile replaced Duncan’s scowl. “Yes, you are. And I thank you for accepting.”

  “You’re most welcome.” She glanced at the card again. “Which number should I use to call you?”

  Duncan held out his hand. “Please give me the card.” Reaching into the pocket of his shirt, he took out a pen and wrote down a number on the back of the card, then returned it to Tamara. “That’s my home number. If I don’t pick up, then leave a number where I can call you back.”

  “I…” Her words trailed off with the sudden movement of the elevator. The overhead lights came on as the car descended slowly. Tamara and Duncan shared a smile. “Free at last,” she whispered.

  Duncan wasn’t ready to lose Tamara’s company. She looked nothing like the women he was normally attracted to, but something about her was intrinsically feminine despite her overtly tough, in-your-face attitude. She’d been deceived, hurt, was in pain, and it was apparent she had no desire to let go of that pain.

  It was also apparent she had no use for men, either, believing all they were out for was to take advantage of her. But Duncan wanted to prove her wrong. There were good men, those who loved their wives and their children, men who’d chosen not to marry, yet who remained faithful and supportive boyfriends.

  All she had to do was meet his boyhood friends Ivan Campbell and Kyle Chatham. The three of them had taken an oath when they were young to remain connected always, to stay away from the drugs that plagued Harlem and to one day own one of the stately brownstones along the many tree-lined streets in the historic neighborhood. And to their amazement, their dreams had come true.

  Pushing to his feet, he extended his hand and pulled Tamara up with minimal effort. “How long will it take you to get to the hospital?”

  She checked her watch. It was six-ten. “Probably about twenty minutes.”

  He slipped into his jacket, then leaned over to pick up his case. “May I interest you in sharing a cab?”

  “No thank you. I’ll walk.”

  Duncan wanted to tell her that she was already late for her shift, but held his tongue. He’d gotten her to agree to have dinner with him, and given her track record with men, he considered himself quite fortunate.

  The snail-like movement of the elevator came to a complete stop at the first floor and the doors opened. Several workmen in coveralls were milling in the area, along with the doorman.

  “Are you all right, Dr. Wolcott?” the doorman asked, as lines of concern creased his forehead.

  Tamara hoisted her tote over her shoulder. “Yes. Thank you for asking.”

  Duncan, resting his hand at the small of her back, escorted her across the lobby and out onto the street. Barricades blocked off the street, barring vehicular traffic as emergency personnel from the FDNY, NYPD and Con Ed filled the street and sidewalk.

  He walked with Tamara to Twenty-Third Street. Smiling, he stared at her natural beauty in the light of the sun that was sinking lower in the summer sky, casting shadows over the towering buildings that made up the Manhattan skyline.

  “This is where I leave you.”

  Tamara looked at Duncan—really looked at him for the first time in broad daylight and felt as if something had sucked the air from her lungs. His chiseled face was breathtaking and his eyes mesmerizing. If he was gay, then she felt a profound sadness that he wouldn’t pass on his incredible genes. And although he’d spent more than half an hour in a stuffy elevator he looked as if he were ready to start the day, not end it. He hadn’t bothered to loosen his tie, or undo the French cuffs of his shirt. The only concession he’d made was to take off his custom-tailored jacket to place it on the floor of the elevator, reminding her of a modern-day Sir Walter Raleigh removing his cloak so the queen wouldn’t have to navigate a puddle.

  “Thank you for the company, even if it was un-solicited.” A slight lifting of his silky eyebrows was the only reaction to her slight reproach. “And I will call you,” she added, hoping to counter her fli
ppant comment.

  Duncan’s impassive expression masked his annoyance. She just wouldn’t let up, and at that moment he chided himself for asking Tamara to go out with him. “Good night, Tamara.” Turning on his heel, he headed west, leaving her staring at his back.

  “Good night, Duncan.” She groaned inwardly. Even his walk was unique. There was just a light dip in his stroll to make it sexy. Gay or straight, Duncan Gilmore was fine as hell!

  What’s wrong with you girl!

  Tamara silently chided herself for her insensitivity. Duncan had been nothing but cordial to her and she’d attacked him as if he’d insulted her. When, she thought, would she ever rid herself of the lingering anger of her failed marriage? She’d been divorced for four years, and now, at the age of thirty-two, she should be more than ready to turn the page and get on with her life.

  She walked uptown to Thirty-Fourth and headed east to First Avenue. Tamara found working in the emergency trauma unit of the city’s oldest municipal hospital frenetic yet rewarding. On any given day or night there was a consistent influx of patients. Some were treated and released, while others were taken to a tertiary unit for a higher level of care.

  The Bellevue Hospital Center’s efficient state-of-the-art E.R. and level-one trauma center were designed to deliver complete twenty-four-hour, seven-day-a-week medical care. With close to one hundred thousand emergency-room visits a year, Tamara and her colleagues were prepared for psychiatric emergencies as well as neurological, toxicological, cardiac and neonatal emergencies.

  She loved everything about medicine from studying to healing. During her interview before being admitted to med school, she’d been asked why she wanted to become a doctor. Her answer was that she had a passion for learning, an intellectual curiosity about medicine and a strong willingness to help others. It must have been the right response because the interview process ended minutes after it’d begun. She knew her MCAT score and undergraduate grades were high enough to get her into most leading medical schools, but Tamara realized it was her unabashed passion for healing that showed through during the interview.

  When she received her acceptance letter it swept away all of the insecurities she’d had growing up. It no longer mattered that she wasn’t as cute and petite as her sisters, or that her mother had referred to her as “my ugly duckling.” None of that mattered because she was going to become a doctor.