Read an Excerpt

Betrayal

A Black Door Novel

St. Martin's Press

JUSTICE PRESTON Hendricks sat behind the masculine mahogany desk in his home office, perusing the mail. This task was normally left to his personal assistant, Michele Richards, but she was out of the office at the moment, so Preston decided to do the honors himself, since he had no other pressing matters to attend to. He picked up an invitation from the two-tiered in-box, and looked at the writing. Written in gold calligraphy across the front of the envelope was Justice and Mrs. Preston Hendricks. He touched the lettering and smiled as he read his name, not once but twice. He never tired of seeing and saying his official title. Preston had worked tirelessly throughout his career — from lowly associate, to respected law partner, to federal appeals judge — to achieve his lifelong dream of sitting on the Supreme Court. The dream began for him as a young man growing up in the turbulent civil rights era, watching helplessly on television as countless men, women, and children in the South were brutalized on a regular basis as they tried to demand the same rights as their Caucasian counterparts. It infuriated Preston as he read about the struggles of his people, who were being persecuted in order to have the right to vote, to attend integrated schools, to dine where they pleased, and to sip water out of a fountain that wasn't designated colored. He made a promise some forty years ago that one day he'd be in a position to affect the laws that governed not only his people, but the entire U. S. of A. However, that promise was nearly broken when Preston suffered a mild stroke during the prenomination process. The stroke threatened to ruin his chances of sitting on the Supreme Court, but with the help of his friend, Senator Oglesby, who used his considerable clout in the media as well as politics to keep Preston's medical records from becoming a negative sticking point, his vision was now a reality. Besides, his doctors assured him (and the senator), that aside from the short-term memory loss he was currently experiencing, he was as healthy as a thoroughbred. Preston had lost track of the last seventy-two hours prior to the stroke, but the doctor told him not to worry, that eventually his memory would return. Preston attributed the stroke to all the hard work he had been doing trying to secure the nomination. Now that he was confirmed, his schedule was considerably lighter. He didn't have to split his time between working as a judge in New York and flying off to Washington for an impromptu meeting with the senator. Though he kept his town house in Manhattan, he and his wife took up permanent residence in the nation's capital.

He reached for the silver-plated letter opener to his right, slid the blade into the top of the envelope, and sliced it open. He took out the invitation, read it, and then discarded it in his wastebasket. When Preston and his wife Ariel first arrived in Washington as newlyweds, Senator Oglesby and his wife, Angelica — who were well connected — made sure that the Hendrickses were included on every major guest list in town. And they attended functions almost every evening during their inaugural months. Now that their social standing was well established, Preston didn't feel the need to attend every party that they were invited to.

"I thought going through and disposing of the mail was my job," Michele said, walking into his office the moment the invitation landed in the trash.

Michele Richards had been working as Preston's personal assistant for over a year, and was extremely loyal and efficient. He had hired her to coordinate his Washington agenda before he won the nomination, and she had done a stellar job. Now that he was a justice, he was grateful to have such a dedicated person on his team. He only wished that Ariel shared his enthusiasm about Michele. From the first day the two women met on a trip from New York to Washington, Ariel had her doubts about the brazen young assistant. Michele's personality was extremely outgoing and friendly, and she often referred to Preston by his first name instead of addressing him by his official title, only fueling Ariel's suspicions. Initially, Ariel thought that Michele had the hots for Preston, which he thought was totally absurd, since he was old enough to be the young woman's father. But the age difference didn't stop Ariel's paranoia, so to quell her suspicions, he encouraged his son Trey to date Michele. Only then did Ariel ease up on her accusations, but Preston could sense that his wife still had an eyebrow raised when it came to Michele, because whenever he mentioned his assistant's name, she would cringe slightly.

"Well, if you were here to do your job, I wouldn't have to do it for you," he teased, looking up at her. Preston and Michele shared a comfortable working relationship and joked easily with each other — to the chagrin of his wife.

Michele took off her coat and folded it across the arm of the sofa that was near the door. She wore a royal blue knit dress that clung to her body like a second skin. Her midsection was cinched with a wide, black leather belt, making her small waist seem even smaller. She was fond of sheer, unconstructed bras that didn't restrict the movement of her breasts, or repress her nipples. Since she was a full C cup, she didn't need padded push-up bras for enhancement like some women. As she made her way toward Preston's desk, her boobs bounced freely with each step. Her raven hair was swept back in a long ponytail. Her makeup was minimal, with just a touch of blush, mascara, and a dusty rose lip gloss that complemented her copper-colored skin. If it wasn't for the imprint of her thimble-sized nipples against the snug knit fabric and the tight belt, her appearance would have been considered politically correct instead of enticingly provocative.

Michele reached into the trash, retrieved the invitation, and quickly read it. "You're not going to the cocktail party for Bill and Hillary?" she asked with a quizzical expression on her face.

"I would love to, but I have a previous engagement the same night, so I'll have to decline," he said, writing on a piece of paper in front of him.

"Where's the response card? It'll look bad if you don't at least send back the RSVP. You know, D.C. is all about protocol, and you don't want to be known as the justice who never responds," she said, talking to him as if she were the boss.

"The RSVP card is right here. I didn't throw it away," he said, putting his pen down and holding up the card. "I had no intention of not responding. Thank you very much," he said sarcastically.

Michele stepped closer and took the card out of his hand. "I'll make sure this goes into the outgoing mail today."

"Good. Can you also send an arrangement of flowers to Mrs. Oglesby? I spoke with Senator Oglesby earlier today, and he reminded me about the birthday dinner he's hosting at their home tomorrow night."

Robert Oglesby and Preston's friendship dated back to their college days at Georgetown Law, and they had remained close ever since. Even though there had been a few bumps in the road as of late, they were friends nonetheless.

"Sure, and I'll have the card signed Happy Birthday, Love Preston and Ariel."

Before Preston could issue another task, the telephone rang. Michele reached over and picked up the receiver. "Justice Hendricks's office. Michele speaking. How may I assist you?"

"Well, hello, Michele. It's Laird Forester. How are you?" asked the man on the other end of the line.

"I'm fine, Congressman Forester, and yourself?" she asked out of politeness.

"Great, now that I'm speaking to you," he said, in a come-hither voice.

Michele ignored his tone, and said, "Hold on. I'll see if Justice Hendricks is available." She depressed the hold button and asked Preston, "Do you want to speak to him?"

"Yes, but before you go, can you take the mail out of my in-box and sort through everything?"

"Sure, no problem," she said, scooping up the contents of the box.

Once Michele had left the room and closed the door behind her, Preston picked up the phone. "Hey there, Laird, what do you know good?"

"I know you have a good-looking assistant. I saw her today at lunch, and couldn't help but notice how delectable her knockers looked in that tight outfit. She must have been cold, because her nipples were firm and poking against the dress. I don't know how you work with her and not get a hard-on. If my assistant was as hot as yours, I'd have her taking dictation on her knees, if you know what I mean." He chuckled.

Laird Forester was a seasoned congressman, and a well-known figure on the Hill. Though he was in his mid-sixties, he was well preserved. He jogged five miles every morning and steered away from eating red meat. He didn't smoke and only drank socially. He still had a full head of blond hair, and even though the color came straight out of a bottle, it was the same shade of his youthful locks. The hair complemented his ice blue eyes. In his heyday, he had been called the "golden boy" and was on the radar of every woman in Washington. Laird did his fair share of sleeping around, but eventually got married, since it was expected of a politician. But marriage didn't stop him from keeping a mistress on the side. He exercised, ate well, and didn't abuse his body with toxins. His only vice was sex. He fucked — with the help of Viagra — like a teenager in heat.

"Come on, Laird, don't talk about my assistant like that. I realize that some of her outfits are inappropriate, which I intend to talk to her about, but she's still a professional and should be treated as such," he said sternly. Preston had been so preoccupied with his own agenda for the last few months that he hadn't addressed Michele's lack of discretion.

"Oh, come on, Preston, don't get so defensive. You know as well as I do that she's one hell of a sex kitten."

Laird had first spotted Michele at B. Smith's, one of Washington's premier restaurants, and was captivated by her curvaceous body. That night, she wore an emerald green silk blouse, which clung to her breasts like plastic wrap, and a pair of black slacks that hugged her round ass suggestively. Even though it was just pants and a blouse, she made the simple outfit look provocative and sexy. Laird had played it cool and didn't approach her that night, even though watching her from across the room made him salivate with lust. He was determined to find out who she was, so he used his resources and learned that she worked for Justice Hendricks. He knew Preston in passing, but didn't know him personally. Laird wasted no time befriending the new justice. Even though he had ulterior motives, he genuinely liked Preston and valued their new friendship.

"I don't view her in those terms. Besides, she is dating my son."

"Oh, I didn't know that. How long have they been dating?" he asked, eager to learn more about his future mistress.

"For over a year. It must be serious because Trey usually loves them and leaves them."

"I remember those days. Back in my youth, I had a girl for every day of the week. Oh yes, those were the good ole days," he said, with a lilt in his voice. "Now if I'm lucky, I have a new girl every few months, but I still fuck her brains out as often as I can. And once I've used and abused her body, I'm on to fresher meat." He chuckled slyly.

"Laird, you're such a hound dog," Preston said, shaking his head in disgust. He enjoyed sex, but it wasn't the first thought on his mind in the morning or the last thought on his mind in the evening.

"I'll take that as a compliment," he said, roaring with laughter.

"Well, I'm sure you didn't call to talk about your sexual exploits," Preston said, ready to change the subject. "Did you?"

Actually, Laird had called to hear Michele's sweet voice, but he wasn't about to tell Preston that. If Preston knew he was sizing up Michele as his next victim, he'd probably distance himself and stop taking his phone calls. "No, I didn't. I called to see if you're going to the Oglesbys' tomorrow night. My wife wants to know if you and Ariel will be there. She seems to have developed a fondness for your wife," he said, now sounding like the committed husband.

"Yes, we'll be there."

"Okay, see you guys tomorrow night. I've got to run into a meeting now," he said, ending the conversation.

Once Preston hung up, he scribbled a note on his calendar to talk to Michele about her attire. As much as he tried to ignore her appearance, he had to admit that most of her outfits were too sexy for the office, and needed to be toned down. He hated being the domineering boss and instituting a dress code, but now that his colleagues were taking notice of her alluring outfits, he realized that it was time to ask Michele to alter her appearance, since it was bringing negative attention to her. Now that he was a justice he had to maintain a respectful image, and Michele was a part of that image.

MICHELE METHODICALLY picked through the mail from Preston's in-box, taking out all the envelopes that appeared to be invitations and spreading them across her desk. Once they were arranged according to postmark, she sliced each one open with the tip of her razor-sharp letter opener, and read the contents. She was looking for the invitation to the Congressional Black Caucus annual awards dinner. The dinner honoring some of black America's Who's Who was the highlight of the caucus's four-day conference, and the hottest ticket in town. Michele could have easily bought a ticket since it was a fund-raiser, but she didn't want to be grouped with the masses. The gala was huge, with over three thousand in attendance. She knew that if she wasn't seated in the VIP area, she'd never get a chance to rub shoulders with some of the politically conscious entertainers who flew in from Hollywood every year to attend.

Preston, as the newly appointed justice, definitely qualified for special treatment, and Michele, being his assistant, wanted the same privileges. She knew that the invitation would be addressed to Preston and his wife, but somehow she'd figure out a way to ride in on their coattails. However, first she had to make sure that they were indeed going. Lately, Preston had been declining invitations right and left. Even if he said no to this dinner, Michele planned to mark the response card yes, and go in his place. This was one event that she didn't plan on missing. She'd worked too hard over the years to tweak her sexy image, and now that her body was perfect, she finally felt like an A-lister and wanted to be treated as such.

As a child, Michele had been the overweight ugly duckling of the family who lived in the shadow of her younger sister, Janet, a former beauty queen. Janet was taller, thinner, prettier, more stylish, and Michele always felt inferior to her sister. With diet and rigorous exercise, Michele finally lost weight, but it wasn't until she had moved away from the family and gone to college that she finally began to feel like her own person. Without the judgmental eyes of her parents comparing her to Janet, she was free to wear exactly what she wanted, and she wanted to stand out from the crowd and be the center of attention for once in her life. Luckily, Michele had inherited her mother's full C cup, which now she didn't have to hide underneath oversized sweatshirts. Throughout her four years of college, she hardly ever wore a bra, just T-shirts two sizes too small, which stretched across her chest like thin pieces of gauze. She loved the attention her breasts got. Every time she entered class, the entire male student body (and even some of the girls), would stare at her boobs. Even the professors had a hard time taking their eyes off of her threadbare T-shirts and nearly nude breasts, especially Professor Garret, her political science teacher.

One day after class, Michele had been summoned to the professor's office regarding her term paper. Walking into the office, Michele was nervous. She had gotten an A on the paper and was confused as to why the professor wanted to see her.

"Have a seat, Michele," the professor said, pointing to a worn-out brown leather couch.

Michele did as instructed. "Is there a problem with my paper?" she asked, sitting on the edge of the sofa.

"Yes and no," Professor Garret said, still standing. "It's almost too perfect. Where did you get your information on appellate courts?"

"My father is an appeals judge in New York, and helped me with most of the research," she said nervously.

---

Excerpted from Betrayal by Velvet. Copyright © 2008 Velvet. Excerpted by permission of St. Martin's Press.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.

---