Because of You by Rochelle Alers

whenever I applied to another firm. That’s why I decided to open my own practice.”
    Jordan shook his head. “It’s no wonder you can’t win. You’re challenging the old boys’ club. But there is more than one way to roast a pig without putting him on a spit.”
    Aziza looked confused. “You’re talking in riddles.”
    â€œIn some cultures people roast pigs on spits and in others they dig a pit, fill it with leaves and hot coals, then bury the pig and cover it until it’s done. This is what you’re going to do with your pig, Aziza. I’m going to help you bury him. By the way, does he have a name?”
    â€œKenneth Middleton Moore, Jr. You know him, don’t you?” she asked when Jordan stiffened as if pierced by a sharp object.
    â€œI knew his father. He was my professor. He passed away the year I graduated, and junior took over his firm. I’m willing to bet he had no idea that his boy was acting a fool. You’re probably not the first woman Kenny has harassed and you won’t be the last. Do you still have the tapes and the condom?”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œWhere?”
    â€œThey’re in a safe deposit box in my bank. But I do have an extra copy of the tapes here in the office.”
    Jordan kissed her forehead. “That’s my girl. I’m not going to map out a strategy until after I hear what’s on those tapes.”
    â€œDo you think we can get him, Jordan?”
    â€œWe’re going to get him, Zee. We’re just going to have to find the loopholes we need to bring him down.”
    Wrapping her arms around his waist, Aziza closed her eyes and whispered a silent prayer of thanks that Jordan Wainwright had agreed to help her stop Kenneth Moorebefore he victimized another woman. “I’ll get the tapes for you.” Jordan took a step backward and she unlocked the drawer in the desk, handing him an envelope with two minute cassettes. “Do you think your stomach will tolerate food now?”
    â€œI thought you’d never asked. I’m starved,” Jordan admitted.
    Leaning into him, she kissed his stubbly chin. “Let’s eat.”

Chapter 6
    S haring dinner with Jordan felt like a date to Aziza. She’d set the table in the kitchen’s dining alcove, tuned the satellite radio to a station featuring music from the 80s and 90s, and the scented votives lining the countertops created a peaceful effect when she’d turned off the lights, leaving on the hanging fixture over the table.
    She hadn’t lied when she’d admitted to Jordan that she liked him. In fact, she liked everything about him from his cropped raven hair, lean face, strong chin and sexy mouth to his tall, muscular lean body. Whether categorized as fine, hot or just plain old sexy, it was impossible for any normal woman to ignore him.
    Was he a little arrogant?
    Yes.
    Brash?
    Undeniably.
    Confident?
    Unequivocally yes.
    However, as a Wainwright he had the right to be arrogant, brash and confident. He was a member of one of New York’s most powerful and wealthy families. Even if he wasn’t a Wainwright, those were necessary personality traits for a successful litigator. He hadn’t given her a hint as to how he would go after Kenneth Moore, but Aziza knew he was her last resort. She’d tried contacting women who still worked at the firm to find out if they were being harassed, but they hadn’t returned her phone calls.
    Dinner had turned out well. The first course was a mixed citrus salad with red onions and escarole, of which Jordan had two servings. She’d added a glaze to the chicken just before removing it from the roasting pan to let it rest so the juices could flow through it. Tiny roasted red potatoes had picked up the piquant spices infused in the chicken, and wilted spinach with olive oil and garlic complemented the main dish. Keeping in mind that Jordan was still recovering from too much