Chapter 4

            Two nights later . . .

            Derek was at his second favorite place, Floyd Bennett Field Unofficial Raceway. The air field used to belong to the government in the seventies. Now it was an unofficial raceway for the ones who love fast cars and love to race them.

            Derek was leaned against his brand new royal blue Lamborghini that was parked in one of the hangers. The May night was a little cool.

Rockelle and Jazz sashayed to him. He kissed both girls on the mouth, saying hello. He had slept with both of them at one time or another – and more than once. One time, they had a threesome. It was like having chocolate and vanilla at the same time. Jazz was a dark, chocolate muscled dessert and Rockelle was vanilla bean.  

            “How ya doin’, Derek?” Jazz asked as he put his arms around both ladies.

            “Oh . . . I’ve been better. I got a lot on my mind.”

            “What’s the matter?” Rockelle asked as she popped her gum.

            Before he could answer, Q walked over.

            “Hey, girls, Bobby is going for a booze run. He asked if you want to go with him?”

            “I do,” Rockelle said. She kissed Derek on the cheek. “I’ll see you in a few minutes big daddy.”

            Derek chuckled. “All right.”

            “I’m stayin’” Jazz said.

            “Okay,” Rockelle said and jogged to Bobby who was waiting next to his sports car.

            “What are you two talking about?” Q asked. He was former NBA basketball player. He had made over a hundred million when he was playing. Despite being retired from the game for three years, he still gets endorsement deals. Q has been Derek’s best friend for years. They had met in Miami years ago during spring break. They’ve been best friends ever since. He was an African-American who stood at six foot three.

            “Derek was about to tell us his problem. He got something on his mind.”

            “Oh, yeah, bruh? Lay it on us,” Q said and folded his arms.

            Derek explained his father’s ultimatum.

            “Well ain’t dat a bitch,” Q said, awestruck.

            “Yeah, that sucks,” Jazz said with a frown.

            “Tell me about it,” Derek said with resentment. “But, I might have the perfect candidate – or damn near perfect.”

            “Who?” Jazz asked

            “Chelsea Van Dyke.”

            “Who?” Q asked.

            “She’s the daughter of the country club set, blue blood old money. You wouldn’t know her,” Derek said.

            “Okay. Tell us more about her. She isn’t lame is she?” Q asked.

            “Not from what I can tell two days ago. She came to my penthouse proposing a deal for marriage.”

            “Which is?” Jazz asked.

            “We get married, resulting in me not getting disinherited when my father dies and she getting her trust fund before she turns thirty. There’s a clause in her trust that states if she marries before she turns thirty she’ll get access to it,” Derek explained.

            “Hell, that sounds like a win win deal to me,” Q said.

            “Yeah to me, too. What’s the problem?’

“The problem is I did a G****e search on Ms. Chelsea Van Dyke. She’s only twenty-one- years- old. She just graduated from Columbia University for Pete’s sake. I’m not sure if I want to marry someone thirteen years younger than me,” Derek said.

            “Why not? You’ll have nice young pussy at your disposal,” Q reasoned. “Unless you’ve fucked her before and she got bad pussy.”

            “No, I never slept with her,” Derek said. “I didn’t even remember her name when she showed up.”

            “Her being young might not be a bad thing,” Jazz said. “Older women are set in their ways. They got rules. At twenty-one, a woman doesn’t have rules unless she’s a stick in the mud with an attitude.”

            “Chelsea isn’t. It seems like she’s a free spirit.”

            “That’s even better. If she’s open minded she might go along with an open marriage,” Q said.

“Yeah,” Derek said with realization. “I mean I’m sure she’s fine in bed, but I don’t want to fuck the same woman for the next thirty years. I have to have variety.”

“From what you told us so far, she sounds cool. I’m sure she’ll be fine with having an open marriage as long as you don’t give her shit about sleeping with other men,” Jazz said.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Derek said as a smile grew on his face. “Now that you two have flushed this out before me, Chelsea sounds like the perfect candidate to be my wife.”

“Good,” Q said. “Don’t forget to bring her out here so we can meet her.”

“Yeah,” Jazz said.

“I know she’ll love this place. She did say she liked having fun and my sister had mentioned Chelsea was pretty outgoing,” Derek said.

“Well there ya go,” Q said

“Yes. I just need to iron out some details and add some stipulations. If Chelsea is agreeable to them, I can be married in a month.” Derek said with hope.

                                                                                 ****

Chelsea had almost peed her panties when she received a text from Derek yesterday. She had squealed like a teenage fool before she read it fully. He had wanted her to come to his penthouse at seven for dinner.

There was only one reason why he would want to meet with her. If he was going to turn down her proposition, he could have done that over the phone. He wanted to meet which meant he wanted to have a full fledge discussion – about them getting married.

Chelsea wore a backless, spaghetti strap tied dress with a back thigh slit. It was sky blue, the perfect spring color and sexy. It clung to her body.

 Her sun blonde hair had large soft curls at the ends. She didn’t have bangs so she parted her hair to the left and brushed up the top in the front and sprayed it with hair spray so it would hold the height.

She hit the doorbell and waited with high hopes.

It didn’t take him long to answer.

Chelsea nearly swooned at the sight of him.

Derek wore a white, long sleeve dress shirt and black jeans. The man can make the simplest ensemble look like a million-dollar outfit. “Good evening. Please come in.”

“Thank you,” she said as she crossed the threshold.

“Dinner is ready. I hope you brought your appetite. And I hope you like Italian food.”

“I love it,” she said with a big smile.

He led her to the dining area.

The table was rectangular and it had three chairs on each side and a chair a piece at both heads of the table. There was a place setting for two. One at the head of the table and one at the right of the head of the table. There was a basket full of garlic bread and a bottle of white wine on the table.

            Derek pulled out the chair on the side for her.

            “Thank you,” she whispered as she sat down.

            “I’ll be right back with our salads.”

            Chelsea found it strange that a man of his wealth and means was fetching the food. Then she realized he probably wanted them to be alone together.

            Gosh, I wonder if he wants to consummate the marriage before it takes place. She licked her lips at the thought. There was nothing she wanted more than to make love to him, except for marrying him, of course.

            Derek returned with the salads.

Oil and vinegar bottles were already on the table.

“Here you go, Ms. Van Dyke,” he said as he placed the plate in front of her.

“Thank you.” She didn’t say a word or moved until he sat down with his salad. Then she grabbed the oil bottle to sprinkle some on her salad.

He grabbed the vinegar bottle and sprinkled some on his salad.

The red China dishes were a perfect contrast to the white table cloth.

They nibbled in silence for a minute or two. It was kind of making Chelsea anxious.

What is he waiting for? Why won’t he just come out with it? Is he going to marry me or not?

Chelsea fought the urge to bring it up herself. She didn’t want to come off desperate – even though that’s what she was. When it came to him she always felt desperate.

Derek went to get the second course. Chelsea shifted in her chair until he returned.

“This is called creamy Tuscan ravioli,” he said as he placed the plate in front of her.

The dish had square shaped ravioli sprinkled with spinach, sundried tomatoes, and parmesan cheese.

Derek sat down, placing his plate in front of him. “The sauce is a mixture of olive oil, butter, lemon juice, and whipping cream. I hope you like it.”

“Wait,” she began with utter confusion. “You cooked this meal yourself?”

“Yes.”

Her lips parted. “That is so hot,” she mumbled.

Derek laughed.

Chelsea felt her cheeks flush. She couldn’t believe she let that slip out.

“Well, would it impress you more if I told you I made the ravioli from scratch?”  he said with a smirk.

“Did you?” she whispered as she struggled to get the burning heat from her cheeks.

“I did.”

“That is impressive,” she picked up her water glass and took a sip. She swallowed quickly, hoping that the cool water would calm her cheeks down. “But I am surprised. Most wealthy men don’t usually cook because they don’t have to. They can hire someone for that.”

“True. But I prefer cooking for myself when feasible. The main reason is a chef has eyes and ears and I like my privacy.”

“Oh, is that why you don’t’ have a butler either?”

“That’s right. But, I do have a cleaning lady who comes in three times a week.”

Chelsea nodded.

“Try the dish. I can’t wait to hear what you think.”

Chelsea picked up a fork and stuck a ravioli. She blew on it since it was piping hot. Then she put it in her mouth. She slowly chewed to get a good taste of it. “Do I taste garlic?”

“Yes, minced garlic.”

“It’s fantastic,” she mumbled. It really was. The man really could cook.

“Thank you.”

Derek went on about how he liked working with different ingredients.

“It sounds like cooking is a hobby of yours,” Chelsea said.

“Yes. That and cars.”

“Cars? Like sports cars.”

“Yes. I like to collect them. I own a separate garage in the city where I store all, what Deidre calls, my toys.”

“Oh, I would love to ride in one of your cars someday.”

“You like cars?” he asked with raised eyebrows.

“Well, in a way. I don’t know much about them. I just like the sporty shiny ones,” she said bashfully.

Derek chuckled. “Well, I have a couple of sporty shiny ones. I’ll be happy to take you out for a ride in one of them.” Derek chatted about his car collection as they finished the main course.

Dessert was a hazelnut panna cotta with chocolate ganache. Derek was more proud of the dessert than he was the main course.

Chelsea almost melted in her chair at the first bit it was so good. “Did you take a cooking class?”

“I’ve taken several during the past few years. Italian, French, American, so on.” He took a bite of his dessert.

As much as Chelsea was enjoying the meal, she really wanted to get down to business. She had waited almost a week to hear from him. Her patience was wearing thin at this point. “You know, I’ll expect you to cook once in a while after we’re married.”

Derek chuckled. “And what makes you think we’re going to marry? I haven’t given you an answer, yet.”

“You’re a smart man. You know the . . . deal I presented will benefit both of us. And it’s a straight forward deal. Nothing complicated about it at all. It makes sense for both of us. And –”

“All right, love, you don’t have to sell me anymore,” Derek said with a grin.

“I don’t?” she blurted out.

“No. What you propose will get us what we want. You’ll get access to your trust so you won’t have to live off of anyone ever again. And I’ll be president and CEO of Dawson Inc. in the future and get all the money and power that goes with it.”

“Okay, so . . .” she trailed off, expecting him to make it official.

“Before I agree to this, we need to discuss stipulations,” he said seriously.

Chelsea leaned back in her chair as she fought her nerves. “What kind of stipulations?”

“First and foremost, we are eloping. I know how you Van Dykes like to show off concerning weddings. I’ve been to a Van Dyke wedding weekend. They’re pretty fun as a guest and the booze flows freely, but I’m sure it’s a pain in the ass if you’re part of the wedding party and family.”

“You’re not wrong about that assumption,” Chelsea said flatly.

Van Dyke wedding traditions are that the wedding is celebrated all weekend starting on a Friday. Events include but not limited to the actual wedding, a welcome party, a rehearsal dinner, a honeymoon luncheon, the attendants luncheons, etc.

“Right. I absolutely refuse to do that crap. We elope and don’t tell anyone until we get back.”

“I’m perfectly fine with that,” Chelsea said calmly. She had never wanted all that pomp and circumstance when she had thought about marrying in the past. A romantic elopement was what she always wanted.

“Good. We can get a marriage license at New York city hall and get married the next day at the courthouse.”

“No, we can’t,” she shot out.

“Yes, we can. I’ve known dozens of people who eloped that way. It’s legal. New York only has a twenty-four-hour waiting period for marriage licenses.”

“No, that’s not what I mean. If we’re going to do this, we have to make it look . . . real.”

Derek scrunched his nose up. “I don’t understand.”

“I mean . . . we have to act like we’re in love, right? If not, our families will definitely know our union is a scam. And if they figure that out, my father can stop me from getting my trust and your father can –”

“I get what you’re saying,” he interrupted. “But we only have to act like star-crossed lovers in front of them. It’s not like they’ll be at the courthouse watching us get married.”

I’m not getting married in a dirty, dingy courthouse.  It’s tacky and I want a romantic elopement.

“Think about our mothers, Derek,” Chelsea began. “They’re going to want to see pictures of you in a suit and me in a dress with a sweet, romantic background. If we elope to a more . . . romantic location our parents will buy our union as legit.”

“Hmm. You may have a point. All right. To be on the safe side, we’ll elope to Las Vegas.”

“No!” she exclaimed. She didn’t want to get married there either. There was nothing romantic about a city strip filled with hookers, pimps, addicts, and God knows what else.

“Why not?”

She didn’t mean to be difficult, but she had been dreaming about getting married since she was ten years old. This had to be done right. “Getting married in Las Vegas would be tacky.”

“Tacky? I know loads of people who got married in Vegas. And there’s no waiting period there either from what I understand.”

“Waiting period or not it’s tacky - especially by New York social elite standards. People still gossip about how tasteless it was for Bruce and Beverly Hudson to elope to Las Vegas like they were hormonal, teenage hicks and it has been almost a year since they got married,” Chelsea explained. “Let me pick out a place, and I’ll let you know when the time comes. All right?” She didn’t want to keep going around and around about it in fear he would start thinking she was difficult and change his mind on the spot.

“All right, you pick an appropriate place, but pick place where we don’t have a three to seven day waiting period. I want to elope and get it done as soon as possible,” Derek stated seriously.

I do, too. I can’t wait to be your wife.

“No problem. Is that it?”

“One other thing, we need a prenup between us.”

“Oh?”

“It’s a precaution as you should know as the daughter of a wealthy man.”

“Oh, yes. Of course.”

“Basically, we just need it to say that when the marriage ends that you keep what’s yours and I keep what’s mine. Oh, and we’ll get divorced a year after my father dies.”

“Wait. You want to get a divorce after your father dies?” she repeated. She had to have misheard him.

“Well, yes. We’re not getting married because we’re in love. We’re getting married for money – in my case, money, property, and for the business. There’s no reason for us to hold on to each other after my father dies because I would have met the requirements of his will’s codicil.”

“I see,” she mumbled.

“And your marrying me for your trust fund so you can have more freedom and not have to ask you parents for every little thing. I assume you would want your marital status back to single, so you can have the ultimate freedom once everything is said and done.”

“Oh, yes, absolutely,” she lied.

Damn. I don’t want a divorce in the future. Considering Mr. Dawson’s bad health, I might not have much time to get Derek to fall in love with me.

Derek gave her a curt nod. “Good. We need to wait at least a year after my father dies to divorce because with estates as big as his it takes time for a will to be processed sometimes. It could take a while for me to get my full inheritance. I don’t want to divorce until I officially have what is my due. Are you okay with that?”

“Of course.”

“Good. Now, we just have to find a lawyer we both can trust to draw up the prenuptial agreement.”

“We can trust my sister, Catherine.”

“No, love, we can’t trust your sister with this,” Derek said slowly like he was talking to a child. “Catherine will rat us out to your parents.”

“No, she won’t. She can’t. If we hire her, she’ll have to hold lawyer-client privilege or she’ll be disbarred.”

“Yes, but she can tell on us if we tell her what we want her to do and she refuses. If she refuses without taking any money from us, she is not under the privilege.”

“Hmm. I get your point. Okay, we’ll use your lawyers.”

“We can’t use them either. I don’t trust Francis Chadwick to keep his mouth shut either. I wouldn’t put it pass him to find a way to let my father know I’m marrying for all the wrong reasons. We need to find someone neutral. Who doesn’t have a motive to rat us out.”

A name popped in Chelsea’s head that she had heard during family dinner a few times. Next thing she knew she blurted out, “Robert Rice.”

“What?” he said, taken aback.

“During family dinner, Catherine mentioned a lawyer named Robert Rice a few times. From what I remember, he is from California and he was the lawyer who negotiated Martha Townsend’s plea deal.”

“Mmm, yes. I think I’ve seen his name in the papers a few times.”

“Yes, but Catherine doesn’t trust him because she claims he’s an ambulance chaser.” “Really? He sounds perfect,” Derek said and took a bite of his dessert.

Chelsea’s brow cocked up. “I see,” she said slowly. “I don’t know how to get in touch with him.”

“I’m sure he’s on G****e by now for New York. But don’t worry your pretty head about the legal e’s. I’ll contact him and get him on it.”

“Okay. So, I’m in charge of finding an elopement venue and you’re in charge of finding a lawyer to draw up a prenuptial agreement.”

“That’s right.”

“Are there any more . . . stipulations you have?”

“No, that’s it,” Derek said.

“So, we . . . got a deal?”

Derek put down his fork as he looked at her. “Ms. Van Dyke,” he began slowly. Then he grinned like a Cheshire cat. “We have a deal.” He stuck his hand out to her.

She took trying not to show too much glee.

They shook on it.