The Ex Dilemma

Book 1: Batchelor Life

by Elle Wright

Genres: African American Romance; Contemporary Romance; Romantic Comedy

Synopsis

"Marry or lose your inheritance." A commitment phobic heir in Detroit, Michigan faces the ultimate challenge from his powerful grandmother and family company CEO in this charming, irresistibly fun and flirty new contemporary romance from award-winning author Elle Wright.

Wesley Batchelor is desperate for an image reboot—stat. A mysterious social media influencer keeps revealing his many reckless romantic liaisons, putting everything Wesley has worked so hard for at stake. Worse, he’s in deep trouble with his grandmother and Batchelor Enterprises boss, Joyce, his one and only true cheerleader. So he’s stunned and relieved when his gorgeous ex, private detective Albany Keyes, is recruited to track down the leaker . . .

All Wes has to do is keep a cool-headed professional distance. Easy, right? Until the incendiary passion between him and Albany suddenly reignites. And he realizes he wants more from her—just like always . . .

For Joyce's sake, Albany reluctantly accepts the assignment to aid Wes. After all, she needs the money to regroup after a disastrous divorce. But this time, she's going to call the shots. She doesn’t need her heart re-broken by the only man she's ever loved. Yet she soon finds their differences are drawing them together again. And again. And again. Now, with both their careers and their hearts on the line, can they risk another chance on each other—this time, for keeps?

Publisher: Kensington Books

Print pages: 320

Sample

I’d always tried—and failed—to forget. Enough whiskey to make me numb, a beautiful woman in my bed, and a warm place to lay my head hadn’t helped dull the ache in my gut or my heart when I opened my eyes that morning. The anniversary of my father’s death.

May 30th.

Somehow, the other dates never mattered. Not my birthday or the anniversary of my parents’ marriage or the day the man I’d once thought was invincible was indicted on corporate fraud charges and set to spend years in a federal prison.

The memory of that morning had never really seemed to fade away with the passage of time. I still remembered the smell of my mother’s perfume when she’d awakened me with the news. An accident. A fishing trip gone wrong. My father had fallen into the Detroit River. Its turbulent waters had been too much for him. The current was too strong, too swift. The details were a blur but the feelings … Despair and loss mixed with vulnerability and fear. Abandoned. Because that was the day my life had changed, and not for the better. That was the day I’d ceased being Good Little Wesley Batchelor. The Wes that had survived that day and the days after was not the same boy who believed good outweighed bad, that love conquered all. No, the Wes that lived was a man that had done everything I could to achieve my goals, even if that meant I had to hurt people to get where I needed to be.

But today …

Even the raging hangover I woke up with had only served as a small distraction, a nuisance really. One that would inevitably go away once I either took another shot or gulped a gallon of water and ate a piece of dry toast. I wasn’t sure which route I’d take but the bottle of Johnnie Walker Blue sitting conveniently on the nightstand next to my bed was winning the war. Because I had shit to do, meetings that couldn’t be pushed back, things that couldn’t wait until tomorrow.

Decision made, I poured myself a healthy taste of whiskey and gulped it down. Sighing, I glanced back at the woman sleeping peacefully next to me. Mia … No, Alicia … Hm, Brynn? At this point, it didn’t even matter what her name was because I would never see her again. She was nice enough, had even offered me scintillating conversation about politics and sports. But I had rules—no promises, no forever.

I stood, stretched, and turned to her. Bending down, I nudged her arm gently. One beautiful brown eye popped open, then she sat up, holding a sheet over her naked body.

She blinked. “I’m sorry,” she grumbled. “I …” She scrambled off the bed and dressed quickly. “Thanks for—” She blew her wild hair out of her face. “It was nice. I would tell you to call me, but yeah … no.”

The woman buzzed past me, darting around my room looking for her belongings. I couldn’t help but smile, pleasantly surprised that her demeanor this morning matched the façade I’d originally thought she might be putting on last night once I’d told her my stance on relationships. Long story short … I’m not interested. If only I could remember her name.

She bent down and zipped up one boot. After she did the same with the other one, she stood and grabbed her leather jacket. “It really was a fun time,” she assured me in her haste to leave. “I hope you have a good day, despite everything.”

Apparently, the whiskey had done its job a little too good last night. I froze, struggling to remember the conversation from the night before. It wasn’t my style to divulge anything personal, but had I said too much? “Despite what?” I asked.

Fully dressed now, she turned to me and offered a not-so-shy smile. “You mentioned an anniversary of somebody’s death. Honestly, I can’t remember.” She shrugged. “Sorry.”

Relieved, I said, “No apologies necessary. Can I call you an Uber?”

She waved a dismissive hand my way. “No, thanks. I can take care of that myself.” She zoomed toward the front door but stopped short of opening it. “I’m not sure who Albany is, but maybe she’s the one you should’ve been with last night?”

I managed to keep my face devoid of emotion, but inside I was cursing myself out for talking too much. Not only did I mention the significance of the day, but I’d tossed out that name in what … Some fantasy gone wrong? What the hell is wrong with me?

The worst part? I’d been caught so completely off guard, which signaled I needed to tighten shit up again. I opened my mouth to speak, but … I got nothing. Swallowing, I stared at her and waited for her to finally walk out.

With a heavy sigh, the woman swung the door open. “By the way, my name is Amber. Next time, maybe do a better job remembering who you stick your dick in?” She shrugged. “Just sayin’.”

Unable to help myself, I laughed. The fact that she’d had the nerve to call me on my bullshit almost made me want a repeat. Almost. But Amber was funny.

Surprisingly, she laughed too. “Anyway, bye.”

Chuckling, I rubbed the stubble on my jaw. “Bye, Amber.”

Then, she was gone.

While I could’ve spent several more minutes dissecting our interaction, racking my brain on the specifics of the evening, I knew I didn’t have time. Duty called.

There was a bouquet of roses at the grave site, in front of the headstone. Cedric Wesley Batchelor. Even though Mom was now happily married to her second husband and living on the other side of the state, she still sent flowers to the cemetery every Memorial Day. For the life of me, I could never understand why.

The dark shadow my father had cast over our entire family should have destroyed any love she felt for him, but it hadn’t changed anything. Although my mother would always hold a special place in her heart for her first love, it made me sick to think about the turmoil my father had taken her through—in life and in death.

I glanced at the words engraved on the tombstone. Loving son, husband, and father. Every year, I forced himself to visit the cemetery on this exact day. Every year, I read the engraving over and over again. Every year, I thought about the lies my father had told. Every year, I wondered if Cedric—because even now I can’t bring myself to call him Dad—even knew what love was. And every year, I walked away resolute in the plans I’d made for my own life. Taking one last look at my father’s resting place, I whispered, “I’ll never be like you. I’m better. I’m smarter. I’ll succeed. And I’ll do it without you.”

The buzz of my cell phone drew my attention away from the tombstone. I glanced down at my phone.

Hendrix: Heads up. Ms. Tea strikes again.

Closing my eyes, I typed out a response, letting my cousin know that I would handle it. I jogged back to the car and slid into the driver’s seat. It only took a few seconds to find the latest social media post from the woman who’d made me a trending subject.

After months of posting random celebrity and local news, the anonymous influencer, Ms. Tea, had zeroed in on me. My life had become fodder for this mysterious content creator, and she’d devoted countless minutes and too many short videos on my exploits. I clicked on the latest post and listened as the robotic voice babbled on about my penchant for no-name flings and meaningless hookups while still photos and videos of me played in the background.

The TikTok had already generated hundreds of thousands of likes. And the comments … People who didn’t even know me had taken an interest in my life. Some mused about the size of my dick. Others accused me of being a dick. Then there were those who’d diagnosed me as a narcissistic asshole, speculated on my religion and labeled me a heathen. No doubt this one reel would spawn dozens of other videos analyzing my body language or adding fake context to everything as if they’d been in the room. Not to mention there would be that one person who claimed they were a family friend who’d seen my downfall from middle school. It was a muthafuckin’ mess.

The topic veered to my activities yesterday, accompanied by images of me at the club. Before I’d taken Amber back to my place, it had been a typical night. I’d entered the venue late, had several drinks with random women, picked one, then left. Nothing too out of the ordinary for a single man. Tame. Almost boring. Until …

“Shit,” I grumbled when a pic of me cuddled up next to the daughter of a potential business partner appeared. Because Amber wasn’t the only woman I’d attempted to sleep with yesterday. She was actually my second choice. Maybe I am a narcissistic asshole?

Real talk, though. I loved a challenge. An off-limits woman was like catnip, something I could never really resist. And there was always a small part of me that wanted to fuck my life up. “Damn it.”

After a few minutes, I gave up. I didn’t bother listening to the rest of the video because the damage had already been done with that photo. It was all bad. And my grandmother would be livid. Shit, I might even get fired.

Joyce Batchelor had spent years growing the media company that she and my grandfather had founded together back in 1969. The infamous scandal surrounding my father’s countless crimes and his subsequent death had threatened the company’s existence as well as our family’s wealth. After that, she’d made it a point to have a hand in every single division of the company. As long as Granny was alive, her word was final. She’d made that very clear when she’d given me a job in the company, when she’d promoted me to my current position as Director of Commercial Strategy and Business Development, and when she’d asked me to work with her on the deal to absorb the cash-strapped Garland Production Company.

Granny had warned me to stay far away from temptation. Which meant, stay the hell away from Bishop Edward Garland’s daughter. The megachurch pastor had a very public platform where he preached “family values” to his many followers. He was very protective of his baby girl and was known for his fiery sermons from the pulpit about the seven deadly sins. His daughter, Candice, had supposedly followed in his footsteps, building her individual brand as a “tradwife” influencer. She espoused traditional gender roles, wore a purity ring, encouraged women to prioritize being wives, and talked about motherhood being the ultimate goal.

Except … she didn’t practice what she preached. Behind closed doors and against her father’s wishes, she had a very robust sex life. She’d made that very clear when she squeezed my dick under the conference table during our first business meeting.

Any perceived impropriety would not only jeopardize the deal we’d been working on for two months, but my own job. Because the blame would undoubtedly fall on me, the wicked son of a criminal as opposed to the preacher’s innocent angel. After all, I’d willingly committed the deadly sin of lust on a regular basis. And the sun had indeed set on my wrath every night. Then, the other sins … Shit. There was only one course of action—keep Granny from seeing the latest post from her favorite influencer, Ms. Tea Spills It.

The twenty-minute drive to the Batchelor Corporation offices in Downtown Detroit was uneventful. No traffic, no road rage incidents, no flooding in the streets, and no tires ruined due to potholes. Confident that I could mitigate the damage when I entered the building, I greeted the lobby receptionist and grabbed a coffee.

Unfortunately, my morning turned even more sour when I entered my tenth-floor office and found my uncle lounging in my chair as if he owned it. Frowning, I asked, “What the hell are you doing here?”

It was no secret that I couldn’t stand my father’s brother, John. The older man had taken pleasure from making my life a living hell. The vendetta between the Batchelor sons had been well-known in the family’s circle. They’d barely tolerated each other. And my father’s death had done nothing to dampen the ire that had been evident since they were little boys.

My uncle crossed a leg over his knee. “Running late this morning?”

“What the hell are you doing in my office, John?” I repeated.

I learned a long time ago that nothing was guaranteed. Time. Money. Status. Trust. Family loyalty. Everything was subject to approval by the person giving it. Anyone expecting to receive those things was often left empty, lacking. John was a bottom-feeder, an opportunist, the worst kind of man. He had no problem trouncing over his competitors to turn a profit or gain an advantage. No one had to tell me that he was full of shit. My instincts had warned me early on, maybe when I was around twelve. I refused to call him “uncle” because the man had never acted like anyone other than an adversary.

“It’s the anniversary of my brother’s death.”

“I know what day it is,” I growled. “I’m surprised you care, considering you probably danced on his grave after his funeral.”

It was no secret that I had struggled with my father’s life and legacy. I’d spent years running from the past, from my family, from my mistakes. The rage dwelling deep inside made me want to destroy everything around me, especially myself. My sole identity was wrapped up in my father’s failures. No direction. No job. Just liquor, women, and mayhem. Until Granny offered me a second chance and ordered me to get my shit together.

John shrugged. “Call me curious, I thought I’d stop by to make sure you were managing better than in years past.”

I snorted. “You’d like that, huh? To finally be rid of the daily reminder that my mom chose him over you?”

The bitter sibling rivalry was amplified when my father stole John’s girlfriend and married her. The fact that I was a product of that union rankled my uncle in ways that had affected me negatively throughout my life.

John let out a humorless, sinister chuckle. “Actually, no. Watching you fuck up your life has been pure joy, proof that Harriett picked the wrong Batchelor.”

“All that bitterness,” I mused. “I would think being a father of three and preparing for your third divorce would give you more to worry about than which Batchelor my mother chose over thirty years ago. Maybe it’s time you move on? She has, and so has everyone else.”

“It’s only a matter of time before my mother realizes that you’re full of shit just like Cedric was,” John continued. “When she does, I’ll make it my mission to destroy you.”

I clenched my fists, took several slow breaths. Three. Two. One. The urge to pummel him wasn’t a new emotion for me. I’d followed through once, too, which landed me in the county jail. Since then, I vowed to never lose my composure again. Instead, I forced a smile. “Have a good day.” Opening a file my assistant had left on my desk, I scanned the front document and waited for John to leave. When the older man made no move to get up, I met his waiting gaze. “What?”

John finally stood. “My mother made a mistake when she brought you into this company, mentoring you, handing you Garland on a silver platter.”

“Too bad I don’t care what you think.”

“Maybe you should,” John sneered. “The only person standing between you and me is her, and when she dies, I’ll make sure your unworthy ass has nothing.”

I folded my arms over my chest. “I hope that day doesn’t come anytime soon because I actually love her, and not her money. I’ll play along for your sake, though. On that unfortunate day, John, you’ll realize that I don’t give a shit about you or your kids. I have never needed you before and I will not need you then. Fuck you. Get the hell out of my office.”

We stood there for several seconds, eyes locked. The dare was there. Do something. John should’ve been thankful Granny was still alive because she was the only person stopping me from beating his old ass.

John turned away and took a deep breath before he walked out without another word. It took a few minutes, but I managed to regain my focus on the matter at hand. I called Granny’s office.

Granny’s assistant answered the phone. “Hey, you. You saved me a call.”

I massaged my temples and prayed I wasn’t too late. “You’re looking for me?” I asked.

“Yes, your grandmother would like to see you.”

I swallowed hard. “When?”

“Now,” she chirped. “The others have already been notified.”

The others? “What is this, Jeanette?”

“I wish I could tell you,” she said, “but she told me to keep my mouth shut.”

Letting out a heavy sigh, I told Jeanette I’d be there right away. After I hung up, I texted Hendrix: What the hell is this meeting about?

Hendrix: Hell if I know. Could be anything.

I stared at the wall, my mind racing with wild scenarios. It wasn’t uncommon for my grandmother to summon us to her office on a whim, but I’d learned the hard way that Granny never wasted time on meaningless things. She definitely had a plan of action, she never held her tongue, and she always got her way.

Five minutes later, I entered the conference room. I half expected to find my uncle sitting next to Granny, vying for attention, but John wasn’t in the room. Only me, my sister, and all the cousins minus one. I took the empty seat next to Erica on the other end of the room, far away from my grandmother.

“What’s up,” I grumbled.

Erica leaned in. “You fucked up, brother,” she tossed back with a wicked gleam in her eyes and a smirk on her lips. “I caught that Ms. Tea post this morning.”

“Shut up,” I murmured through clenched teeth. “Any idea what we’re doing here?”

Hendrix walked into the room and sat next to me. “Interesting,” he whispered. “No Uncle Fathead, no mom? It might be a trap.”

Erica snickered. “Maybe she found out about your affair with Jeanette?” she mused quietly. I choked on the water I’d just gulped down, and Erica patted my back. “You okay, Wes?”

Wiping my tie with a napkin, I assured her, “I’m good.”

Hendrix glared at her. “What part of mind your own damn business don’t you understand?”

Erica shrugged. “I might need to call in a favor later. So I pay attention.”

“Who are you? The bone collector?” Hen argued.

I often wondered the same thing. I loved my sister, but she spent a lot of time collecting dirt on everyone in the family. I’d once assumed it was a defense mechanism. After our father died, we lost almost everything and were forced to move out of Detroit due to the stigma—and the threats. On top of that, John ensured much of the extended family treated us like peasants. For a long time, the only contact we had in the family was … the woman staring at me right now.

I elbowed Hen to get his attention, but my cousin was too busy whisper-yelling at my little sister.

“Or you could always just ask for what you need,” Hendrix said. “No need for blackmail.”

“Where’s Cyn?” Erica said, changing the subject.

I cleared my throat again. “Heads up.”

They both knew what that meant, and all conversation ceased instantly. Granny met my gaze again before she scanned the room.

“I’m surprised you called us here today, Granny,” Jackson said in his usual constipated tone. Jackson was just like his father, John. Arrogant. Hypocritical. Liked to hear himself talk.

“I’m surprised you called us here today, Granny,” Erica mocked, under her breath.

Hendrix shook his head. “Fucking clown.”

My cousin and my sister gave each other a fist bump, previous conflict forgotten.

Granny eyed me, her light brown eyes assessing me thoughtfully. Shit, she knows.

As if my sister had read my mind, she whispered, “Oh shit, Wes. You’re in trouble.”

“Big trouble,” Hendrix cosigned.

Granny stood, setting her glasses down on the table and smoothing a hand over her salt-and-pepper hair. Although she would be considered petite to an average observer, to me she seemed larger than life, taller than her five-foot-four frame. I had never seen her frazzled or nervous. She exuded confidence in everything. No hair out of place, no sign of a wrinkle in her clothes, no visible flaw in her appearance. The years had been good to her. Dressed in a fitted navy pantsuit and white blouse, she looked closer to fifty-five than seventy-five with flawless mocha skin and a sassy short haircut. I knew it had a lot to do with how she lived her life, always active. Judging by her choice of shoes—a pair of blue Nike Air Max sneakers—she was planning a workout of some sort. When she wasn’t on the golf course, she was walki. . .