by Amarie Avant
I lean against the counter next to her. “Well, if we all lower our expectations, I can have a baby in say ten months or so. How does that sound?”
“Humph. I didn’t say a sperm donor, girl.” Mom shakes her head. “Sounds like you need your father to hook you up with another—”
“No younger colleagues, who initially decided a blind date will solidify their relationship with my father, and then they see me and think they can fu—do…certain things with me,” I clean up my words. “No sons of golf buddies either.”
“You’ve pushed away all of your father’s golf buddies’ sons, nephews, hell, and their male dental referrals. Your dad was talking to a good friend of his the other day about his pretty princess.”
“Mama,” I seethe.
“Don't you mama me. Cool it. I saved you from another lame romantic dinner at an expensive restaurant you've never been to.”
I wave her off. “I don't need a man to flash his success in my face. Anything I want, best believe I got it or have the means to get it. I'll take a humble man who just so happens to be working on his doctoral thesis, be the black woman helping him climb the ladder of success any day, than one spoiled brat whose father knows my father.” Everyone admires my father.
That is a reason to be prideful. But who the hell will measure up to my Dad?
###
Come Monday, I step out of my Audi at the Delacroix Hotel valet station. The attendant knows me by name. Most of the finest hotels do. My clients have enough to splurge on fine venues for intimate settings or more. Now, once I get celebrity clients or the ultra-rich, the venues will include getaways to exotic places, renting mansions instead of ballrooms. Limit will be a taboo word.
A hotel rep comes out to escort me inside, holding a tray with a glass of wine.
“Thank you…Karen,” I recall her name, taking the glass. Karen is almost as good as my assistant, Lacy. She’s worked in tandem with me the few times I’ve used the Delacroix Hotel as a venue.
“Glad to see you have returned, Miss Taylor.”
I smile, knowingly. The last time I was here, the campaign party I hosted made it to the LA Times. Hence, Mr. Kroger’s decision to glance my way.
The lobby is trimmed in gold marble with lilies laced into soaring high cases, and tear drop chandlers. We start into the largest of the venues. At twenty grand for a few hours without even adding on food, this place is grand.
“Karen, is it ready for me to view?” I ask the attendant as she opens one of the many double doors to a sea of vibrant purple flower petals. Thousands of saffron crocuses blanket the floor, leaving no room for us to enter. Who the hell would request so many flowers for an event?
Part of me is in awe at my favorite flower. The remainder is unable to see the use, aesthetic, and reason to adorn the entire room. The dance floor is obsolete as is any sort of walkway into the large area.
Who is having an event this early in the day? It’s odd that the floor would be covered in flowers like this, and flowers that must cost into the hundreds of thousands for so many of them. Then, I notice Karen’s sly smile.
“Karen, what’s going on? I'm supposed to meet a client here in,” I pause to glance at my watch, “less than five minutes.”
I refuse to be late for my new client. I don't need a reason for Mr. Kroger to hate me. Especially since Azalea met him for a cup of coffee at the coffee boutique around the corner, and hightailed it before the drinks could be delivered to them.
“Good afternoon, Miss Taylor,” a sexy, deep, and very familiar voice says from behind me. No doubt, his eyes are beaming into my red skirt.
My face is rigid so as not to grant him the opportunity to gloat at my expense. Really, I'm just shocked. That is all.
I turn slowly in my stilettos, feeling Karen grin all strong. Oh, goodness she thinks this is romantic. My hands go straight to my hips. I glare at Daniel.
“Look up,” he says.
Before my brain has a chance to catch up, I do as told.
Bastard.
My mouth drops for a fraction of a second. There are a choice few Gold of Kinabalu orchids strung from the ceiling. My God, I've never seen them in person. Hell, I purchased my own saffron crocus, and the bunch cost as much as a new dress. But the orchid is rarer and more expensive.
“I wasn't sure if saffron was your favorite flower or the Gold of Kinabalu orchid.”
It's on the tip of my tongue to retort; to say perhaps you'd blow the bank purchasing as many Kinabalu orchids. But that would definitely label me as a hater or better, mad black woman. Besides, he probably won’t shock the entire bank.
I eye him curiously.
“There's a Kinabalu canvas painting behind you in your Elite photo. And a bunch of saffron crocuses on your Facebook.”
I give him the ‘creeper’ glower. “So, I take it you're the person I'm meeting for a retirement?”
He smiles. “You are partially correct. I’ll probably work until I die but Lacy told me other gigs might be sent to upper-level associates.”
“All right, you've had your kicks.” I don't do much as get one stiletto before the other and Daniel dominates the space between us. He pulled this crap at Azalea’s. I still am unable to fathom how the heck he crossed the room so quickly.
“No tricks.”
I take a deep breath, head cocked to the side. “Please don't insult my intelligence or my values, Mr. Rutledge.”
“I had no intention of insulting you. You have a beautiful mind, beneath the misconception. And I would like to know what you value.”
My eyelid twitches. In another fucking galaxy, a man displaying interest in a woman's beliefs and values is the highest level of respect. He wants sex. “What's your angle?”
“We're working on your view of me, Desire.”
I chew on my bottom lip, and then stop instantly since his eyes are glued to my mouth. Is there something on my teeth? Is my lip gloss out of the lines? No, can't be. His gray eyes are heavy with craving, daring me to continue to chew and taste my mouth.
“Mr. Rutledge, yes, I have come up with my conclusion about you based on your use of my aunt’s services. You have beautiful women who would make a Disney princess pale in comparison. Sweet, nice, intelligent. On the outside looking in, they're independent. I just feel sorry for them because they allow themselves to be entranced and manipulated and blinded by looks and money. But none of them will have your heart because you are selfish. I would slit my fucking wrists before becoming your next closet—”
There's a flash in his gaze.
“I'm…I’m so very sorry.” My entire heart lurches. Mouth wide, I force myself to breathe or turn blue in front of him. Though I deserve to be slapped, he offers no emotion beside the slight darkness to his already coal-gray gaze. “I am so sorry.”
“That's quite all right. You have your right to your perception.”
“No…no it's not.” I recall the 20/20 documentary on the Rutledge family that compared them to the Kennedys after Daniel’s grandmother died a year prior. His mother slit her wrists when he was in middle school. Shocking stories force me to recall certain details, such as him being thirteen. “I really…”
I reach out to touch him, but his words shock me enough not to. “Desire, I promise you, I'd rather the insults than for you to feel sorry for me.”
“Listen,” I take a deep breath, “I've got some serious drama going on at home. Right before your call a few weeks back, I was tricked into—you know what? I’m…I’m just making an excuse. I am so very sorry.”
Daniel eyes my fourth finger. “Boyfriend drama?”
“Never. I wouldn't allow a man to—let me just say that I've overstepped my boundaries. My mother would be ashamed of my mouth.”
He smiles. “I happen to enjoy your mouth. The dirtier, the better.”
I step back on instinct. “Look, I have issues. And you are a man with too much love,” I cushion the truth with a smile, “to give. So, thank you for the flowers.”
I reach down to pick up one of the saffron stems. “I appreciate the gesture.”
“What about our meeting?”
“I wish. Orchestrating your retirement party or any sort of party for you would be fireworks. But…you have intentions.” And the Devil is a liar.
“I do,” the wolf admits.
“And I'm smart enough to stay the hell away from you. Daniel, I am searching for my forever. Not instant gratification no matter how captivating the package is.” I freely glance him up and down, another peace offering gesture.
“How about this? It’s imperative that I have an event planned. I will be no less than a gentleman throughout said deliberations.”
I bite my lip again. Scarlett said he was a gentleman. She’s the only one of them I’ve met in the flesh. They’re all perfect on paper, but in true form, I actually liked her. Big blue eyes and all. “I don't think—”
“You have my word, I am not a man who bites unless provoked.” He extends a hand.
I purse my lips in thought. This event offers leads and the ability to display my creative side without pause. Hesitantly, I raise my hand. “No funny business.”
Our fingers collide and connect. A spark flies through my entire body, as if I’ve been revved back to life.
Daniel smiles, charismatic. “All right. So, can you pencil me down for tomorrow evening? Dinner at Eve’s Rib.”
“That’s so soon. We haven’t even worked out any logistics—what type of event or...wait, you said, Eve’s Rib?” My eyebrow rises. The trendy barbecue restaurant has raves and reviews, and I saw it on the Food Network Channel.
“Because I must return to Texas. The aim is to have my party by the beginning of summer. The new jets launch on June twenty-fourth. Six weeks isn’t much time. Is that doable?”
“Yes, of course.” I grin. Without sleep, anything is possible.
“All right. I will, of course, meet you there. Eve’s has the best ribs. You'll be too busy licking your fingers to flirt with me.”
“Me flirt with you?” My eyebrow arches.
He grins, the sort of smile that forces you to have a few heart palpitations. Since the conference room has no walkway, we step into the hotel bar and chat for a while. Daniel tells me more about the business. I try not to overthink anything while jotting down notes. After about twenty minutes, I have a basic idea of what he’s interested in.
“Okay, Daniel, but no finger licking. I’ll try to have ideas for your party by then. I may have questions prior though. And, thank you for this opportunity.”
Daniel
It's almost eight in the evening when Desire calls. I had anticipated an earlier call, but knew she’d reach out before the end of day. Like a geek, I’m also working late. My laptop is before me, in the downstairs office of Juliet’s home. I grab the iPhone from the counter. Those ample curves I’ve craved nonstop since she’s entered my life, pass forth like vivid images as I answer the phone.
“You are crazy.” She punctuates each word with what I can only imagine is a smile. Damn, I thought I would get so much as small cocky grin earlier at the Delacroix Hotel. But leave it to her to save the best for when I am unable to view it. The condolence smile she offered over my mother, Celine, was just that, a condolence. Pity. I want a real smile, the good shit.
“Cold hearted. Kind. Ruthless.” I issue out a list of how I’ve been perceived in the past. “A quote—surprisingly—end quote, nice guy. I've heard lots; however, this is a first as far as crazy goes.”
“Well, I think you are crazy and I'm sure you're surprisingly nice when it works in your favor. Well, thank you, Mr. Rutledge.”
“Surprise,” I feign excitement. “I take it you've arrived home and see the rest of your flowers?”
“My entire front yard is …it's pretty much worth more than my house. Not an inch of green grass is showing. Who really has time to purchase all these orchids and clutter my yard?”
“The venue was to catch you off your toes. But I wanted you to take home more than a single flower. You took the damn saffron when we both know you wanted to jump over those and grab the orchids which were—”
“Conveniently out of reach. That’s evil.”
“I’ve been called evil before.”
“Humph. Well, the devil was very persuasive. Also, someone donated a gazillion flowers to churches in my old neighborhood off Crenshaw which is a few blocks from Delacroix Hotel.”
“Yeah, I only rented the hotel for six hours. Much of it was filled with the manpower of planting and picking up flowers. The companies contracted to get rid of them were told to take them to the surrounding churches and convalescent homes. Apparently, there are a lot of churches in Los Angeles.”
“Hell yeah, church, church, liquor store, church. Oftentimes, two churches surround a liquor store,” she jokes, and I chuckle. “But there were women, young and old, coming from mid-week services gushing on the local news channels about your generosity.”
“Are you certain? I wasn't contacted by any news companies, so I doubt it was me.”
“You are either truly and utterly beautiful or…well, can I call you vain for showing how heavy your pockets are when women all over West L.A. are unaware?” She pauses. “I think I will call you vain, though, seeing that your intentions were for me to be aware of your good deeds.”
“Vain, nothing new about that characteristic at all, except for I have never been called that. And beautiful. That's another new one. But I will tally this as a loss instead of a win, since I take it you're still stuck on perceptions. What you've read in magazines is not always the truth.”
“There are a ton of Rutledge dynasty documentaries too. Everyone has something to say about you,” she says. I can feel the smile radiating from her skin and through the receiver. “Hmmm, well, thank you, Daniel. No more flowers, please. We already shook hands to a business-like atmosphere.”
“No more shock and awe, got it. I cannot wait to see you.” My tone is borderline against the law according to Desire so I add, “And the exceptional ideas you've come up with.”
“Well, I worked all evening at the office to gather a list of possible vendors for your event. Although, we do need to chat a theme.”
“That’s why we’re meeting at Eve’s Rib.”
“Um-hum.” She seems to still be alight with smiles. Yeah, we could have this conversation over the phone. Will I allow it? Fuck no.
We hang up.
Juliet bounds into my line of vision, a Dodger cap slung low on her curly hair. “That was Desire,” Juliet says. There's an air of assurance in her tone as she points a bat in my direction.
“Yes.” I stand, hefting the batting equipment.
“I’ve had my head in textbook after textbook all afternoon. You've done the same with your laptop. Time for fun, big bro. Let's hit the batting cages so you can tell me all about the seduction of Miss Taylor.” Juliet presses the button to the garage. “Miss Taylor, what a beautiful name. She's the one. I hope she's the one.”
“Jules.” My tone is testy, while tossing the batting equipment into the backseat of her Jeep 4x4. It lands on a coating of sand, reminding me of the newest addition to Juliet’s wake of broken hearts. We went surfing at Latigo Point yesterday. Lo and behold, Lee was also there. The day before, it was hiking in the Solstice Canyon and Lee popped up there too. Heck, I get it. I should’ve already commenced my seduction of Desire—fuck those are Juliet’s words. Despite keeping Desire on those beautiful toes of hers, I had to wait for the flowers to be flown in from various places. “Don’t start imaging Elizabeth Taylor in an old classic. Because that’s not what you’re in for.” I’m not sure how quickly I can penetrate Desire’s defenses.
“C’mon, I don’t need reprimanding, Daniel. You have virtually no time for romance. Yet you've exceeded the call of duty for Desire. Everything isn't all business. Just because your women have signed on the dotted line, doesn't mean the heart isn’t involved.”
I begin to think of Jada. I re
ally enjoyed her company, not just the sex. Though the sex was phenomenal, we worked well with each other.
Juliet confides, “And I take it that Desire isn't the settling type from what I saw on a few personal videos streaming on YouTube earlier. You're on a mission for true love. Damn, those videos were amazing. You have a thousand women falling for you right now, Daniel. Some of those girls at those churches were teens who probably never got a single daisy from their,” her voice dips somewhat, “father. They were all smiles over a stranger’s philanthropic endeavor. Your other women love you. They were all practice for the one, this one.”
Desire
It's all up in the air, my thoughts of Daniel Rutledge. He is too drop dead gorgeous to run along after me. No low self-esteem here. I know I'm fine, but the trust and the motivation behind his interest in me, I can't quite put my finger on it. And I have never been a fan of complicated.
I reminisce on high school and how I spent more time attempting to save Lauren’s loser ass virtue than I did on my own man. Lord knows I had ample opportunity to go buck wild and act a fool. But my dad taught me better. And just thinking about what guys said about her, how they treated her after the sex, well, that left a disgusting taste in my mouth and labeled me as a stuck-up bitch in high school too. No special treatment for him.
This evening, a distressed blue jean jumpsuit hugs at my curves, and bright red strappy heels adorn my feet. I snatch the red scarf from my neck; it isn't a cool enough evening to wear it. Now my breasts are on display, but I'm not one for dressing down. Besides, Eve’s Rib is a modern restaurant, with more artistic flair than anything. I second-guess my ensemble entirely when Daniel’s number pops up on the screen.
I put him on speaker and say hello. My eyes bug out at the time! Dang, I should be already glancing over my ideas on the way out the door.
He seems as rushed as I am, saying, “Change of plans, doll—uh, Desire.”
“Yes, don't call me doll. And what change of plans?”
“We will meet at Asahi Shark. I could pick you up?”
