by Amarie Avant
“Jada!” Azalea shouts at the top of her lungs. “Daniel doesn’t love you, honey. He never could love any of you! Now, stop.” Her hands are hitched, each word moving her slender body in just enough passion to penetrate Jada’s psyche.
My eyebrows furrow together as this grown ass woman, almost forty years old, cries a river. Dreadlocks frame a face that once was flawless, but now is drenched in tears.
Azalea pulls her into her arms like a Madame would when her bottom bitch had a broken heart over the highest tipping john. I blink and that is me being embraced by Azalea. The Madame patting my back, consoling me over my stupidity.
I'd be dumber than my aunt’s employees to continue seeing Daniel. At least they signed a contract which indicated the level of a “relationship” they have with Daniel. There are no blurred lines or confusion on their end. All I'm capable of clinging to are the words he's said. The promises he's made during sex.
A physical ache burgeons in the pit of my stomach. I walk away from the mess that Mr. Rutledge has caused.
###
It's an hour later when Jada’s crying dies down, or perhaps I have become accustomed to it, and the front door closing broke the monotony of the whimpering.
The kitchen is all dark, heavy wood with Mediterranean mosaic tile. I fixate on the turquoise, cream, and a burnt orange backsplash while seated at the island.
A stemless glass of Rosé twirls in my hand when a magazine slams down onto the countertop beside me. The bottle is still open and there's a second glass which my aunt readily picks up, pours herself a drink, and sips.
She sinks down onto the stool beside me, believing I would respond to her dramatic ass and her damn magazine but I hardly offer it a glance.
“The two of you made the front pages of Star magazine, Celebrity, and a horde of other magazines. They don’t know your name yet, Desire. And they don’t know you’re screwing Daniel either.”
Glass empty, I set it down and grab the tabloid. There’s photos of us at the steakhouse, and Asahi Shark. Some speculate about my working for Daniel. I glance at a passage which reads a representative close to Daniel has confirmed that I am indeed his ‘employee’ and nothing more.
I bite my lip.
The Madame is a master at reading females. She knows I’m not just commissioned by him to carry out a certain task. Through all the talks The Madame has offered in the past, she sees me. Her face is a mask of disappointment. She’s highly aware that Daniel has penetrated my defenses.
I'm not one of her girls.
She tosses back her drink, mumbling about it being weak shit in French. I only know because our vacations at spa resorts have an abundance of “weak shit” to drink.
“For the most part, it appears to be smoke and mirrors.” She rises and steps to the subzero refrigerator to pull out Brandy. “With Daniel’s team indicating you’re working for him, which you are, and broken-hearted girls like Jada, who can read between the lines of other soon to be broken hearted girls. Desire, what the fuck are you doing?” Azalea points the Brandy bottle at me.
My jaw tenses. For all the talk of being ‘enamored’ and love, it’s the last thing Azalea wants for me. When Lauren gets played, Azalea is the first person to laugh. Any heartbreak for a woman is another ‘I told you so’ from The Madame. Sometimes, differentiating between my aunt Azalea and The Madame, who I have not an ounce of respect for, can be a feat.
“He took you to Texas? Texas? Really?” She seethes, opening the cap and taking the bottle straight to the head.
“Yes, Texas.”
She scrutinizes my elongated neck, broadening shoulders, and high chin. Hell, The Madame taught me how to play Russian Roulette, though my emotions still play a role in my behavior. I murmur, “It’s not as you see things.”
Her hand flexes. My aunt has slapped women before, prior to becoming The Madame of a prestigious company. She had to start somewhere. The streets of Los Angeles provided ample opportunity for success.
Azalea and my father came from sparse beginnings. He had tenacity and drive while he took his childhood sweetheart, my mom, out the hood. He was ruthless. If it didn't involve his education or his woman, then he didn't give a shit. Azalea is so much like James, and so much not like him all in one. Ambition and image are what they strive for and by any means. One’s route was books. The other sibling used other person’s bodies.
“It’s not how I see it?” She cackles, reclaiming her seat next to me. Now we both stare at mosaic tile. Her petite body sags. “You couldn’t even wait until he took you out of the country? Hawaii? For fuck sake?”
“I am planning an event for Daniel. That's it.” I breathe easy since we are parallel now and not eye to eye. “Okay, it’s not like I asked him to pay me. I am a woman. I have needs.”
“You have fucking needs? Where does that shit come from? Desire, you aren’t the meet and screw type!” With a wag of her finger, Azalea reprimands me. “I told him you were such a good girl. I told him he could fall in love with you… but you can’t fall in love with him, Desire. Don’t fucking be so silly, child!”
My hand slams onto the marble. I grow a pair and glare at her. “I’m not one of your whores!”
“No, at least there’s something to be had for them. Jada has a mansion. She works as a French Interpreter for the Quebec government because she’s an older woman, and not some silly ass little girl willing to live off Daniel while the getting is good. So she works, and then takes herself home to a sixteen thousand square foot mansion. Scarlett, oh you know her well. Your father sends her good for nothing father hand over fist in tithes, as if James paying tithes at his own church isn't enough. My brother is paying for…” she pauses from continuing on a tangent, then as if realizing the previous direction of our discussion begins again, “Scarlett joined the team, my team, in order to defy a pastor father, to finally fucking live! Ari has an Ivy League education. You, you, who I have loved from the day you took your first breath, only has fucking Texas!”
Daniel
I need to speak with you. Now. There’s bite in Desire’s voicemail as I sit in the backseat of an SUV. The driver just pulled up to the museum where, in a short matter of time, a section will be dedicated to my family: the historical aspect of share cropping and how our planes made a difference in the south.
Fuck. The museum is just a week prior to the new jet lines launching on June 24th. There’s a long list of other activities I must to see about.
PING. The reminder on my iPhone advises that I have five minutes before the museum meeting is to commence.
Rubbing a thumb over the scar on my eyebrow, I dial her number.
“Desire, how are you? Is everything okay?”
“Actually, yes.” She sighs. “I shouldn’t have left such an ominous voicemail.”
“That’s all right. Call me whenever you need. What was going on?” Shit, I gave my public relations representative the go-ahead to respond about Desire Taylor and I to the media. He was advised not to disclose her name, and we still haven’t had the chat about our relationship, so I told him to just indicate her business relationship to myself.
“Nothing at all. I had an argument with …with my aunt. But I reiterated to her, exactly as it’s stated in People Magazine, that I work for you. Besides, it would have been tacky to mention our fling.”
Her callousness sculpts a grimace on my face. “You don’t just work for me, Des. And what we’ve begun is far from a fling. I left you a voicemail last night asking to call me as soon as you got the chance. However, my PR rep didn’t have much time to stall. And then I made an executive decision to just indicate our business standing based on all the times you’ve pulled away.”
“Yeah, I got the message this morning, I thought it was regarding the emails we were sending back and forth,” she replies, her tone seems to soften. “But …”
“Oh, are you going to start this ‘no crossing the line’ bullshit again, Desire? Really?”
“Why do I feel as if that’s for the
best, Daniel? So yes, no crossing the line.”
“No, no fucking way.” I lean forward. “Desire, the taste of your fucking pussy is on my lips. I am addicted to that taste, and I will have it any motherfucking time I like. Matter of fact—”
“Don’t start that crap about you molding my insides to your cock, Daniel. So what you have a big dick? You aren’t the only one, I’m sure. You don’t own me.”
I laugh. “Yeah, believe what you want. I’ll see you tomorrow, Desire. I’ll be in Los Angeles by,” I pause for a moment, mentally calculating what can be rescheduled and pushed aside. “I’ll be there at eight. We can hash out—”
“AM or PM?”
“At night.” Damn she isn't a fucking booty call, but that isn’t late, either. If she’d just wait until tomorrow, we can communicate like adults about our expectations in this relationship. We can’t even hit the ground running if she’s guarded. “Desire, I really like you and—”
“Good for you, Daniel. I’ll be in the middle of a date by 8PM tomorrow night.”
“Come again?” My jaw clenches.
“I will be on a date by then. Too bad you didn’t mean the morning, I could’ve had you for breakfast. Just once more, since you don’t seem to mind.”
“Oh, I see, you’re angry with me about that fucking magazine. I like that mouth of yours. You’re so good at fucking with me, Des. It’s cute. It’s bullshit, but it’s also too fucking cute. You’ll be on a date.” I shake my head. “With whom?”
“Not with you, and that’s all that matters. Now let me reiterate; no more crossing the motherfucking line, Daniel. And I will continue to work for you until June 24th. Three more weeks, let me do my job in peace.”
“Sweetheart, the only peace you’ll get from me is in between orgasms.” My tone is cold as ice as I reiterate, “See you tomorrow night at eight.”
I bite the skin of my knuckle. Allowing my PR rep to respond to the magazine without consulting Desire really pissed her off. That’s what happens when I respond to the PR’s text while in the middle of an investment meeting.
With I huff, I determine I’ll be there at seven pm on the dot instead. Time to shove more shit aside.
Desire
The raspberry colored sleeveless sheath dress brings out the gold and red undertones of my skin color. The stretchy material stops mid-calf and accentuates my hour-glass figure which has had Terry captivated all night long. I caught a Lyft after work, opting to meet him for drinks, at a lounge of my choosing. All control at the tip of my fingers. Evening cocktail drinks turned into the dinner he had previously promised, and now it’s just after ten pm as he swoops up to the curb of my home.
“This is all you?” He rubs his perfectly trimmed goatee.
“Yeah, cookie-cutter, but all mine.” I smile with pride at my home which is exactly the same as every fourth house on the lot.
“Well go ahead, Miss Lady.” Terry speaks up as my hand grazes the passenger door. “Let me get that for you.”
My head kisses the leather headrest, and my eyes close. We had no connection tonight but chivalry is enchanting enough, isn’t it?
I suck in a breath when he gets around and opens the door for me. Terry’s fingers glide through mine as he helps me up from the car, and in this instant my heart sinks. There’s no electricity. Throughout our date, I honestly tried my damndest to feel the most miniscule spark, something, anything to save myself from the wolf. Yet, now I’m at the home front and there is no more fishing for conversation. The silence is suffocating, strolling toward the front door with him at my side.
At the door, I pivot on my heels. “So…”
He holds up his hands. “I don’t have any expectations, Desire. Can I rest assure that you make it inside all right?”
“All right?” Terry asks, searching my gaze for signs of life. He's had to do this on occasion tonight.
“Yes.” I nod, smiling, and then I rummage through my leather satchel for my keys.
He smiles. “Something is holding you back.”
“Is it that obvious?” My hand stops feeling around from makeup to moisturizer to hair product.
“Call me crazy, but I would like to take you out again.”
“Maybe…” I finally relent. Terry backs away slowly before turning to head to his car. I rub my face, wondering why I didn’t use an excuse this afternoon. All night, my mind has been on other things.
I close the door and lock up shop. Ascending the stairs, I cannot get Daniel out of my mind. Throughout the evening, I halfheartedly expected Daniel to pop up, say something amusing and bring me back to life.
I open the double doors to my bedroom and my eyes narrow.
Cool gray eyes reflect the same animosity soaring through my veins. “Daniel! Who let you in? How did you—”
Daniel’s tone doesn’t so much as reach the shouting level, yet the steeliness of it is commanding enough when he says, “Riley let me in, a few hours ago. We ate corn dogs and watched the latest Ninja Turtles movie on HBO. Now, sit down.”
My hands ball into fists, and I grumble. “No, I’m not sitting down.”
Damn, it has been too long. His suit jacket is placed over the settee at the foot of my bed, and his arms are so defined in his tailored button down. My gaze continues to fall toward his slacks, a heavy bulge that pools my mouth with desire.
Azalea’s argument slams into my chest cavity. Daniel has made no promises, and I knew his ‘mentality’ precisely before jumping into bed with him. Daniel already has a piece of me…though I have nobody to blame but myself for screwing him, I keep my distance. Allowing a man access to my body is irreversible and it connects us in ways that no other can take away.
“God so help me, Desire, if I have to get out of my seat and I scent Terence Cedric Bradshaw on your skin,” his dark glare reads volumes as to how much he knows, “there will be hell to pay.”
“Daniel, I swear to you, I am not the one. But you being in my house—oh boy, that makes me fucking angry. This bossy bullshit is for the birds. Wait,” I place a hand on my hip, “you’re aware of who I dated?”
“Yeah, you can bet that pretty piece of ass of yours I’m aware of what you’ve been up to. The Purple Lounge, followed by dinner at the M & M’s.” He rubs his palms onto the front of his slacks as if just mentioning as much has pissed him off. As if he gives a damn about me.
“Whatever, Daniel. Don’t act all hurt. Before I laid eyes on you, fucking for fun was never part of my repertoire, and given your association to my aunt, I’m sure you excelled in that regard. You had your cake, you ate it. In Dallas, I gave you the most intimate part of me. Something so precious, something a woman can never take back.” I scoff, almost whimpering at the thought. “Damn, is the joke on me? Had we taken the extra step to sign one of my aunt’s contracts would our weekend have involved a trip to some beautiful place or diamonds or both?” I stop myself from shouting about Texas as I have no issues with the state. The hate is all in my head because of my bourgeoisie ass auntie!
“I’m just the flavor of the week, huh?” I rub the constriction from my throat. I should be strong, I shouldn’t care. Yet, no-strings attached sex is a maze that I’m not capable of navigating.
He's seated and I'm standing. There isn't much of a height factor, so I rise on my tippy toes and bring on the drama. “The real kicker? I do not regret any second of it. If I was just a ‘pretty piece of ass’ for a few days, then allow me to thank you now for the wonderful experience. And now you have to go.”
“You done?” His voice is the finest silk, never rising to meet mine in theatrics.
“Yeah!”
“I’m not leaving, Des.” Daniel stands. His big strong hands feel up the small of my back as he pulls me into a kiss. The tingling begins at the nape of my neck as his thumbs caress there. My body mellows some.
Abruptly, my palms shove at his chest. With purpose, I stroll toward the door.
There he is again! Behind me instantaneously. Daniel plac
es a hand against the center of the double doors, blocking my attempt to rid myself of him. “I already told you, Desire. I am not leaving.”
“Then tell me the truth!” I shout. Damn it, I should have taken the crass stance. I should have placed my feet in a man’s shoes and understood that the weekend we had was for kicks. Yet, mouth tensed, I argue, “Am I just playing myself?”
Daniel
As soon as Desire stepped into her bedroom in the dress that showed off her shapely curves, all I wanted to do was fall to my knees, hike it up a few inches, and dig in. She has this effect on me. The last few hours transpired without a single thought to obligations, meetings, Titan Aerospace or my personal investments. No iPhone alert indicating that I have five minutes to complete this or that task because I'd turned the damn thing off, save for iMessages.
After the movie and speaking with Riley for a while, I came upstairs, receiving iMessage updates from the person who’d watched Desire for me this evening; my brain flooded by images of me ruining their date. My woman was dating another fucking man! And there was virtually nothing I could do about it, aside from nip that shit in the bud myself and risk a gossip rag featuring my romantic dispute.
Who fights over a woman who merely “works” for him?
I could see the field day they'd have from a mile away. Reacting to Desire was like blood for sharks.
“Tell me the truth! Am I just playing myself?” Desire glances up at me. Her sparkly eyes are on the verge of tears.
Whose ass should I kick? Resurrecting Wentworth I to beat his ass seems more of an impossible feat than Ephraim Levine. I’m not remiss to count my discretions. Why have Desire Taylor prior to the incineration of Wentworth’s will? Why not wait it out?
Because this is the start of something more, and I won’t fuck it up.
“You want to travel the world, we can touch down in every fucking state in the U.S. of A then travel the globe for all I give a damn. Head to every continent. All the wonders of the world are at your disposal because you’re mine, Desire.”
