Also by Mary B. Morrison
He’s Just a Friend
Never Again Once More
Soul Mates Dissipate
Who’s Making Love
Justice Just Us Just Me
Somebody’s Gotta Be On Top
MARY B. MORRISON
Kensington Publishing Corp.
http://www.kensingtonbooks.com
All copyrighted material within is Attributor Protected.
Table of Contents
Also by Mary B. Morrison
Title Page
Dedication
PREFACE
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Somebody’s Gotta Be on Top
PROLOGUE
CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 4
CHAPTER 5
CHAPTER 6
CHAPTER 7
CHAPTER 8
CHAPTER 9
CHAPTER 10
CHAPTER 11
CHAPTER 12
CHAPTER 13
CHAPTER 14
CHAPTER 15
CHAPTER 16
CHAPTER 17
CHAPTER 18
CHAPTER 19
CHAPTER 20
CHAPTER 21
CHAPTER 22
CHAPTER 23
CHAPTER 24
CHAPTER 25
CHAPTER 26
CHAPTER 27
CHAPTER 28
CHAPTER 29
CHAPTER 30
CHAPTER 31
CHAPTER 32
CHAPTER 33
CHAPTER 34
CHAPTER 35
CHAPTER 36
CHAPTER 37
CHAPTER 38
CHAPTER 39
CHAPTER 40
CHAPTER 41
CHAPTER 42
CHAPTER 43
CHAPTER 44
CHAPTER 45
CHAPTER 46
CHAPTER 47
CHAPTER 48
AUTHOR’S NOTE
Teaser chapter
Copyright Page
Dedicated to a group of phenomenal women . . .
“The Girls”:
Felicia Polk
Carmen Polk
Vyllorya A. Evans
Michaela Burnett
Koren McKenzie-John
Barbara Brown
Marilyn Edge
And in loving memory of
Sandra D. Chavis
PREFACE
Soul Mates Dissipate, Never Again Once More, He’s Just A Friend, Somebody’s Gotta Be on Top, and my next three novels are intertwined. I recommend, if possible, reading the series in order. Hopefully this brief background will help the reader better understand the connections. To preview an excerpt of each novel, visit www.marymorrison.com.
Soul Mates Dissipate is, for now, the beginning. This page-turning drama takes you on a journey with Jada Diamond Tanner and Wellington Jones, aka . . . soul mates. Wellington’s mother, Cynthia Jones, who has a history of her own with her sister Katherine, friend Susan, and ex-lover Keith, invites a sexy, single woman, Melanie Marie Thompson, to live with Wellington, with the hopes of sabotaging Wellington’s engagement to Jada.
Never Again Once More, the sequel to Soul Mates Dissipate, spans twenty years into the lives of Jada and Wellington. Darius Jones, Jada’s son, is born and matures to twenty years of age and by the end of this story he’s climbing to the top of his mother’s corporate structure and on top of her four female executives.
In He’s Just a Friend, Fancy Taylor is a beautiful but not so brilliant woman on the move to conquer a rich husband by any means necessary. Along her journey she’ll meet several friends, some of whom become foes, and eventually Fancy meets Jada’s son, Darius Jones.
In Somebody’s Gotta Be on Top, regardless of the situation, Darius Jones is always on top. His motto, “If it doesn’t make money, it doesn’t make sense,” includes the women in his life. That is, until he meets Fancy Taylor.
Nothing Has Ever Felt Like This is an upcoming release. Will Fancy Taylor outsmart Darius Jones for his money? Or will Fancy fall in love with Darius? What happens when two people love so deeply, they’re willing to die for, with, and because of one another? Darius and Fancy will learn the true meaning of love.
If you’ve read each novel, you know that Cynthia Jones has a history so moving, trust me, her story, Our Little Secret, is worth the wait. Cynthia’s story creates the beginning and concludes the end of my seven-book series. After Cynthia’s novel, I promise not to keep you waiting for Kiss Me: Now Tell Me You Love Me, a chilling drama about Harrison and Angela Gray.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
With every beat of my heart, I thank God for every breath, every day, every word, everyone, everything. Thanks to the soldiers and civilians who have dedicated, and some instances lost their lives, serving in the United States of America armed forces.
To my loving son, Jesse Byrd, Jr., I’m proud of you, keep reaching for the stars, they’re always there, even when you don’t see the light. Jesse, your intelligence on and off the basketball court will serve you well. Stay focused. Keep God first. And remember ladies think eight-to-ten steps ahead of most men. Make wise decisions.
Special thanks to my editor, Karen Thomas, my agent, Claudia Menza, and my entire Kensington family for your continual support. My siblings, Wayne, Andrea, Derrick, and Regina Morrison, Marge Rickerson, and Debra Noel, I’m grateful and blessed to have your love and support.
To my author friends, Gloria Mallette, Mary Monroe, Brenda L. Thomas, Toshia, E. Lynn Harris, may your cups runneth over. Mr. Carl Weber, aka Prince of Drama, number one best-selling author of Playa Haters, owner of Urban Books Publishing, thanks for paving the way for me and so many new writers. Carl, may God continue to bless you to others.
To Felicia Polk, of Felicia Polk and Associates, thanks for launching my career and being a true friend. To L. Peggy Hicks, of Tricom, thanks for arranging my tours. Endless love and thanks to all the booksellers, readers, radio hosts, sororities, fraternities, and book clubs. Last but never least, thanks to my man Black, I love you, Daddy.
Somebody’s Gotta Be on Top
Stop!
Somebody’s Gotta Be on Top
How much are you willing to pay
To live another day
What are you afraid of...
Money isn’t keen
It’s the realization of a dream
In the color green
Envy
Slime
Slipping
Tripping
Through time
Exchanging hands
Yours
Mine
What are you afraid of...
Wishing
Wanting
Never daunting
Taunting
Your faith
Or taking a risk
Or waiting for break
To take a piss
Shit!
Piss on
Those who sing
Piss off
Those who scream
I’m living my dream!
Stop!
Somebody’s Gotta Be on Top
How much are you willing to pay
To live another day
What are you afraid of...
Success
Achieving your best
Willing to live with less
In order to attain more
Are you afraid to open the door
Before you knock
Or maybe you’re content
Shoulda
Coulda
Woulda
Only if . . .
You’d spent
Time Time Time
How much are y
ou willing to pay
To live another day
Frivolous chatter
Doesn’t matter
Settling
Meddling
Gabbing
Back-stabbing
Shattering hope
Slippery slope
Walking a tightrope
What are you waiting for ...
An invite
When the time is right
Not tonight
Tomorrow
Sorrow
Today
You’ll borrow
Someone else’s
Money
Honey
Hopes
Dreams
Anything
Sign an IOU
Promise to repay
In dismay
That which you haven’t earned today
Belongs to someone else
Isn’t that funny
Yesterday is gone
You’re sitting at home
On a diminishing throne
Of hopes
Dreams
Envy
Green
You scream
Money ain’t a thing!
That’s a lie
Can’t miss what you never had
Lad
Your slice of the pie
Is on someone else’s table
You’re able
But...
Unwilling
What are you afraid of...
Stop!
Somebody’s Gotta Be on Top
How much are you willing to pay
To live another day
No pain
No sweat
No blood
No tears
Just fears
Who cares
What’s new
What are you really going to do
Successful people are the same as you
Living with fears too
What are you afraid of...
How much are you willing to pay
Today
Or Not
Regardless
Somebody’s Gotta Be on Top
PROLOGUE
In life you must choose a path. Not setting goals or making decisions is the same as choosing. You occupy space that overlaps in time. With time. Emotions evolve. Emotions that are yours but at the same time, not. Is possession a form of ownership if nothing lasts forever but everything has a price? A value. Hopes. Dreams. Love. Loneliness. How much are you willing to pay to live another day? Turn the pages and take a look, if you dare, into the life of Darius Jones. Reading about his life may change your own.
CHAPTER 1
Monogamy wasn’t natural. Monogamy was a learned behavior that Darius couldn’t be taught. When would women realize, sex wasn’t a bed partner of love? Besides, who could teach Darius how to be faithful? Jesse Jackson? Bill Cosby? Willie Brown? Bill Clinton? His dad, the ménage à trois king? All the men he respected, all the men he knew, were men. Fornicators. Adulterers. Players. The distinction of a real man was that a real man kept his family in the foreground and his females in the background. Like backup singers. Once the song was over, their job was done. Thanks for having made him cum. Now go. With Darius, not many of his lovers deserved an encore.
“Ha!” Darius laughed, then said aloud to himself, “You a fool boy.” His office was quiet all morning. No constant phone calls or welcomed interruptions by his sexy secretary, Angel.
Any woman who wanted Darius Jones had to commit to him and only him. His woman had to have a job. Not any job. A high-paying job. Preferably her own business. So what if he had enough money to take care of her. Her mama. And her grandmamma. A woman without a steady income was venomous. A woman with too much idle time was lethal. No piece of ass was worth his millions of dollars. He was the only heir to his mother’s empire and one day would split his father’s fortune with one of his stepbrothers who was barely four years old.
Darius flipped through the Los Angeles Times, pulled out the sports section, then slid the rest of the newspaper to the edge of his desk. He’d read the business section next. Darius bit his bottom lip in disgust. On the front page, another brother handcuffed, this time a football player, charged with allegedly raping a groupie. “Stupid-ass athletes. That fool was so busy trying to get laid he couldn’t see that trick was tryna get paid. Now his ignant ass might end up broke and in jail. Trick was probably smiling the whole time she was fucking dude.” Darius learned observing his mother how a woman could be a man’s best advocate and his worst enemy at the same time.
Scanning the other twelve pages, Darius thought, that would’ve never happened to me if I had gone to the NBA. Those broke leeches in thongs, jiggling their asses on beaches or benches, at the bus stop, were the ones who were constantly plotting and planning—pregnancy, rape, battery—on how to become rich off of a man. For sex. For real. Any wealthy man would suffice. Mike. Kobe. Deon. Including him. Bullshit conniving tricks. They weren’t privy to suck his dick.
Fed up with the media favoring the woman’s side, Darius traded the sports section for business. While he’d slept, the value of his stocks increased. Money made Darius think about how rich pussy like the Vivica As, and Mary Js, Halles, and Janets of the world needed stroking too. But they also had reputations worth protecting. To them, lawsuits translated into bad publicity. Lost revenue. They’d end the relationship before bringing forth charges. That’s the type of women Darius wanted. And if Darius ever caught one of his women cheating, she didn’t need to waste his time explaining because he’d personally dismiss her. Immediately!
Thinking about women brought his number-one lady to mind. Darius smiled, picked up the phone, and pressed sixty-nine on his speed dial. His lungs expanded. The warm air escaped his nostrils, grazing his smooth upper lip. Darius removed the elastic band holding his ponytail. Three-hundred sixty-two black pencil-width dreadlocks fell slightly below his shoulders. Darius mastered and measured everything about his body. Dick: nine and three-quarters of an inch long, and four inches thick. Body fat: six point seven percent. Pimples: none. Birthmarks: two. One faded abstract image on the right side of his ass. The other was a black spot on the back of his left earlobe beneath his princess-cut two-carat diamond earring.
“Hey, you,” she happily answered.
Her voice penetrated his soul. Chill bumps invaded his skin. The hairs on his arms stood tall. Darius wasn’t cold. He swallowed the lump of air clogging his vocal cords then said, “You packed yet? I can’t wait to see you tonight. Make sure you arrive two hours early at the airport.” Darius deepened his voice then emphasized, “You’d better not miss your flight this time.”
Unbuttoning his collar, Darius rolled his burgundy leather high-back chair until his abdomen pressed against the edge of his glass-top desk, creating a crease in his brown Versace jacket. Slowly he placed his finger over the photographic image of her naturally pink-colored lips. Thin and seemingly oh-so-very soft. She looked righteous—not as in holy, as in fine as hell—in the family picture they’d taken a month ago at Thanksgiving dinner with his parents.
“Are you still in the office?” she asked.
Darius’s hand traveled from her temple and traced the outline along her straight black hair, which cast a strikingly beautiful contrast against her nearly white complexion. His eyes fixated on hers. She was always nice and polite with a caring-Cancer demeanor other women despised. She was perfect marriage material. She was the ideal woman to rear his kids.
Loving someone more than himself, more than life, more than making money, was absurd and not what Darius had planned. But this special woman—naw, she was more than a woman, she was a lady—had stolen his heart. First she’d become his platonic childhood playmate. Now she was his best friend. With the exception of his boy Keenan whom everyone called K’Nine, she was Darius’s only other friend.
The honeysuckle scent of her hair, the subtle movement of her hips when she walked, the provocative melody of her voice each time s
he innocently laughed while calling his name, the gentleness of her touch whenever she groomed his dreadlocks, the taste of her words lingering on his palate as he gasped into the receiver consumed his thoughts. Nervous energy rumbled in the pit of his stomach. Consciously he erased his boyish grin. She evoked feelings Darius swore he’d never possess for another woman after having been betrayed by his ex-fiancée.
“Of course I’m still in the office, woman. And my staff too. Just because it’s the week between Christmas and New Year’s doesn’t mean the entire week is a holiday. They’re not entitled to leave early but I might let ’em go at three. Maybe. Now answer my question.” Darius began rearranging the few items on his desk.
“Don’t worry. I packed last night. And my dad is dropping me off in a few. I’ll call you when my plane gets into LAX.” She paused, then whispered, “I miss you, brother.”
Why did she keep calling him brother? He was more like a play-brother. Everybody in California claimed relatives that weren’t blood related. Play cousins. Sisters. Aunts. Uncles. Mothers and fathers too. His birth parents weren’t hers so technically they weren’t related. And since Darius’s mom was remarried to Wellington Jones, the man his mother should’ve married instead of marrying Lawrence, Darius felt Ashlee and he were two consenting adults capable of making their own decisions.
Darius remained silent. He rearranged his gold-and-crystal triangular clock to the left side of his nameplate then moved his in-and-out baskets to the opposite end. The shuffled newspaper, cordless phone, notepad, and gold-framed photo were neatly positioned on his spotless desk.
Although Darius spoke with Ashlee every day, three-to-five times each day, he’d practically forgotten about the incident with her dad. Darius hadn’t seen Ashlee’s father since the day, almost two years ago, when he’d beaten her father for abusing his mother. In retrospect Darius understood Lawrence’s frustrations with his mom. After Lawrence’s black eye and bruises healed, Darius’s mother gave him the shock of his life. Since that day, Darius’s feelings for his mother numbed his compassion toward women even more. If his mother were a liar, then every other woman was too. Except his lady on the opposite end of the phone. But the feasibility existed so he couldn’t completely trust her either. What a fucked-up world to live in, Darius thought, when the only person he could trust one-hundred percent of the time was himself.
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