Somebody's Gotta Be on Top

by Mary B. Morrison

  “Whoa, not so fast. Pack an overnight bag.”

  “Now, you’re going too far. There’s no way I’m checking into a hotel with a stranger. I don’t know you.”

  “Loosen up. I don’t know you either. But I would like to get to know you.”

  “How do you know Solomon isn’t my husband?”

  “I don’t. Nor do I care. But if he is, you’re not happily married. Not enough testosterone, perhaps.”

  “So, you’re not only young but you’re also a smartass.”

  “I don’t apologize for my observations. I have a business meeting in Oakland Saturday afternoon. You can stay with me at my place. And we’ll be back in LA early Sunday morning. I look forward to seeing you Friday night. And I will have your pen. Good-bye Ms. Monroe.” Darius victoriously hung up the phone.

  Angel cracked the door. This time she stood in the doorway and straddled the door like a stripper teasing a dance pole. Her leg rested against the door. “Mr. Jones, Kevin Williams is on the phone and your employee is waiting to meet with you.” Angel could have buzzed Darius on the intercom but had said before she was hired that she had too much energy to sit behind a desk all day.

  “Tell her I’ll be there in a few minutes and tell Kevin I’ll call him back.” His half-brother, Kevin, could wait. Conversations with Kevin gave Darius insight to his other side of the family’s happenings.

  Darius exited the back stairway en route to greet his new employee. Thankfully she wasn’t playing solitaire. “Welcome aboard.” Darius extended his hand. “Now, get settled. And get to work. I want you to start off with profiling my clients. Angel will e-mail you the confidential list. You need to learn the clients’ likes. Dislikes. Favorite restaurants, spa, sports teams. Their kids’ birthdays. And of course the wife’s birthday and their anniversary. Be creative. Don’t interview my male clients. Men hate being asked a lot of personal questions. The wives are generally the opposite. Report to me tomorrow morning at ten.”

  She frowned, blinked. “But I was hired to write and review screenplays.”

  What, a joke? “Correction. You were hired to work. Ten o’clock. Tomorrow. My office. Don’t be late.”

  Darius went to his office and returned Kevin’s call. “Hey, Kevin. Man what’s up?”

  “Just livin’ man. Look, I called to invite you to the family reunion on the fourth of July.”

  What? Since when did Darius need a fuckin’ invitation to his own family’s reunion? Kevin had just confirmed that Darius was better off not having a relationship with Darryl. “Man, that’s my dad’s birthday barbecue. I can’t make it to your dad’s reunion.”

  “I heard that. Well, the reunion is to be in Oakland too. You can do both. Don’t forget your real dad is my dad. He loves you too. I know how you must feel. Anyway man, it’d be nice if you met the folks. Then we can hang at your crib.”

  To hell with that empathy bullshit. Kevin had no idea how Darius felt. The only men who understood the depth of pain a biological father’s rejection created were men who shared Darius’s position. Yeah, Darius agreed he should meet his cousins so he wouldn’t end up screwing one of them if he hadn’t already. But Kevin’s real motivation was wanting to stay at Darius’s house.

  “Man, you don’t know nothing about me. I don’t need Darryl and his fucked-up way of showing love. I’ll let you know if I can make an appearance.” If Darryl called and extended the invitation, Darius would without reservation attend the reunion. “So what else is going on?”

  “Nothing much. Might be out your way in Los Angeles soon. I need a break from New York. Just to chill out. Meet some new honeys. I’m tryin’ to live large like you mein.” Kevin pronounced “man” like he was ordering Chow Mein noodles.

  “Well, you’re welcome to break at my cribs in Oakland and LA. Look, man. I gotta handle my business. Peace.” Darius hated talking on the phone all the time—business, personal, annoying females calling with nothing to say, just breathing in his ear waiting for him to say something—so Darius kept his personal conversations brief.

  Darius hung up and dialed his mother’s office number. There was no answer so he called his dad’s office.

  “Wellington Jones and Associates. How may I help you acquire wealth today?”

  “Hey, this is Darius.”

  “Oh, yes. Hello, Mr. Jones. May I place you on hold?”

  “Sure.” Darius drew tiny circles on a sticky.

  “Hey, Son.”

  “Hi, Dad.” Darius welcomed hearing Wellington’s voice. “You and mom headed to Oakland this weekend?”

  “Yeah. We’re leaving on the nine-o’clock flight tonight.”

  Ah, man. Darius didn’t want to introduce Ciara to his parents as a casual date. His travel agent would rebook their flight to depart tomorrow. “Well, have a good flight. I’ll be in Oakland in the morning.”

  “If Ashlee’s meeting you in Oakland, ask her to call me. I need to see if she’s interested in selling a few of her stock shares to a very interested buyer.”

  Ashlee had called once since she’d left. She’d said, “I made it home safely. I’ll talk to you later.” No bye or good-bye. Maybe having his driver take Ashlee to the airport at the same time Darius had left his house to pick up Crystal, hurt Ashlee’s feelings. If Ashlee didn’t like where he went, she shouldn’t have asked. Women. Too sensitive.

  “No, Ashlee won’t be there but I’ll talk with her later and let her know. Bye, Dad.”

  “I love you, Son.”

  “I love you too, Dad. Bye.”

  Before shutting down his computer to meet Crystal again, this time for lunch, Darius e-mailed Angel to send Ashlee a dozen long-stemmed white roses.

  The Mirage must have been the new meeting spot. The last three women he’d met for nooners, or lunchtime sexcapades had made the same request. Darius arrived early, rented a room hoping Crystal would agree to a quickie, then sat at the bar facing the door so he could see his new fuck buddy walk in. Crystal had brought her own toys to his house last night. She’d forgotten her battery-operated remote-controlled butterfly clit massager so Darius packaged the pink strap-on Crystal wore when he serviced her doggy-style, and placed it in his top inside pocket.

  The bartender laid a white napkin on the bar in front of Darius. “Sir, what would you like?”

  Crystal. Straight up sucking his dick at the bar. “Rémy Martin Louis XIII.”

  “We only serve Louis XIII by the bottle for one hundred seventy-five dollars.”

  Normally Darius would’ve responded rudely but thoughts of Crystal licking his balls made him smile. Darius removed his Platinum American Express from his black leather wallet and placed it on the bar.

  “Will that be all?” she asked, delighted.

  “Yes,” Darius firmly replied without giving her a second look. She wasn’t worthy of his attention. Her daytime job was bartending. Her clear nail polish was chipped. Her eyes locked on his wallet before and after he removed his credit card. Why did women think men overlooked the small stuff? Darius had several laws and “never date a woman who had nothing to lose” was in the top ten.

  Rule number one, Ma Dear had instilled: Pray. God answers prayers.

  Number two: Self-preservation. Take care of Darius first. Mentally. Physically.

  Three: Always use a condom.

  Four: Self-actualization. Make success happen.

  Five: Never date a woman who has nothing to lose.

  Six: Women do as I say, not as I do.

  Seven: Never apologize.

  Number eight: Never cry.

  Nine: Work out every day.

  Ten: Tithe ten percent faithfully.

  Crystal strutted in on a pair of clear high heels wearing a black miniskirt business suit. Stockings. Garter. Darius mumbled, “It’s on.”

  Crystal hugged Darius then kissed his cheek. “Hi. Good seeing you again, boo.”

  This woman was too comfortable too soon. Darius lowered Crystal’s arms and noticed Candice entering t
he lobby. Darius frowned as Candice headed toward the bar. Why was Candice at the Mirage? Darius waited to see if Candice was meeting a man. When he saw Ciara trailing a short distance behind Candice, Darius pushed Crystal aside and said, “Excuse me a moment. I’ll be right back.”

  Quickly Darius disappeared into the men’s restroom. Was this a setup? What if Crystal was now engaged in conversation with Candice and Ciara? Hopefully she wouldn’t say she was waiting for him. Darius washed his hands. He could lie his way out of leaving Crystal at the bar but if he returned to the bar, Ciara would know the truth and right now he couldn’t jeopardize his plan to take over Ciara’s contract. Slipping out the side exit, Darius retrieved his car from the valet and left. Like the other women Darius stood up, Crystal would eventually forgive him too.

  CHAPTER 8

  “Well Mr. Jones, I sure hope this weekend in Oakland is going to prove worthy of my time,” Ciara said studying the lunch menu at Jordan’s restaurant in the Claremont Hills.

  Darius reached into his pocket and said, “Here’s your family’s fake jewel pen.” Lying the pen on the white tablecloth, Darius looked at Ciara.

  At the airport, on the plane, after they landed in Oakland, she was so turned on by Darius’s gentlemanly qualities she’d forgotten to mention the pen. Rotating the silver ball on the roof of her mouth, Ciara replied, “Well, in that case keep it. Consider it a gift in remembrance of our first meeting together.”

  Good, the waiter arrived. Darius ordered the salad Ciara wanted and a steak for himself. When the waiter left, he said, “Nothing in my home or my office or my life is fake. You keep it. But the pen did give us a reason to communicate. I’m not gon’ lie. I really like you. I was attracted to you the moment I saw you. I don’t meet many real women. You’re definitely all woman. Intelligent. Sexy. I want to take my time getting to know you.”

  Was Darius serious? Perhaps. In time every man revealed his true intentions. Darius hadn’t kissed Ciara on the plane, or touched her inappropriately. Ciara wanted to sex Darius.

  Between bites from her salad, Ciara asked, “What do you think about partnering with me on this contract? If you were able to get a commitment from Morris, obviously you have the contacts. And I definitely have knowledge of this industry. But there’s certain barriers women haven’t broken yet.” If Darius agreed, Ciara would help him build his company’s reputation.

  “I’m definitely interested. But right now, this weekend, is all about me getting to know you. For starters, I’ve scheduled a two o’clock massage for you at Claremont Spa with Robin. If you come here again, I guarantee you you’ll request Robin.”

  “Are you serious? A massage? That’s wonderful.” Ciara had promised herself a massage for over a month but never found time to schedule an appointment.

  Darius paid the bill then escorted Ciara downstairs to the spa. “My driver will pick you up outside at three-thirty.”

  Ciara hugged Darius. “Thank you.”

  “No, thank you. I’ll see you when you get to the house.”

  The attendant inside the spa handed Ciara a pair of brown slip-on shower shoes and said, “You can enjoy the Jacuzzi, steam sauna and help yourself to fresh-squeezed orange juice, tea, or water. Here’s a key to your locker. Your robe is in the locker and Robin will meet you in the waiting area at ten minutes to two.”

  Ciara sat in the Jacuzzi. The view from the top of the hill was serene. Ciara must have dozed off and awakened to Robin calling her name. She answered, “I’m Ciara Monroe,” then followed Robin to the massage room. Lying on the table, the last words Ciara remembered hearing Robin say was, “Turn over onto your back and scoot down.”

  Ciara was awakened by Robin tapping her shoulder. “After you get dressed, I’ll be waiting outside the door to escort you back to the waiting room.”

  Ciara dressed. Her body floated on air to the Town Car. She slept until the driver said, “Miss, you’re here.”

  Staring out the window, Ciara thought, the mansion before her wasn’t Darius’s. Where was she? Where was Darius? The driver opened the door and escorted her to the door.

  He tipped his hat and said, “Do have a good evening.”

  Darius opened the door wearing a black smoking jacket and pajama pants. “I don’t have to ask how was the massage.”

  Ciara followed Darius upstairs. “I didn’t realize I was so tired.”

  “I come to Oakland at least twice a month just to get away from the hectic day-to-day in LA.”

  Ciara stretched across Darius’s rotating round bed that floated in midair. Leaning over the side, Ciara waved her hand under the mattress and bumped a clear frame that started adjusting to a height so high the only way for her to escape the bed was to jump. “What the hell! Get me down from here!”

  “You’re in good hands. Relax. You never have to wait for sunset to see the stars,” Darius said. As he remotely dimmed the lights, his ceiling filled with simulated stars and constellations. Ciara fell asleep dreaming of Darius’s masculine hands roaming. Their sweat meshing, sliding. This time when Ciara awakened, she was in the guest bedoom. He could have at least brushed against a sistah’s titty.

  Ciara approached Darius’s bedroom and peeped inside.

  “You don’t have to peep. Come in. I had some things to do and I didn’t want to disturb you so I put you in the other bed.”

  Ciara glanced at the furniture in Darius’s bedroom. “I’m just curious. Do you have a living room inside your bedrooms in LA and D.C. too?” Ciara asked.

  “As much as I love sex, I don’t get busy on furniture where my parents and other guests sit. My bedrooms contain everything I desire to host a pleasurable evening. Door number one.” Darius pressed a button on his remote. A wall retracted, revealing a large transparent Jacuzzi elevated on a black platform. “Door number two.” Behind the wall was a stripper stage, with a dance pole, a cage, and one spectator reclining chair. Or was the chair designed for sex? Ciara fantasized being on stage hanging upside down on the pole.

  “Damn, so what’s behind door number three?” Ciara asked, pointing.

  “You’re not ready for that. Next time you visit, you’ll see.” Darius pressed several buttons and the two walls closed.

  “Those murals weren’t there. Where’s the tropical scenery?” Ciara blinked several times. Shit, the youngster might teach her a few new tricks. Darius hadn’t acted cocky since the meeting. He was surprisingly cool, not arrogant. Ciara liked arrogant men.

  “I’m sorry. I have to know what’s behind there.”

  “If you insist.” Darius pressed another button.

  Ciara frowned. “That’s a weird-looking swing.”

  “It’s not just a swing. It’s a vibrating sex swing.” Darius hit another button on the remote. Stars formed a galaxy under the dimly lit room. The swing began to gyrate to the tune of Prince singing Do Me Baby in the background. Darius touched another button. The music stopped. Swing froze. Door closed.

  “Whoa, I see you take sex seriously.”

  “I take everything I do seriously. Like you, my queen.” Darius patted the empty space on the sofa beside him. “Come here. Sit with me.”

  “Aren’t we supposed to be someplace in an hour?”

  “It’s not far. We have time. Come. Sit.”

  The way he said come made Ciara want to cum. This man was smooth in so many ways. Darius had changed into a pair of black slacks and socks. His muscular upper body was shiny but not oily. Ciara desperately wanted to touch his bare chest. Glide her juicy tongue all over his muscular body. His neatly groomed locks pointed down to his dark brown tasty nipples. His washboard stomach sunk into his slender cobra-shaped waistline. Shoulders wide and strong. Slowly Ciara pranced toward Darius, enacting her best stripper walk that she’d learned in Cardio Strip class, crossing one foot in front of the other. Ciara sat beside Darius, positioning her legs slightly to reveal her thighs.

  “Nice.” Darius nodded. “Real nice. Please don’t do that again. I’m trying hard
to control him. Lay your head in my lap.”

  “Maybe we should—”

  “Don’t. And don’t take off your boots. I love my woman in boots. And don’t touch Slugger so you can size him up.” Darius patted his thigh.

  Slugger? Ciara would judge for herself. Ciara exhaled and moaned, laying the back of her head on Darius’s thighs and avoiding contact with his dick. Any man that fine, with a bedroom like Darius’s had to be compensating for something.

  “Okay, what’s next?”

  “Relax,” Darius said, stroking her hair. Slowly his fingertips traced her hairline along her face. Starting at the forehead he glided along the temples, past her jawbones down to the entrance of her ear. Ciara’s breathing quickened. Massaging her earlobes, Darius whispered, “Relax.”

  Darius placed his palm against her abdomen. “Slowly take a deep breath into your nostrils. Okay, hold it. Now slowly exhale through your mouth.” He paused then said, “Again. Again.”

  Shit! Ciara’s pussy pulsated. Thighs squeezed. Ciara felt her entire body become heavy and relaxed. When was the last time she lay long enough to listen to her body. Her eyes closed.

  Darius asked softly, “Tell me about your childhood.”

  Ciara exhaled. She looked up at Darius who was looking down on her like they were best friends.

  “Tell me,” he said.

  “My parents—”

  “No, I want to know about you. Ciara Monroe. Your middle name. Favorite colors. Birthday. Movies. Where you were born. Restaurants. Food. Hobbies. I’m listening.”

  “Okay.” Ciara smiled. “I grew up near a hundred and fifth and Crenshaw. So although I didn’t like being tough, I had to kick a few asses to make the kids leave me alone. I love my parents and my sister Monica with all my heart. I always wanted to have my own business so I majored in Business Administration at UCLA. Graduated with honors.”

  “When you were a little girl, what were your favorite colors? Movies? Hobbies? What were your dreams?” Darius’s fingers found their way to her scalp. He gently massaged, tangling her Afro.