Smooth Operator

by Risqué

  New York

  Lyfe worked Arri’s last fuckin’ nerve. And she didn’t give a damn about how fine he was, how much she found herself attracted to him, or daydreamed about him; all she knew was that he was a demanding and arrogant motherfucker that she wished, sooner than later, would take his black ass back to California.

  “What he needs,” Khris whispered to her, as they stood at the copy machine, “is some pussy.”

  “I don’t know what the fuck his miserable ass needs,” Arri snapped, “but in a minute he will need a secretary.”

  “Why?” Lyfe walked over and handed Arri a file. “You plan on quitting?”

  Arri looked at Khris—they were shocked and surprised. “I hear everything.” Lyfe looked Arri over and glanced at Khris. “So the next time you wanna talk about what my miserable ass needs you may wanna make sure I’m not in earshot.” He nodded his head for emphasis. “Understand?” He paused and they each faked a smile. “I need you to copy this,” he said as he walked away.

  “Damyum!” Khris whispered.

  “What?” Arri said. “He’s nerve-racking as hell, right?”

  “Nope, that’s not it.” Khris picked up the papers she’d copied. “He wants to fuck the shit outta you.”

  “Puleeze.”

  “You act as if you’re getting some. Those little freaks on your website don’t count.”

  “It doesn’t mean I have to give it to my goddamn boss!” Arri placed the papers from the file into the copy machine.

  “Live a little.”

  “Oh, please.”

  “You didn’t die with Ian.”

  Immediately Arri felt frozen in her spot. “The conversation is finished, Khris.”

  “Arri—”

  “What did I say?” She snatched her papers from the machine and walked away. She placed the copied file into Lyfe’s in-basket and walked out of his office before he could say anything.

  For the next hour Arri busied herself with as much work as she could to avoid thinking about the remark Khris had made. She knew that Khris meant well, but there was no way in hell that she was dealing with somebody else’s husband, no matter how fine he was.

  Arri could see into Lyfe’s office from the locker-size mirror that hung in her cubicle and Lyfe’s massiveness filled her cubicle, causing her clit to disregard her mind and palpitate. Despite what her mind said, Arri’s eyes knew that Lyfe exceeded eye candy. From his deep and sensually brown skin to his strapping body … She could only imagine rocking against him as he sat her on his dick and made her ride it.

  She knew by looking at him that his unending inches would initially hurt going in, but that would be okay, because she knew he would be gentle. Or maybe he wouldn’t. Maybe he would be rough, and sweat would pour from both of them like an Amazon rainstorm as he whispered to her, “Take this dick and get used to it!” Perhaps instead of sensual sucks she would welcome hungry tugs, pulls, and pops from between his lips as his tongue fucked her nipples. And maybe he’d suck her clit as she sat on his face and filled his mouth with erotic taffy.

  “Arri,” Lyfe called her name and snatched her attention away from her daydream. She looked up and realized that his reflection filled her mirror because he’d been standing directly behind her all this time, staring at the reflection of her hard nipples.

  This motherfucker. “Yes,” she said, turning around and standing up, where Lyfe stood so close to her that air struggled to get in between them.

  “I um …” Lyfe paused and for the first time in two weeks, since he’d been at the office and established that he was serious about his business, he fumbled over his words. “Umm.” He cleared his throat and Arri boldly took her index finger and lifted his chin, bringing his gaze from her hard nipples to her face.

  “Yes?” she said.

  “Damn.” He looked slightly embarrassed. “I was … ummm …” He stepped back and collected himself, straightening his tie. “Listen, I hate to do this to you, and I know it’s close to five o’clock, but I need to prepare for an internal audit. So this is going to be a late night. I’ll need you and accounting to stay behind.”

  “Stay?” she said, taken aback as visions of Zion and her Smooth Operator clients ran through her mind.

  “I don’t mean to impose, but I really need you to pull some hard copy files, scan them into the computer, and take some notes for me. If that’s okay?”

  Arri knew what he’d said may have come across as a question, but she also knew he was far from asking. “Sure.” She forced her lips to form a crescent moon. “No problem.”

  “Thanks.” Lyfe turned and walked toward the accounting department and Arri overheard him telling them about staying late. She walked over to Khris’s cubicle, where Khris was putting her coat on, and leaned against her desk. “I need a favor,” Arri said as Khris placed her purse on her shoulder.

  “Gurl,” Khris frowned, “it’s five o’clock and you know my boo is coming over to rock da spot. So ask me the favor on the way to the train.”

  “You just a nasty freak,” Mare-Hellen interjected into their conversation, never leaving her cubicle. “Where you need to be is on your way to church.” She shook her tambourine.

  “I really am not in the mood for this.” Arri rolled her eyes, and looked at Khris. “Listen, I have to work late and could you please, please get Zion from aftercare for me?”

  “It’s cool, gurl,” Khris assured her. “Plus, he can play Wii with Tyree while my boo and I cook dinner.”

  “Thanks,” Arri said with a sigh of relief and headed back toward Lyfe’s office, where he sat behind his desk, writing out the list of files he needed her to copy and scan. His usually cuff-linked sleeves were flipped at the wrists, his tie no longer hung around his neck and now lay at the side of the desk, while the top two buttons of his shirt were undone, giving her eyes quickies as she fucked him with her gaze.

  Thankful that he couldn’t see her wet panties, she rapped lightly on the door frame. A look of frustration lingered on his face as he stroked his beard and looked up.

  “Whatever it is,” Arri said, “you’ll work it out.”

  His eyes smiled. “What are you talking about?”

  “You. Whenever you stroke your beard you’re upset about something.”

  Lyfe gave a sexy chuckle and half a grin. “And how do you know that?” His eyes drifted down over her hips and back up to her face again.

  “Because I noticed it … I guess,” Arri said, her eyes settling upon his wedding band. “Is that the list you’re preparing for me?”

  “Yes,” he said, walking over and handing it to her. “There will be a few others tomorrow, but this is it for now.”

  “Okay,” Arri said as she took a step back and he took a step forward. “Umm … you said this is it?” she nervously asked again.

  “For now.” He nodded, as they continued her step back and his step forward dance, until the door frame halted Arri in her spot and they stood there, with her pussy creaming and his dick dreaming of connecting them. He brushed her hair behind her shoulders and she warred like hell not to kiss his hand.

  Arri spoke softly, her lips a breath away from his, “A Mr. Glenn Peters called wanting to discuss his portfolio. I placed his message on top,” she pointed to a mountain of handwritten messages she’d placed on Lyfe’s desk earlier that day.

  For a moment Lyfe looked at Arri slightly confused and then he walked back toward his desk. He sorted through the messages and said, “You should’ve forwarded these, including Peters’s call, to California and had him speak with Quinton King—that’s his department.”

  “I did,” Arri said, standing up straight, “but Mr. King hasn’t been in all week.”

  “Yeah,” Lyfe said as if he were speaking to himself, “I haven’t been able to reach him either.”

  “And most of the clients,” Arri pointed back to the stack of messages, “are calling here.”

  Lyfe paused. “All right, I’ll reach out to them in the morning
.” He picked up his legal pad and pen and said, “I’m going into the conference room with the accounting team; when you’re done, join us. I’ll need you to jot a few things down.”

  As Lyfe stepped out of his office, Arri let out a loud sigh and closed her eyes.

  Once she collected herself she went to the file room, pulled what she needed, scanned, copied, and put the information back in its place. Afterward, she joined Lyfe and the accountants in the conference room, where he stood before them, explaining what he’d found, and what he expected them to do.

  It was spellbinding, watching him walk before the overhead projection screen, point to a graph, and speak about millions of dollars in investments, buying stocks, selling them, Roth IRAs, 401Ks, deferred compensation, and a zillion other financial textbook terms that turned Arri’s panties into a wet cloth.

  She could tell by his ability to mix “you feel me and you see what I’m saying” in with proper English that he was the best of both worlds: smooth and mellow, but if pushed far enough, his street sense would come out, and he would go the fuck off.

  Arri placed her hand onto the side of her hair and looked him over. She loved the way his tailored Armani pants swayed over his wing tips as he walked toward her. And the way his platinum TAG Heuer watch slid down his wrist as he stood over her, pointed to her pad, and said, “Tomorrow, I want you to pull the last three years’ financial reports.”

  This was simply too damn much, and if Arri had ever wanted to leave so she could go home and masturbate via her Webcam, it was now, because then she could pretend that he was her client and bust this pinned-up nut for him.

  I have lost my damn mind, Arri thought. I’ma mess around and get fired … and I need my job. Besides, he’s not that fine … or that smart … and my pussy isn’t that wet … She sighed. I need to shut the fuck up, ’cause I’m lying to myself.

  “Arri,” Lyfe called out to her, “did you get that?”

  Arri blinked. “What’s that? I’m sorry, I didn’t hear you.”

  “Chinese food?”

  “What?” she said, put off. “Chinese food?”

  “Would you like Chinese?” he asked her, his eyes pulling weights not to roam all over her. “I figured it’s the least I can do for having you all work so late.”

  “Sure.” She rose from her chair. “If everyone tells me what they want, I’ll place the order.” Everyone passed around a menu, selecting what they wanted to eat, and as they resumed the meeting Arri placed the order. Once the food was delivered everyone dug in and between the orders of lo mein and fried rice, they continued their conversation and preparation for the audit.

  Before long it was ten o’clock and Lyfe was concluding, “All right, good people, let’s wrap this up and resume in the morning.”

  As the accountants said their good-byes and hurried to leave, Arri stood up and looked down at the conference table, which was littered with paper.

  Lyfe moved his hand toward his beard, but before he could reach it, Arri said, “Don’t worry, I’ll stack the paper for you.”

  “Are you sure?” Lyfe arched his eyebrows. “I mean, it’s late and I wouldn’t wanna make your man upset by staying any longer. Feel me?”

  “Don’t ask me shit about feeling you,” Arri mumbled.

  “I didn’t catch that,” Lyfe said. “What did you say?”

  Arri paused. She knew, if nothing else, he heard everything. “I said,” Arri paused, “that you’re right … it is late.”

  “Yeah, that’s what I thought.” His eyes drifted to her breasts.

  “Do I have something on me?” she said, lifting his chin again, wanting desperately to kiss him.

  “Nah,” he said as the phone started to ring. “You’re perfect.”

  “I’ll ummm …” Arri said, “get that.” She walked toward the double doors.

  “Where are you going? There’s a phone right here.” He pointed to the center of the conference table.

  “It’s a little cooler out here.” She walked quickly out the doors and picked up the phone at her cubicle, “Anderson Global, Arri Askew speaking.”

  “Oh … this is Payton Carrington,” the caller said, taken aback. “I was trying to reach my husband. He hasn’t been answering his cell phone … is he still there?”

  “Yes, Mr. Carrington is still here, we were just finishing up a meeting for the internal audit. Would you mind holding so that I can get him for you?”

  No response.

  “Hello … Mrs. Carrington?” Arri said, and then realized the line was dead. She placed the phone back on the cradle and returned to the conference room.

  “Who was it?” Lyfe asked.

  “Your wife.”

  “My wife?” he said, as if for some reason he’d forgotten he had one.

  “Yes, your wife. She was surprised that we were still here. I told her we were finishing up a meeting for the internal audit and she hung up.”

  “Shit,” Lyfe hissed and Arri could tell he was slightly annoyed.

  “I’m sorry, did … I … do something?”

  “No,” he said, his smile reemerging, “I’ll handle it.” He flicked off the light switch. “Are you going to be okay getting home?” They grabbed their coats. “I could get a car for you.”

  “No, it’s fine,” Arri said, walking backward out of the room. “I could use a nice train ride.”

  “Sure?”

  “Yes.” She smiled.

  “All right. Well, good night,” Lyfe said. “I drove in today, so I’m out back.” He pointed to the elevator bay farther down the hall.

  “Okay, see you in the morning.” Arri slid on her coat, placed her bag on her arm, and left. Once she stepped into the all-glass lobby she watched as buckets of rain fell from the sky. “Stay dry,” the doorman said as she walked out of the building, and stood under the overhang, wondering how wet she would be by the time she ran the two blocks to the subway station. “Get in” interrupted her thoughts as she looked up and saw Lyfe in a Black Escalade in front of the building. “Get in,” he repeated. “It’s late and it’s raining. I won’t kidnap you; I need you at work tomorrow. I promise.”

  Arri looked up and down the block and rain washed over everything in sight. “All right,” she said, sliding into his truck, “I live in Brooklyn, on Church Avenue.”

  “That’s no problem, I’m staying right off the West Side Highway,” Lyfe said as they pulled off.

  “Really?” Arri said, taken aback. “Where at?” She playfully twisted her lips. “Because I know you’re not in Harlem.”

  Lyfe laughed. “What is that supposed to mean? I can’t be in Harlem?”

  “Of course,”—she fought like hell not to give him the world’s biggest smile—“but I just expected you to be in … I don’t know … the presidential suite at some five-star hotel on the Upper East Side.”

  “Well, for your information,” Lyfe said as he blew the horn at a cab that cut in front of them, “I’m not in Times Square.”

  “So where are you staying?”

  Lyfe paused. “Downtown … the W Hotel … but still.”

  Arri snickered, “It’s okay to be a yuppie.”

  “I am far from that.”

  “Okay, honey, if you say so.”

  “Don’t try and patronize me, it’s after five o’clock.”

  “Ha-ha,” Arri said sarcastically, “is that so?”

  “You think I’m an asshole of a boss, don’t you?”

  “You? Oh no, honey.” Arri did her best to keep the lie she’d just told from burning her mouth.

  “Why you playin’ me?” he said, feeling relaxed and allowing his sexy and street Compton accent to sneak into his words. “When I’m at work I don’t mean to be hard-nosed, but I have to be about my business.”

  “I understand.”

  “But I’m off now.”

  Silence.

  “What? You don’t have anything to say?” Lyfe quickly looked at Arri and then back to the street. “Don’t be shutt
in’ down on me.”

  “I don’t shut down.”

  “Yo’, you do and you know it.”

  “Look at you tryna be hood.”

  “Now you wanna change the subject, it’s cool.”

  “What you want me to say?” Arri joked, throwing up the West Side symbol, “West Side.” Arri laughed and once she looked into his face she was caught between a blush and a flush of embarrassment. “I didn’t mean to be so silly,” she said, feeling self-conscious.

  “A woman who can handle her business in the day and let herself go at night is sexy as hell.”

  Silence.

  “Plus,” Lyfe said, breaking the troubling monotony, “you’re a li’l hood yourself.”

  “Umm-hmm, whatever.” Arri waved dismissively. “Now, where exactly in California are you from?”

  They stopped at a red light and Lyfe said, “Compton, baby. Crenshaw, to be exact.”

  “What the—?” She whipped her neck toward him. “Your ass is hood as hell. Don’t go doing no drive-bys while I’m in the car, Dough Boy. And what are you doing with an Escalade; where’s your seventy-six psychedelic-blue Impala?”

  The light turned green. “Oh, you got jokes,” Lyfe chuckled, “and it wasn’t an Impala. It was a hunter green and black ragtop deuce and a quarter with spinners on it. And the sound system”—Lyfe’s smile lit up the night—“was knockin’.”

  Arri laughed so hard that tears filled her eyes. “And what did you have, Snoop, a perm? Oh wait, Ice Cube, a curl?”

  “None of the above, pretty girl. I had the same Caesar that I have now.”

  Arri paused; hearing him call her pretty girl made the butterflies in her stomach jump. “You are so corny.” She tried like hell not to blush. Arri pointed to the building she lived in and Lyfe pulled over.

  “Me, corny?” Lyfe went on, “Ai’ight, well then … show me how not to be corny.”

  Arri was silent. She looked at the dim and damp Brooklyn street that was ironically named Church Avenue, lit only by streetlamps and the headlights of never-ending traffic. She could see people walking up and down the block and some congregating on corners.