by Love Belvin
“Ms. Jarreau, this is Erika. Erika, this is Elle Jarreau from Dynamic Branding,” the effeminate man who had to have worn a size two introduced.
I knew it was do or die, so I began my rehearsed lines right away. Though two glasses of white wine in, I knew my script and pitched it with perfection. When I was done, Erika held this glazed over look in her eyes that told me she wasn’t following.
“Yeah…Jax is a great guy. I told him I’d sit down with you to see what you guys have in mind for me, but a clothing line…without my sister? My mom would totally freak if she knew I took this meeting.”
That’s when I experienced my first streak of annoyance. Nonetheless, I was prepared. However, when she noted, “I see you’ve had a glass of wine. Want more? That looks good. Elgin!” she called out to her assistant. “Could you pour us more wine?”
That’s when the onrush of infuriation began. It was public knowledge that Erika didn’t indulge in alcohol. She may have been reputed to indulge in men of color considering her Syrian heritage, but she didn’t drink socially.
That’s when Jackson’s description of her and heeding came to mind. I was angry that he was right.
I declined another drink, resenting her stalling. Erika never touched the glass Elgin served her.
“Look, Erika, I don’t mean to sound impatient, but I have this designer ready to go. He’s pumped at the prospect of working with someone of your fashion forward reputation. He’s already begun sample pieces for your final touch. I had to kiss lots of ass and make promises to keep his schedule open,” I pleaded in a curt tone.
There was a pause—a long pause before I started collecting my things to go. I had lost it, momentarily didn’t give a shit if she signed or not. I’d lost all sanity for a moment. Couldn’t slow my temper. I couldn’t stand soft women. They were never me. I’d always been able to make sound decisions on a whim if needed. No. I’d get on the plane that night and come up with reasons why we should pass on Erika Erceg and hope I’d get backing from my team.
“Wait!” Erika’s small olive toned hand caught mine as I was sliding off the stool to leave the table. My eyes whipped from her hand up to her face. I’m sure my nose was flared.
“Elle…it’s just…I need to talk to my Mom—“
I shook my head, not approving of that decision.
“Or at least talk with Shirez about it. He’s really good at fashion design, you know. He has his own.” Erika was desperate, and I wasn’t in the mood.
He’s attempting his own.
I slowly turned and resumed my seat, being sure to look directly into her crescent shaped eyes, outlined with long dark lashes. “No.” I took a fortifying breath. “That’s what you can’t do, Erika. This is the crux of the problem with your image. You’re not strong enough in presence or stance anymore. No one knows who Erika is anymore. We know exactly who her mom is, her sister is and clearly who her husband is.” I wave my hand in the air, gesturing her body from head to toe. “You have one of the most creative minds in fashion. A penchant for selecting fashions a girl at any pay range could aspire to. That’s who is in here,” I point to her heart. “…and in here.” I point to her head. Dynamic Branding doesn’t want Ellis. We don’t want Emily or Erik. We certainly don’t want Shirez for the vision we have for Erika. We want that old creative, Syrian beauty, who caught on to her entrepreneurial spirit and blended it with her awesome sense of fashion.”
Erika turned to gaze blindly out of the floor-to-ceiling window next to us.
“Remember when you went to your dad and asked him for money to purchase a pair of designer boots so that you could, in turn, sell them online to turn a profit?” I forged.
Erika nodded her head solemnly. I didn’t know where the memory came from, but I recalled the information from an old interview she did.
“Well, back then, did Erika go to her mom, sister or Shirez? Did she need permission to chase her dreams…to explore her passion?”
Erika’s eyes glossed and I could tell she was fighting back a cry. I was too angry to give a damn and was ready to leave.
“You and I both know the answer to that. That Erika was strong, independent and fierce. That Erika cultivated careers for her mother, sister and brother, and attracted the attention of a Shirez. Trust, he was interested in the astute bombshell, not just the vixen from the homemade sex video. Some of us know you as a trailblazer…but that doesn’t matter. What matters is how you see yourself,” I advised before finally leaving the table.
Just about two feet away, I turned, pulled a folder from my bag and tossed it on the table before her. “I guess there’s no need to take more on the plane than necessary.” And I paced out of the suite, leaving behind an air of fury.
“So,” Marie snapped me from my reminiscing. “How many times did Ellis say no before Erika could say yes? Or was Shirez there, looking over the samples?”
My heart drummed in my chest. Once again, I licked my lips, then immediately took a sip of my cocktail Jamie wondrously made. He’d become our resident bartender, never disappointing with whatever he concocted. Currently, I was on my second lemon drop, and before I could completely swallow the swig, Jackson reemerged in the room. His eyes, laden with something deep within them, traveled over to me and remained long before he spoke.
I’m going to get fired in front of everyone!
“So,” Jackson’s deep tenor rolled out. His chin was toward the floor, his brows were wrinkled and his arms were crossed exposing the large columns of muscles wrapped around his bones and encased in bronzed skin. Even through my anxious haze, I could tell he was a bit amused. But with what concerning me? “Elle, timing is key. You were about to tell us how you’ve won DB its first client.”
I found myself licking my lips again. Think, Elle—quick!
“Uhhhh…” I uttered to stall.
“Oh, are we going to go the humble route, Ms. Consider Ms. Erceg a member of the Dynamic Branding family, because when I get through with her, even her siblings will be begging for placement on the DB roster?” He chuckled and the corners of his eyes crinkled in amusement.
“Huhn?” I uttered in the midst of my stupor.
“That was Elgin, Erika’s assistant,” Jackson explained. “He said Erika wants to move forward with BD and would like to tweak those samples you left with her.”
It was weird experiencing Jackson’s teeth that were encased in a smile. He typically sported a scowl. His elation was shared by the room that went up in shouts and whistles.
“Damn, girl!” Marie shoved me softly. “I thought I was the shit for getting Blackboard Scratchers to give me a simple ‘we’ll consider it…and your boobs!’” she jeered.
Jamie stood and did some gyrating two step that Bridgette and Tim attempted to mock. Brad ran out of the office shouting, “Bubbly time!”
Marie shrugged before saying, “Welp! I guess this needs depleting. Make room for the champagne!” and downed the remainder of her cocktail glass.
Brad returned in no time with two bottles of champagne and the older woman who answered the door on my first visit followed him carrying flutes on a silver tray. Jamie walked over to the wall shelf as he tapped on his phone. The next thing I heard was Kool & the Gang’s “Celebration.” At that point in time, everyone launched from their seats and found a spot on the open floor to cut a rug.
Crisp glasses of champagne were being handed out around the room. Brad set one in front of me beaming, “Jackson swore you’d nail it!”
I remained in my seat, still dazed by the recent announcement. I snagged Erika Erceg! Holy shit!
Everyone danced in merriment as I sat in a stupor. I felt eyes on me and instinctively lifted my head to find Jackson’s burning gaze. It was almost as if he knew I’d made it by the skin of my teeth. While the room was up, being celebratory, he and I were the only two unengaged. I tried not to appear disconcerted as I took a swig of my champagne, even downed it for good measure and supplied a wink.
Although my eyes drifted from him
, my thoughts didn’t, as I watched Jamie bust a few moves alone and then with the ladies. Jackson wasn’t like that. He didn’t have the youthful flair Jamie emitted. While I could only take Jamie in small dosages, he didn’t annoy me like Jackson did. Jamie didn’t have the ability to get under my skin. He simply acted his age and made light of every moment. Jackson, on the other hand, was always had the weight of the world on his shoulders. He remained preoccupied, unhappy even.
The sound of a chair being scraped against the floor pulled my attention to the right of me. Jackson was mere inches away, his enthralling scent made me feel uneasy.
“You don’t dance? Even when it’s in your honor?” His velvety voice dripped into my ear, pissing me the hell off.
“I don’t dance. And getting the account is no big deal.” I shrugged. “Delivering the goods is the true victory,” I murmured in his face while avoiding his eyes, then I abruptly left my seat, suddenly needing air.
A little over an hour later, at the large kitchen nook that fit at least ten, where we all piled in with lingering banter, the official meeting was over, but no one immediately left. I wondered where Candice was. She’d texted me when I was on the West Coast, but ended the conversation once I told her where I was. All these days I wondered if that was a call for help. I figured I’d stick around for a while to see if I ran into her.
What I hadn’t counted on was the topic of conversation amongst my younger colleagues. I could tell when Jamie took over as host that things would turn inappropriate before long. Well, that inkling was long ago.
“If you could describe sex with your ex using a song, what would it be?” Jamie asked with mischief in his naturally slanted eyes. “Mine would be Boyz II Men’s “It’s So Hard to Say Goodbye to Yesterday.””
“That’s creepy! Why that song?” Bridgette asked aghast.
Jamie turned to her with a smirk playing at one corner of his lips and retorted, “Because I cheated on her with my ex before her. I couldn’t say goodbye to that old snatch.”
The table went up in a roar—well, everyone with the exception of Jackson and me. I stifled my laughter, refusing to fuel his foolishness.
“Mine would be “Love Song” by Sara Bareillis. He was such a jerk, and my family wanted us to fall in love, get married and have babies. He didn’t want me, he only wanted the image of perfection as he pursued his political career. I was young, only nineteen years old. He couldn’t even fuck. I would’ve worked with him, if he hadn’t lacked that one crucial quality. He told me I was slightly overweight. I eventually told him to fuck off. After the first time we fucked, he asked me to write him a letter to describe it.” Bridgette flipped the bird in the wake of his memory.
Because I sat next to Bridgette, all eyes went to me. I felt my tongue go heavy. There was no way I could ask for a waiver. Up until this moment, everyone else had shared personal factoids and I’d be considered rude if I didn’t answer this one stupid question of this ridiculously childish game Jamie started.
“Springsteen’s “Sad Eyes”,” I murmured, surprising myself with my honest disclosure.
I felt Jackson’s eyes burning into the side of my face. I fought for my apathetic mask, then turned to him and widened my eyes. He sat in the same position, with his shoulder against the wall and his hand cupping his chin. Only this time, his penetrative eyes were on me.
“What? Your turn, chief,” I goaded.
Jackson’s eyes narrowed as if he was messaging that he didn’t appreciate my audacity. I wouldn’t break my gaze on him. If I had to participate in the asinine game, so did he. It seemed like an eternity passed before he spoke as he sat upright in his chair and took a deep breath, a lungful exhale that appealed to me, ridiculously.
““Piece of My Love”…Guy,” Jackson uttered before his lips twitched up into a smirk, one that was suave, practiced—well beyond his twenty-six years.
I would hear the song on WBLS and Kiss FM before the station went defunct. The group, Guy, was a part of the New Jack Swing Era. That style of music was invented even before my prime, leaving me to wonder how it was that Jackson was familiar with it. Aside from the complexion of his dark spirit, Jackson had such an old soul.
Jamie cranked out the first two bars from the popular ‘90s tune, causing the table to break out in laughter. Marie chose Tina Turner’s “A Woman in a Man’s World,” a melancholy and archaic selection. Brad and Tim gave tracks from Tim McGraw and Pearl Jam, respectively.
The conversation grew more personal, specifically more sexual. We found ourselves on the topic of orgasms. Bridgette, who’s in a committed relationship, shared how she was madly in love with her fiancé of thirteen months, but despite their deep feelings for each other and shared passion, she’d been unable to achieve an orgasm.
At the mention of that, I took to the bar in the formal living room for a refill on wine. That topic was way too intense considering I was in the presence of the man who supplied several just a few weeks ago, something that was a rare occurrence for me. Like…extremely exceptional. I took my time, hoping to wait out the time until the conversation switched topics. Unfortunately, I miscalculated the time.
“According to some studies, only thirty-five percent of the female population will orgasm during penetration alone. Even more alarming, fifteen percent never orgasm at all!” Bridgette exclaimed.
“Wow,” Jamie breathed out with heavy eyes, clearly fighting intoxication. “That’s fucked up.”
“I had a girl that I tried all types of shit on…even went down on her for nearly thirty minutes. She screamed her head off, but never came. Then I had one, an older woman whose tits I sucked for minutes and she came out of her shoes. This explains it,” Tim murmured his revelation.
“Well, some studies report one out of three women orgasm regularly, and seventy-five percent of all women never reach one from penetration alone. They need other stimulation, like toys, hands or tongue,” Bridgette continued with her report-like statistics.
“That would be me. I’ve never…errrm…” Marie swiped her neck, expressing modesty. “…orgasmed from just penetration.” Her eyes circled nervously, and I knew it was because a recent lover was sitting at this very table, participating in this conversation, unbeknownst to most. “Some guys I’ve been with are cool with toys. They work for me…in addition to…errrm…hands and tongue.”
“So,” Brad piped out. “If the stat is one in three, then we have one unsuccessful party,” he pointed to Bridgette. “…two unsuccessful party,” he pointed to Marie. Then his index finger made its way to me. Fuck no! “…and three…is the charm?” A smile curved on his lips.
I turned to see all eyes on me again. My better judgment told me not to look over to Jackson, but my brain and body coordination was limited due to the excessive alcohol intake. And damn it if when I did, my clitoris pulsated the moment my eyes landed on him. Jackson knew I’d had three orgasms that night at the hotel with him. He knew this because I was so vocal; so vocal that it propelled one of his that night. I tried to turn from Jackson’s gaze. His usual ember eyes were dark, when he rolled and popped his neck. Did anyone else see that?
I sighed, “Ladies, I’m not a regular either. I’m a hardly.”
“Ah!” Bridgette slapped the table, excitedly, but not in a happy manner; in a frustrated one instead.
“So, how recent was your last? Let’s make this all sensible,” Tim pushed.
“Ummm…not too long ago,” I answered, regrettably.
I knew Jackson was getting his rocks off, but something in me didn’t mind sharing with this group. This wasn’t voyeurism. It was simple information sharing and education. But why was I feeling so goddamned aroused?
“Wait…how many times before this last encounter?” Bridgette asked.
Fuckity-fuck! This is spinning way out of control now!
This time I didn’t look Jackson’s way. I couldn’t. There was too much heat coming from that direction. I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction. I had to deci
de how I would handle this question. Honesty would give power to said lover, who had clearly expressed the desire to enter into a romping agreement. This agreement would have to be kept from the very people sitting at this table. But their inquisition was so harmless. This was my team. They were so happy for my acquiring the Erika Erceg account.
Fuck it…
“Once…years ago…many moons ago,” I damn near whispered. “Like junior high with a twenty-something-year-old college teaching assistant, who was assigned to the community college in my area, and was very passionate about life, and that included fucking.”
“Damn,” Jamie chimed in. “Either that dude had great fucking skills or—”
“You two had extraordinary chemistry.” That was supplied by Jackson.
When my eyes traveled over to him, he was leaving the table with his glass in hand. When I glanced in the direction he was moving in, I saw Candice in the doorway of the kitchen. She must’ve just walked in, which was why Jackson provided the distraction from the heady conversation. Within seconds she advanced inside the room with preoccupied eyes.
“Just the person I was hoping to see,” Candice’s raspy voice murmured, looking directly at me. “I tried texting you on my way home.” I then realized my phone was in my purse. “You think we can chat a bit?”
I glanced around the room, feeling it odd that my boss’ baby sister wanted to speak to me privately. I found myself licking my lips. “Su-sure,” I answered and followed her to the living room.
Minutes later, I found myself in this dark massive room with a crying teen on my shoulder—literally. My white tank “T” was sodden just above my right breast. It took a while, but my right hand eventually ascended to cup the side of her face. This was odd. That move caused her to snuggle deeper into my chest.
“H-he…he just sat there and di-di-did nuuuu-thing,” she sputtered. “How could he humiliate me like that? H-he really ha-hates me!”
“Shhhh!” I hushed her, not wanting to tip off my colleagues. “He’s an ass, Candice. Don’t waste your time on him anymore.”
