The pair were actually on their honeymoon as we spoke, something they more than deserved. They decided to take it more than half a year after the actual wedding, both of them caught up in the business of their lives.
Griffin, like myself, played professional basketball. Also, like myself, was a hot commodity on his team in Miami; though, he climbed the ranks a little quicker than I had in our short, year-long careers. The guy was all over the place after his point guard injured himself in Griffin’s rookie season. He essentially took over for the guy, and even though his point guard was back on his feet, Griffin’s life only slowed a little. He was still a wanted man, busy, and from what I heard, things for Roxie were no different. She’d recently enrolled in law school, though I had no idea what she’d be doing with that. I just knew they did a lot of reading and shit, so she must have been busy.
I waited, chewing anxiously on the inside of my cheek while I sat anxiously during their exchange on the other side of the world. They were literally on the other side of the world—Fiji to be exact.
I couldn’t hear exactly what, but Roxie did say something, and after she had, Griff breathed into the phone.
“Sorry, baby,” he said, his voice suddenly the utmost of calm. She had that effect on him, his Roxie.
“He’s just frustrating as shit.”
I guess even she couldn’t make magic happen. I fell back to the lounge again, facing out my window at the busy streets. My agent got me a high-rise in a badass hotel. Too bad I couldn’t enjoy all DC had to offer.
I was too busy getting reamed.
“Griffin,” I started, choosing my words more carefully, “this isn’t so bad. We can find another place.”
“Really?” he asked, but something told me he wasn’t really asking.
The word dripped in sarcasm.
“How are we supposed to do that on such short notice? We’ve had this party planned for months, D. Months.”
He was really being generous with that. What he meant to say was he had this party planned for months. He was good at stuff like that: responsibility.
“We had everything secure, everyone secure,” he continued, “we even got Ryan’s brothers to come out for this thing.”
Which I knew was no easy feat. Our friend’s brothers were in the military. More specifically, stationed in Japan. But Griffin made it happen for them to come out to Ryan’s trade party. The party was for our old college roommate Ryan to celebrate his trade to DC. Like us, he played professionally, and finally got the team he wanted, which was in the District of Columbia, his hometown. He finally got to come home, which made me feel even more like an idiot.
I slid my hand down my face.
“We can make this work.”
“You’re right,” he went on, “we can make this work because you will.”
“Griff—”
“You’re going to fix this, D,” he said. “You’re going to fix this because you messed up, and I don’t care how much ass you have to kiss to do it. Get us back in our space, and do it quickly. Ryan would do this for either one of us, and you know that.”
I did. Outside of Griff, he had it the most together. He always had.
“I’ll fix it,” I promised him. And I would. I swore I would.
“Good. I’ll talk to you later, okay? Roxie and I are going to the beach.”
I smiled a little. I never felt like I wanted something like that—a girl permanently on my arm—but my boy kind of made it sound good sometimes.
Only some.
I let him go, promising him again I would fix this, and tossed my phone on the bed.
Pushing my hand back over my face, I watched the television I had put on mute when I finally got the nerve to call Griff. My eyes traveled over what was clearly news with no absorption of the information in front of me what-so-ever. My mind was racing.
How had I let this happen? I saw that girl and I…
I pulled shit like that all the time—and had well before playing professional ball, too. When it all came down to it, I let my cock do the thinking, which wasn’t so bad when it was just me I had to think about. But Griffin had given me one job to do—pay the deposit and check out the space.
I cursed, trying to figure this out. I wasn’t really sure what could get us back into Club Prestige. I had money, but I had a feeling that wouldn’t work for this kind of place. I mean, you practically needed a body scan just to get in. The place required a membership, and if not, a word from a member to gain access. Of course, we had that with Taylor, who I assumed frequented the place. He came from old DC money, and this place screamed it. Money didn’t push at a place like that, influence did, which a once poor kid from the south side of Chicago, didn’t have.
I turned the sound on the TV up absentmindedly, tossing the remote on the hotel room’s coffee table after. Maybe I could convince Griff to change locations. But he was right. This event was big, and we’d made sure to hit up all of Ryan’s buddies. This was all for him. This was all about him.
But I’d somehow made it about me.
Shaking my head, I turned toward the television, distracted by some guy that struck me as familiar.
I turned up the program, the guy on the screen crowded by people. Most of them had sunglasses on, and escorted the guy out of a courthouse. In front of the party, reporters shoved microphones in the dude’s face, which his entourage quickly pushed away. I read the headline scrolling along the bottom of the screen:
“Washington Shooting Guard Tucker ‘Tuck’ Simmons Charges Dropped.”
My eyebrows flickered up. Seeing the name struck a sudden awareness. This guy and I hung out in the same circles, had acquaintances. In fact, I’d seen him at quite a few parties. I partied a lot, and though, I didn’t really know him, I did know him to be a little bit of a big deal. He was recruited to DC out of high school, barely nineteen, from what I remembered.
I scratched my chin, shaking my head a little as I read with the scrolling text. It seemed the hotshot was already getting himself into trouble, a DUI.
Smirking, I palmed the remote. He better be careful with that shit. Trouble this early on in his career and at such a young age…? I didn’t want to say this guy didn’t have a shot, but…
I knew firsthand how bad things could get when you got in over your head.
I went to turn the channel, move on, but stopped the minute I saw something, the minute I saw someone.
A pair of black boots zipped all the way up caught my attention. Creamy brown thighs filled them deliciously, like a fine wrapper to toffee. She was nothing but fine to look at. Like some kind of damn masterpiece in the way she moved in that tight dress of hers, like a second skin formed over thick thighs and large breasts. The entire outfit was black, which contrasted all the colorful, gaudy shit around her. The dude’s entourage looked like a circus. The kid wore an oversized rainbow shirt and sweatband around his head.
Fuckin’ kids.
I couldn’t see the girl’s eyes, as they were hidden behind dark sunglasses, but that didn’t matter. I remembered them well. They were a smoked brown, deep and wide with so much going on within them. I was sure lots of that had been about me and that wasn’t my ego talking. She’d been at the forefront of the entourage that kicked me out on my ass, those eyes on me the whole time; I’d never forget them. They were very hard to forget. She was very hard to forget, hell, with how interesting she looked. Her entire head was buzzed, a cut even shorter than mine, with hazel-toned hair.
I’d never seen anything so sexy in my life; the confidence she had to rock a style like that.
I watched her, in the background of this kid, but very much supporting him. It was like she was trying to blend in, and doing it well. Who was she to him? A girlfriend, or…
And then her hand went to his back—only slightly, and only for a moment, but it said so much before she pulled away—something like, “I’m here. I got you.”
The guy’s name flashed on the screen again, but I didn’t kn
ow what it was.
But hell, it sure did click something.
“Ms. Simmons!” the girl at the club said that night—the name of her superior.
Tucker ‘Tuck’ Simmons, the television read. I sat back, watching the pair get into a black SUV with tinted windows. Before it took off, the kid rolled down the window and pushed his middle finger out toward the crowd. He yelled something just as colorful as his shirt to the reporters before pulling away. Something else clicked.
I think I just figured out how we’re getting our venue back, or at least, a way to talk to the person who took it all away.
Andie
“Please, Ms. Simmons. Please, reconsider.”
This was my second time doing this with Tasha. The first time had been the night I found her.
She’d been bouncing on a dick at that time.
The second was now. She’d come to my office to get her last check, and I had just as little patience for it now as I did the other night.
I flipped a page in the dossier I had been studying, sighing before gazing up. The glass panes of my corner office highlighted the panic in her brown eyes. She had a similar look the night of her lapse in judgment, a fear that told me she had no idea how she’d pay that next bill, or how she’d feed herself now.
I closed the dossier, my acrylics clacking against each other when I folded my fingers.
“You know the rules, Tasha. You broke them, so you’re out.” She was lucky all I was doing was firing her, not pressing charges. She may have worked here, but that other girl didn’t. They’d both put themselves in a terrible position. A potentially dangerous position that could have been far worse than a quick thrill with a basketball player.
Yes, I knew who he was, hence the full dossier underneath my fingertips. His name was logged the minute he entered my club.
Diondre Combs - bench warmer for the Indiana Pacers, though I had a feeling that was a matter of his career being in its infancy. He’d only been playing for a short period of time, and from what I had gathered about his stats, he was actually quite good. But he couldn’t expect to go too far if he continued with the kind of stunt he pulled in my club. Come to find out, he was actually supposed to attend an event we had later in the week, hosted by one of our members.
I had to hand out a lot of suspensions along with Ms. Emerson that night. Taylor Charles hadn’t been happy to hear that, as he was actually one of our more esteemed members. He never caused trouble and it had been a shame I had to crack the whip on him. I did a standard suspension, a few months, and as Mr. Charles only visited every few, it would be lifted before he even came back out. I think that had been the only reason he hadn’t been more upset.
Oh, God, she’s crying now.
I lifted from my desk, swaying over to the sobbing dancer in my office. I ripped a tissue out of the box on my desk.
“Tasha, please don’t make a scene.” I didn’t particularly enjoy making people cry. Especially when all I was trying to do was protect my girls - even if it was from themselves.
She accepted the tissue, pressing it to her flooding eyes hidden behind red-tipped hair.
“I… I…” she hiccupped.
I sighed again, leaning on the edge of my desk.
“It’s for the best, Tasha. I’m sure with your next job you’ll think about what happened here,” and hopefully make better decisions.
Turning away, I pulled a white envelope from under Diondre’s dossier. It would be the last time I read the thing. I had no more interest in him after I found out his purpose for being in my club, and handed out the proper consequences.
She blew her nose. It was a long one that made me purse my lips. She rubbed a nostril with the tissue. “I’m going to bring this up with the other owners.”
I fought the urge to lift my eyes to the ceiling. “I own one-fifth of this club, and my colleagues support my decisions, as I do theirs. My decision stands, and you’re only making things worse for yourself the longer you stand here and insult me in my own office. Now please, take your check and leave.”
She had no right to attempt to step over my stake in this business, this company. I may have once been like her, but I changed things for myself.
I made things happen for myself.
The initial sweet, sobbing girl in my office faded before me when she took her check. As we made eye contact, her eyes narrowed and became even colder. Flipping red locks over her brown shoulder, she turned away.
“You’re such a bitch,” she snapped, then slammed my door, causing my framed art to sway.
She was wrong about that though. I was her friend, which was why I was firing her. That night with Diondre could have turned out far worse.
Sighing once more, I called Mason, my number one, into my office. He slid me a folder from under his beefy arm, knowing the routine. I thanked him before taking it back to my desk.
I had one thing to handle first.
Diondre’s dossier hit the bottom of my trash can with a thump, and I found I could breathe again. The trash was now properly disposed of.
I quickly went into my routine, thumbing through the folder Mason gave me. It had the list of that evening’s events, and though I already had them memorized, I studied them again. When I had finished, I called both him and Gerard back in. We went over the extra security measures we were getting ready to install in the upcoming weeks. In all honesty, my team had this place more than safe, but I’d had a meeting with the other owners this morning, and the extra security measures were agreed upon. The measures were more a show of strength; a stand, that we here at Club Prestige were here to stay, and wouldn’t be threatened. We’d had an amazing first year with more success than we knew what to do with.
Which was, I supposed, why our neighbors disliked us so much.
Something about not wanting a club of our… type in the neighbor. Our legal team was handling the particulars. I just had to keep the club’s security on the up, which of course, I had no problem handling.
Smiling over the current plans for the new measures, I stood from my desk, handing Mason back the folder.
“Excellent, gentlemen.”
They nodded, all smiles themselves before turning to head out of the room. But I had one more matter to bring up as I retook my seat.
“Did the car I secured for Mr. Simmons for this evening deliver him to his location as I requested?” I asked, pulling my chair under my desk. Of course, the car had, but I always verified.
I received a nod from Mason.
“Yes, Ms. Simmons. I delivered him myself to the party he requested drop off to, though I did advise him the safety of the location was less than desirable.”
My eyes narrowed.
“I’m sorry - how is a party at one of the nicest hotels in town an ‘unsafe location’?” In fact, it had been like pulling teeth just to get him to agree to go to it, and not some shady establishment where he usually liked to hang out with his less-than-desirable friends.
My brother could be rather disagreeable.
Now, it was Mason’s eyes that narrowed.
“That’s not where he had me deliver him, ma’am. He went to a party in the glades, at South Hill to be exact.”
My brother had officially lost his mind.
D
Hotshot showed up, just like I thought he would. I wasn’t surprised. My boy Q threw some of the best house parties.
That was, if you were willing to venture into the hood to get to them.
That’s how Q started I supposed - the hood. He operated his fine jewelry business right out of his basement. His pieces were outstanding, and I copped quite a few myself. I wasn’t the only one - dude was known all over the country. I was about ninety percent sure that’s what got the rookie over to these parts.
I guess I spread the word well.
I tipped my Corona back, watching him as I shook my head. The guy had a chick on either side of him, clearly trying to impress the room with his arm candy for the evening. Dude n
eeded validation, I guess.
He was wearing another one of those damn clown shirts.
He had his hands above his head now, grinding up against the ladies with his tongue hanging out of his mouth. I lifted my eyes to the heavens.
What a damn tool.
He looked just as much on television, though I liked to give a guy the benefit of the doubt. One thing I knew about the media was they liked to get a man at his worst, but what I was witnessing now seemed like a pretty accurate portrayal. The song playing throughout the house changed over to something else, and it must have broken the guy’s flow because he stopped dancing, taking his girls over to couches. They sat next to him, one on each side, looking far more interested in the man on the other side of the couch, but I wouldn’t blame them for that. Q was a pretty fly dude, and Hotshot, taking his seat beside him with his girls, got the attention of Q and his boys crowded around. They all chatted for a bit, and oddly the kid held Q’s interest enough to do so.
I brought my gaze away from the exchange a bit, finding myself doing that more and more as the evening progressed. The kid showed up like I hoped, but I didn’t fail to notice he arrived short one buzz-haired bombshell.
Where was his girl? The one from the club? I mean, that had to be her relation to him: security. She kept the paparazzi and reporters back like some kind of CIA on television, and let’s not forget her appearance at the club. She came in and shut shit down, no holds barred, which any other time, I’d say was kind of hot, empowering and shit if I hadn’t been the one with my pants down…
I sure did get my ass handed to me that night, didn’t I?
Smiling a little, I shook my head, sipping more of my Corona against the wall. There were a few things that really had me confused as hell about her. She had all kinds of questions buzzing around in my head about who she was. The main one being her role to the kid besides security. The pair did share a last name - that much I gathered - but I still wasn’t sure about the connection. She could be anything from a spouse, to his mom. That first one had my beer tasting like bile in my mouth. She didn’t look old enough to be his mother, though. She looked to be in her twenties, like me.
Enthrall: A Found by You Novella Page 2
