“Well, you won’t be able to see how everything goes down,” I tease.
**
Honestly, I don’t know what I did for the rest of the day. What I do remember is wasting my time in the studio because all I could think about was meeting Tia tonight. Italian, seafood, Japanese…hell, if I couldn’t think of something. Mapping out the location of her offices, I can only assume she lives near it. That narrowed down my choices.
Me: Congrats on getting the contract. How is Daniel? It’s a French restaurant on 60 E 65th street.
Tia: I know it. 7:15? Thank you, by the way.
Me: I’ll be there, and you’re welcome.
I’m not too much of a fan, but it’s definitely a place to impress. The four-course meals start at $158 for small ass portions of food that will guarantee your ass will be hungry when you leave. The restaurant’s saving grace in my eyes is their wine cellar and the intimate lounge eating upper area.
As I look at the onward traffic while I wait to turn into the valet spot, I catch a glimpse of Tia. I lean up in the driver’s seat to rubberneck to watch her stroll up the walkway before disappearing through the turn style, gold-plated door. Stepping on the gas, I dart out in traffic to roll up. My door is open before the man can reach my side of the car. When he sees me, he instantly stops in his tracks to gawk. He isn’t the only one. From the others outside to those standing within the foyer, people eyes bulge to stare.
I don’t care. All my attention is on the woman that’s been shuffled to the side to wait for the employees behind the tall, dark wood podium to acknowledge her. I hold my breath for the moment she’ll glance up from her cell in wonder of what all the whispering was about. Luckily, it doesn’t take too long. Time stills for a second. I know that sounds like a bitch comment, but I won’t lie. I’m stunned to finally have the force of her eyes on me. Her eyes widen upon recognizing who I am, then they go cold before she glances away.
Was all that because she’s trying to play off being excited? Or does she not like me? I read the movements of her lips; Jesus don’t let it be this fool.
I frown. Who the fuck she thinks I am?
“Sir, Mr. Thicke.”
I break my gaze to glare at the man behind the desk.
“Good evening. Your table is ready,” he announces with a wide sweep of his hand.
“I don’t want to skip anyone.”
“No worries, Sir. Someone called ahead to reserve your table.”
He speaks loud enough for the others waiting to hear.
“Thank you. Oh, I have a guest joining me…a Tia-“
“Shit.”
Frowning, I turn to look in the direction of the whispered curse. She sheepishly excuses her way to the front of the wannabe diners.
“Good evening, I’m Tia…Tia Symone.”
I’m torn between smiling or acting like a cold douche due to her first reaction towards me. Call me petty. I go with the cold. I scan her from head to toe, making her outstretched hand dangle in the air before I give it a shake.
“My guest seems to be here,” I address the man instead of speaking to Tia.
The guy nods and gestures for us to follow him. My upbringing, not from my Ma keeps me from walking ahead of her. Actually, I’m gifted with the sight of her ass swaying very nicely, thanks to her high heels.
“Thank you,” I mumble.
I allow him to hold out her chair while I take position on my own. Daniel's restaurant is a large one with many dining areas on the lower and upper levels. The ones were placed in only holds ten tables to give off a very quiet setting.
“Have we met before?”
Taken back, Tia bats her eyelids.
“No, I don’t-“
“Then what was your reaction towards me all about?”
Her jaw hangs open for a heartbeat. She shifts in her seat, nervously.
“I was just shocked to know that I was here to meet you. Your manager hinted off it was someone in the music industry. I just didn’t peg you as a person to sign up for this kind of show.”
Leaning back in my chair, I stare at her silently. I’m not upset for the record. I just want her to think about her rudeness for a moment.
“My apologies,” she smiles.
All I do is nod. Dropping my eyes to the tablecloth, I got to get my shit together. Her smile has the zipper on my pants straining under my instant hard-on.
“Chana speaks very highly of your work. I really hope what you think about me isn’t going to be a problem.” I hold my tattooed hand to stop her from talking. “You said sorry, and I accepted. We can move on.”
“Thank you,” she sighs.
At the pause in our conversation, the waitress makes her way to our table. She introduces herself, hands us the menus while telling us the night’s specials, and retreats after taking our drink orders.
“I am really excited for this opportunity. When Yosef asked if I would be open to try out, I thought he was joking around.”
“I get why you were knocked on your ass. I’ve never done anything like this before,” I admit.
“So why do it?”
I lick my lips. “I’m doing it for a friend. The guy has put all his money into pitching the show. The network wasn’t going to sign on for a season two without a big name on the ticket.”
Fuck. I didn’t mean to, but after hearing it in the open, I’m coming off a bit arrogant. I can see that feeling cross her pretty face before she hides it.
“I guess he and I have you to thank, then,” she smirks.
The chick returning with a bottle of wine gives me the escape I need to keep me from drowning. This dinner isn’t going like I dreamed.
“I’m the one thanking my lucky stars. I would have been up the creek without a paddle without Yosef. You’re my ace,” I praise while tipping my glass in her direction.
Yes, that got me the reaction I needed. After a few glasses, she’ll loosen up, I think.
“Don’t get too lax, now. I’m sure the others in the contest will be just as good as me.”
“But not better,” I press.
Now, who’s being arrogant? She just tooted her own horn. Shit, don’t think about her mouth doing anything other than drinking and eating, I warn myself.
“How do you know him?” She asks.
See, this is the type of mood I wanted to create. Just a date where she and I can get to know each other.
“His mother lived in the same project housing as my family and me. Then when I was in trouble, his mom worked it out for me to live with her sister in Canada.”
“Wow, I had heard a little bit about that, but you never know what to believe,” she whispers.
“Half the stuff is all lies, but if it gets those sites the clickbait they need to keep people on their payroll…” I trail off with a shrug.
Fifteen minutes flies by and I know I’m failing. She’s polite, giving me that fake smile of hers, but the vibe she’s giving off, I don’t like. It’s as if she’s taking issue with me over shit that I’m clueless about. I try to make the conversation about her and less about me, but even that isn’t working.
“Are you liking the food?” I ask.
Shit, now how can a simple question like that gain me a stiff side-eye? Annoyed, I lean back in my chair.
“The food is great…a little more than I could afford. Thank you for picking this restaurant.”
I catch her smirk behind the rim of her wine glass. Is she giving me the cold shoulder because I’m successful? What the fuck is wrong with this woman? Does she want a broke down man that wants to be kept so she can run things? Nah, that can’t be it.
“Would you mind telling me a bit about how the reality show works?”
I know she likes to flex her skills. Maybe this will put me in a better light. She raises an eyebrow.
“You’ve never watched the show?”
“To be honest, I’ don’t watch a lot of TV at all. When I do, it’s a documentary or a classic from the 80’s or later,” I
reply.
“Oh,” she nods.
Is that a good nod? Or a fucking idiot nod? One thing I do know is I’m getting tired of trying to figure shit out.
“Well, the show is set up like any reality, contest show. Each week we’re given a decorating task. Like, um, they might have us decorate a woman’s nursery or a themed roomed of some kind. We’re given the rules like, um, we have to use a budget of $200, we’re dropped off at a thrift store with only 30 minutes to grab whatever we need. Stuff like that.”
“So, we’re not decorating just rooms in my house?” I wonder, a bit confused.
“No. They usually move us off location for a few jobs.”
“And the people that we do the jobs for; are they voting, or is it the same judges?”
She shrugs. “I’ve seen episodes that went with the guest people weighing in, and those comments are considered by the judges. Other ways were one of the people actually sat on the panel to cast a vote. Also, they…the judges are always watching. Or the editing makes it seem as if they are watching,” she says.
“I see,” I grumble.
I’ve been duked. Fatboy, yeah I’m back to calling him that because I’m pissed, didn’t tell me half of this shit. This is going to be a lot more time consuming than I thought.
“I can tell by your sour face that you aren’t feeling this,” she huffs.
I don’t hide my annoyance with her when it flashes in my eyes.
“Let me guess, you thought it was going to be a cameo stop? You know, you pop in, smile for the cameras before running off to do more important things?”
I have enough sense to glance over my shoulders before I speak my mind.
“Have I fucked you and left you dry in a past life? Or you one of those females that’s always man-hating?” I snap.
“Excuse me?”
“Oh, now you want to act polite when all night long you’ve been serving your stank ass on a plate. All I’m trying to do is get to know you, form some kind of friendship since we have to work together,” I whisper.
She narrows her gaze at me. Well, fuck you, too bitch.
“Why would you sign up for this show and you have no fucking clue what to do? Know what, never mind. Just understand that I will not lose because you’re going to have to actually work,” she spits.
My eyes roam her face as if she just lost her damn mind.
“What the fuck that’s supposed to mean. No, I don’t post pictures of myself eating, getting my nails done, or some borrowed quote while striking a pose every few minutes like you do, but that’s because I am, you know….actually getting shit done,” I fume.
“Our food is coming,” she warns in a harsh whisper out of the side of her mouth.
I drain my glass while I let the waitress layout the third course of our meal. Tia reaches into her bag to produce a printed sheet of some kind during that time.
“Listen, let’s just stick to the meeting,” she suggests.
Not giving me the opportunity to speak, she goes on babbling. “Your home, the one you offered to do the filming in, can you tell me…, suddenly, she trails off. “Something you said before…how do you know what I do on social media?”
I say nothing as I chew my food. The silence stretches out while my knife melts through the steak while I cut another piece to put in my mouth.
“I asked you-“
“And you said we needed to stick to the meeting at hand,” I remind her.
“No, I want to know,” she presses.
“And dumb hoes are walking around here wondering why their men can’t do right. They still don’t have an answer and are living their lives, so…”
I place another piece of meat in my mouth.
“Luckily, I’m not one of them,” she sasses.
“Yes, of course not,” I reply, mockingly.
I narrow in on her hands, balling into fists.
“Tell me what your issues are with me.”
If she was willing to hold back before, she’s pissed enough to say it now.
“Okay, I’ll tell you. I can’t stand white boys like you that try to be black. All tattooed up, singing like you’re all soul when you aren’t. Trying to tell me there was no place for you in country or pop. Just like all these females getting the fake asses and lips, going to twerk classes…ya’ll rape us of our culture to make millions.”
My chewing slows to a standstill.
“Thank you for acting as a mirror, but I already know I'm not black. I’m this way because I’ll admit, I’m a product of my environment. From the Bronx to the cell block, to being raised by a black woman because my own mother was too busy giving her ass away to any fool that would holler.”
“Whew, now buddy, stories like that bit Vanilla Ice in the ass,” she warns.
“I swear you are a rude bitch. How the fuck you come off trying to read me? God, I should have listened to Chana and Yosef, but I’m a sucker for big asses,” I grumble.
“Oh, so that’s what this is all about, huh?” she laughs. “I’m going to take this opportunity, but I would have never fucked with you,” she chuckles.
I haven’t had the urge to pimp slap a woman, but Tia might make the list.
“I’ve come to find the ones that protest the most seem to cum the hardest.”
My comment takes some of the wind out of her sails.
“Baby boy, I hope you packed a lunch because you’ll starve waiting on me to give you some play,” she tosses back.
“Is that so? I don’t think you even believe half the words you’re saying right now, but I get it. You don’t want to be another on my list. Put up a good fight, okay, but we both know I’ll most definitely be dusting the cobwebs off your old coochie. That way, when your mouth is sucking my dick, and I’m stroking those walls, you can feel as if you tried,” I smile.
Without warning, Tia rips the top sheet of paper from her tablet, crumbles it to throw it across the table at my face. My eyes register the cream-colored ball flying my way, but my brain is telling me that I must be dreaming. The connect is nothing but a light tap as the wad of paper bounces off my forehead.
Snatching up her purse, she pushes her chair back from the table.
“The ink has dried…and honestly, all of this is a dream come true. We have to work as a team, so I can only hope you can put on a good act like you’ve rope-a-doped millions of people already. I would say I’m flattered that you went through all of this in the hopes of getting with me, but the fact that you thought a little flash and money is all it would take for me to throw it back proves to me that I was right about you. The quicker you understand I’m out of your league, the better off you’ll be.”
I blink my eyes rapidly. I’m dumbfounded. I’m thunderstruck into silence. Wide-eyed, I turn completely in my seat to watch Tia walk through the dining area to disappear out of my sight. Even though she’s gone, I know she’s gone, I’m still glaring at the vacant doorway. Slowly, I straighten myself right. I come face to face with her empty chair. Reaching for the bottle, I refill my class.
I’ll give Tia a point for one thing and one thing only. I did come here thinking that getting between her legs was going to be easy. Years of it being that way, just caused me to make an ass out of myself by assuming she would be no different from the others. Sipping on my wine, I replay all the shit that just went down. I’m making a mental list as I go, and at the end, I come to one conclusion. A wicked smile forms across my lips.
Tia Symone Jefferies just made her biggest mistake. She should have never told me I was out of her league. ME? I got pussy on speed dial. I'm selling out stadiums, breaking charts, and she thinks...Nah, baby. I don’t know who she’s fucked in the past or what fictional character her rude ass is holding out for, but it’s going to be me she’s going to be jonesing for. I can picture it now. The sex is going to be intense, rough, extra long, and sweaty. Jesus, my balls are so tight right now.
“Are you ready for dessert?”
I give the waitress a bea
ming grin. “Yes, I am.”
**
TIA
Sliding into my car, I slam the door.
“Shit,” I hiss as the shaking of the entire car reminds me that I need to handle this leased vehicle with care.
I hold my paper tablet in both hands to begin beating the stirring wheel. It does nothing to stem the frustration raging through me.
“Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!” I scream.
I should have known that all of this had a catch. Oh no, I couldn’t have gained the spotlight due to my talent or my relentless hustle. It’s the same damn thing, different day. I’ve been trying to make a name for myself for the last three years. My entire inheritance was pumped into this company. Everything I have, my blood, sweat, and I’m still being locked out. These white people seem to be willing to pay top dollar to one of their own, but when I walk through the door, I’m shut out. Either the rich women clients regard me as if I’m an empty-headed, no talent designer, the straight male clients see me as a piece of ass, and the gay clients won’t break ranks to hire a straight designer. Never does my actual knowledge and talent get taken seriously in this world of entitled ass snobs.
For once, I thought things had changed. Hell, it only takes one big job to change your future. This job was the fucking mother load, but nope this asshole is after what’s between my legs and not what’s between my ears. He didn’t even realize he would have to be a part of the going ons. Clearly, I was dead on the money about him being a privilege asshole that made it rich off of every damn thing others have done.
“I won’t…not…again,” I huff while leaning over to grab the compartment car door open.
Digging in the area, papers, booklets, napkins all fly through the car till my hand touches what I’m hunting for. I growl at the HD image of the sexy ass tattooed man on the CD cover. The cheap plastic cracks in pain under the force of my fingers attempting to strangle the picture of Johnny Thicke’s sexy ass in all his tattooed glory, wet from standing in the night rain. I curse myself for having this CD, five more at home, two vinyl records, and a number of his songs on a few playlists. Yeah, I’m a fucking fan. I got to admit, the man can sing. He looks fine as hell. I’ve been listening to his music off and on for a while in spite of the personal feelings I have about him. I’ll take that information to my grave.
I'll Be Good to You Page 4
