by Velvet
2
SAGE HIRSCHFIELD was the heir apparent to the media empire that his grandfather had built some sixty years ago. Hirschfield Publishing was one of the nation’s biggest media conglomerates with newspaper, magazine, and book publishing holdings. Since his graduation from grad school, Sage had been a junior executive under his father’s watchful eye. After six years of tutelage, the elder Hirschfield was finally ready to step aside and relinquish the reins to his son. Sage could have easily sat back, rested on the company’s laurels, and ran the day-to-day operations without making any major changes to the well-oiled machine. But he wanted to put his own imprint on the organization, so with his father’s blessings he bought a bankrupt movie studio in the hopes of turning it around by producing quality films.
At twenty-nine, Sage was one of Manhattan’s most powerful business moguls and had the world at his fingertips. Strikingly handsome, he was a true mutt, since his bloodline was mixed with four different ethnicities. His grandfather, a Jewish immigrant from Russia, married a half Italian, half Native American woman, and they had two children, one of whom was Sage’s dad, Henry. In college, Henry met and fell in love with Lisa Jones, a black girl from Brooklyn. Sage’s look was a combination of his colorful heritage. His coal black, curly hair was in stark contrast to his bright latte complexion, and his prominent nose was a blend of Jewish, Indian, and African. With his exotic looks, Sage would get asked all the time, “What are you?” And to that he would answer, “Black.” Though he wasn’t trying to deny his ancestry, he believed that the mother’s race defined the child’s, and his mother was a beautiful black woman—whom he loved dearly—so as far as he (and society) was concerned, he was black, even though he looked half white and had a Jewish surname.
Mega-rich, with a megawatt smile, Sage had done his stint as an international playboy. He’d dated supermodels in Milan, Paris, and New York; starlets in Hollywood and Bollywood; and a couple of Olympic athletes from Norway and Poland. His wild escapades were so notorious that he graced the gossip pages of tabloids around the globe. With his playa days behind him, Sage was ready to settle down and get married, and there was only one woman who fit his criteria—Terra Benson.
An heiress to the Benson and Viceroy Tobacco Company, Terra had been the girl of his dreams ever since they were kids. Their fathers were friends and belonged to the same country club, so Terra and Sage had known each other since childhood. A couple of years older, he had seen her grow from an awkward teen into a beautifully poised woman. Terra possessed the qualities that any man would want; she was smart, classy, beautiful, and rich—so rich in fact that he didn’t have to worry about her gold digging for his fortune. The only problem was that Terra thought of him as just a friend. She made it clear on several occasions that he was “like a brother.” It irked him to no end when she referred to him as family. Sage already had two sisters and didn’t need a third. He’d done everything in his power to win her over, from sending exquisite Mikimoto pearls to candlelight dinners at four-star restaurants, but nothing seemed to faze her. Little did she know that her aloofness only made him want her more. Sage was a man of results, and he made a solemn vow that he would win Terra over, no matter what.
“Mr. Hirschfield, Ms. Walker is on line one,” his assistant announced over the intercom.
Missy Walker was Sage’s fuck du jour. Even though he loved the soles of Terra’s designer shoes, he was a man with needs and Missy satisfied those needs to perfection. By night, she was a professional stripper, but by day, she was his “Girl 6,” and called most afternoons for their phone sex ritual.
“Thanks, Pearl,” he said, clicking over. “Hey, Baby, how’s my kitty cat doing?” he asked, getting right to the point.
“Wet and ready,” she purred like Eartha Kitt into the receiver.
Sage licked his lips at the thought. “Put your fingers in that ass and tell me how tight you are.”
“Oh, Daddy, it’s as tight as a drum,” she told him.
“I want you to reach underneath your legs and stick your middle finger in that tight hole,” he instructed.
“And I want you to take that big dick out and stroke it for me,” she whispered seductively.
Before unloosening his Hermès belt buckle, Sage got up and locked his office door for added privacy. He unzipped his pants, sat back down, and reached inside for his joystick. The head of his dick was already swollen from the sound of her voice, and his cock was throbbing. He opened his desk drawer, took out a tube of K-Y jelly, squirted a glob of the clear gel into his hand, and rubbed it over his aching dick. He jerked his shaft up and down, and up and down, and up and down until he was ready to explode. “Oh, Baby, Daddy’s cumming!”
“Wait, Daddy, let me put my mouth on that big cock of yours, so you can cum in my mouth. I wanna swallow that hot load.”
“Yeah…” he panted, “suck up all of Daddy’s cum, you dirty little whore!” The visual of him feeding Missy a mouthful of his cum made him even hornier.
“Give it to me, Daddy. You know I’m a greedy slut who needs all of that creamy cum. Now stroke that dick harder.”
“Ohhh,” was all he could manage to say.
“Harder, harder, stroke it harder,” she hissed into the receiver.
He masturbated faster and faster until a stream of cum shot out onto his pants and dripped down on his shoes. “Missy, you know just how to make my day,” he said after composing himself.
“Same time tomorrow?” she asked.
“You’d better believe it.” He smiled into the phone. He did and said things to Missy that he would never utter to Terra. He couldn’t imagine calling Terra a whore or a slut; she was much too refined for dirty talk.
After Sage hung up, he walked into his private bathroom, took a quick shower, and changed clothes. He was a metrosexual, and made it his business to stay well groomed. He kept an armoire filled with an entire wardrobe of tailored shirts, suits, designer ties, shoes, and underwear.
He looked in the mirror and tied his lavender silk Michael Newell tie into a thick Windsor knot. He was taking Terra to Chanterelle for dinner and the restaurant required gentlemen to wear a jacket and tie, not that he wouldn’t have dressed appropriately anyway. Sage slapped his cheeks with Creed, put on his custom-designed navy suit jacket, and headed out the door.
“I’m off, Pearl. I’ll be on the cell if any urgent calls come in,” he told his assistant.
“Okay, Mr. Hirschfield. Have a good evening.”
Sage had planned on having a spectacular evening. He had gotten his rocks off, now he was going to see Terra, the love of his life. He hadn’t seen her since her graduation from Yale a few months ago. Now that she was finished with college and living back in the city, he planned on seeing a lot more of her. He knew that Terra considered him family, but with time he was confident that he could win her heart. He had patience and that was indeed a virtue. Besides, he had Missy to soothe his blue balls until he won Terra over.
3
“SO WHAT time is your dinner over?” asked Lexington, Terra’s best friend.
“I should be done around nine-thirty at the latest.” Terra didn’t really want to go to dinner with Sage, but he had insisted on taking her to the four-star restaurant for a belated graduation celebration, so she couldn’t say no.
“Cool. Should I pick you up at the restaurant?”
“No!” Terra sounded alarmed. “I don’t want Sage asking me a bunch of questions, so you better pick me up at the apartment.”
“Okay, see you around ten-thirty; that way it’ll give you time to change from your dinner suit into your—”
Terra cut her off, “Don’t even say it!”
“Yeah, all right.” Lexington chuckled and hung up.
Lexington and Terra had been best friends since kindergarten; they were Jack & Jill alumni—the ultra bougie children’s club for affluent African Americans—and spent their summers together in the Hamptons on the shores of Sag Harbor. If there was one person in the
world who knew Terra inside and out, it was Lexington. Like an old, worn-out journal, Terra confided her innermost secrets to her best friend, and Lexington did the same. Terra carried herself like a dignified debutante, wearing white button-down shirts with cashmere sweaters tied around her shoulders and crisp jeans in the daytime and couture St. John suits in the evening. From her outward appearance, most people assumed that she was a “good” girl, but Lexington knew better. Like a true Gemini, Terra definitely had two sides to her personality; one side was reserved, while the other side was Wild, with a capital “W.”
Tonight, Terra was having dinner with Sage Hirschfield, a childhood friend. She had known Sage since birth, and thought of him as a brother. Over the years, Terra noticed that he had developed a crush on her. And it was becoming more and more apparent, because every time he invited her to dinner, the restaurants were romantic and befitting of a couple in love, not a couple of childhood friends. Terra thought that he was handsome but wasn’t interested in him romantically. In her mind’s eye, he was still a skinny boy in ill-fitting clothes and wire-framed glasses.
Terra showered and decided to wear a midnight blue, vintage Chanel suit, the pearls Sage had given her as a graduation present, and a pair of matching pumps. She pinned her long hair up into a French twist and let a few pieces hang loose to frame her face. She spritzed each side of her neck with L’Heure Magique, a delicious scent by Laura Mercier. The scent was subtle yet sexy, just like her. Once her look was complete, she walked back into her closet and took out an outfit for the second half of the night. Unlike her conservative dinner suit, this ensemble was anything but conservative. She carried the pieces over to the bed and laid them out on the duvet. Terra looked down at the clothes and smiled slyly; she couldn’t wait to shed her suit and slip into her other life, but first she had to get through dinner.
Terra’s two-toned silver Maybach was waiting outside of her Riverside Drive apartment; she loved being chauffeured around the city, especially during rush hour when it was difficult to find a taxi. The car and driver was a graduation gift from her father, as well as the comfy two-bedroom condo with expanding views of the Hudson River and the George Washington Bridge in the distance. The driver immediately hopped out and opened the passenger door the instant he saw her approach the car.
“Good evening, Ms. Benson,” he said, tipping the bib of his black driver’s cap.
“Hello, Leroy.”
“And where are we off to tonight?” he asked once she was settled into the plush leather backseat.
“Chanterelle, 2 Harrison at the corner of Hudson,” she told him.
As the car cruised down the West Side Highway, she peered out of the tinted windows and marveled at the view. She could clearly see New Jersey across the river to her right and the sparkling city lights to her left. New York was so full of life and it felt good to be a resident of Manhattan. She had grown up in Old Westbury, one of Long Island’s posh communities, and though she made regular trips into the city, it didn’t compare to actually living there.
The traffic was light, and within fifteen minutes they were pulling up in front of the restaurant. Located in a beautifully restored alabaster stone building, Chanterelle was an exclusive four-star restaurant. Intimate in scale, with exquisite overhead chandeliers and tables set with crisp white linen tablecloths, bone china, crystal, and silver, Chanterelle was usually the destination of choice for momentous occasions for many New Yorkers.
Terra waited in the backseat until the driver came around and opened the door. He reached inside and held her hand to help her out (not that she needed any assistance, but it was protocol and expected).
“Thanks, Leroy. You can pick me up at nine-thirty.” Terra knew that she would be rushing dinner, but she didn’t plan on lingering over coffee and dessert. The night was young and she had other plans for the rest of evening that didn’t include Sage.
“Okay, Ms. Benson, I’ll be here.” He smiled.
The moment she entered the cozy foyer, Sage swept her up into a tight hug. “Hey, Gorgeous.”
Terra was caught off guard and nearly lost her balance. “Hey there,” she said, trying to free herself from his clutches.
He released her and scanned her from head to toe. “You look good, Girl!” He grinned.
“And you’re not looking too bad yourself.” She had to admit that Sage was GQ handsome and could have easily graced the pages of the glossy magazine.
“Flattery will get you everywhere.” He winked.
“Sir, your table is ready,” the hostess interrupted, and escorted them into the well-appointed dining room to their choice table near the back.
Within seconds, a server appeared and asked for their pre-dinner cocktail preference.
“We’ll have a bottle of Veuve Clicquot Grand Dame,” Sage told him.
“Champagne?” Terra asked once the waiter disappeared. “What’s the occasion?”
“Anytime I get to have dinner with you is a special occasion,” he gushed like a schoolboy. “Plus, I haven’t seen you since your graduation, so this is a celebration,” he said, searching for a reason to wine and dine her.
Terra knew that it was just an excuse, but she played along anyway. “That’s so sweet of you, Sage. I couldn’t ask for a better play brother,” she said, jabbing him in the arm. “And thanks again for the Mikimotos”—she touched her neck—“they’re beautiful.”
Sage cringed slightly. The last thing he wanted to be was her “play brother,” or any other brother. He wanted to be her man, and somehow he had to convince her that they were made for each other. “No problem, I’m glad you like them. I hope you’re hungry. They have a wonderful tasting menu that I think you’ll enjoy,” he said, ignoring her brotherly comment.
The last thing Terra wanted was the tasting menu; it was at least six courses and would take longer than an hour and a half. If it were her choice, she would have ordered an entrée sans appetizer, so she could be on her merry way. “Sounds good,” she lied.
The waiter came back with a chilled bottle of champagne and two crystal flutes. After pouring, he began his spiel. “Tonight’s tasting menu is divine. We start off with Chesapeake Bay Crab Cake drizzled with Almond Oil, followed by a Wild Mushroom Risotto sautéed with Foie Gras. And for entrées, we have Grilled White Tuna with Watercress Coulis and Loin of Lamb with Fresh Mint, and an assortment of Artisanal Cheeses will be served before dessert. We also have a tasting of New and Old World wines to complement the meal.”
Terra had to admit that the food did sound delectable, so she would just bite the bullet and enjoy each course.
“So what are your big plans now that you’ve graduated?” Sage asked, once he had ordered for them both.
“Well, I plan to make good use of my theater degree. I’ve already found an agent and have been out on go-sees.”
Sage looked surprised. “I didn’t know you majored in theater. I just assumed you were a business major and would join your father at his company.”
“You mean like you did?” she said condescendingly.
“Don’t make it sound like a bad thing. I actually enjoy working in the family business.”
“What’s there to enjoy? Your grandfather and father laid all the groundwork, so what’s there for you to do except follow in their footsteps and collect a check?”
“That would be true if I were the type to sit back and take credit for their accomplishments, but I’m not. As a matter of fact, I just bought a movie studio and am starting Hirschfield Multimedia, a subsidiary of Hirschfield Publishing. So you see, my dear, there’s quite a bit for me to enjoy,” he said, setting the record straight.
At the mention of “movie studio,” Terra instantly perked up. She hated going on those cattle calls, grouped with all the other wannabe actresses. “Wow, that’s awesome,” she said with a grin. “Maybe now I won’t have to pound the pavement,” she said with an air of relief.
Sage squeezed his eyebrows together in confusion. “What do you me
an by that?”
“What I mean is…now that you’re a big-time movie mogul I don’t have to go on those stupid cattle calls. You can just cast me in your films,” she said naïvely, solving her own career dilemma.
Sage didn’t know what to say. There was no way he was going to mix business with his personal life. That was the first rule his father taught him; he’d said that was the fastest way to lose a friend—business and friendship didn’t mix. And the last thing Sage wanted was to lose Terra’s friendship. But watching her sitting there looking excited and doe-eyed, he couldn’t tell her flat out no, so he just said, “We’ll see.”
Suddenly Sage began to look better in her eyes. If she had to cuddle up with him to become a star in his films, then she would. Terra knew that he wanted her in the worst way, and all it would take would be for her to show him a few skills that she learned in college. Except the skills she had in mind didn’t come from any class, but she had to play her cards just right. Sage was savvy and wouldn’t take kindly to being used, so from this moment on, Terra would begin the process of converting their relationship from friends into lovers.
4
LEXINGTON SAMUELS, by all accounts, was the ultimate party girl. She came from family money, so she didn’t have to log in eight hours a day at some boring J.O.B., like the mass majority, which gave her plenty of time to paint the town in varying shades of red. The family made their fortune when her mother took an old family recipe and began making maple syrup from her kitchen. After years of dedication and perfecting the technique, a major food corporation bought the recipe and licensed the name “Samuels Homemade Syrup,” making Lexington and her parents millionaires. And to ensure that the money would last several generations, her father invested in dotcom stocks before the technology market went belly up. He made gobs of money from his investments, then flipped the profits and invested in real estate. He bought dilapidated buildings in Harlem and Brooklyn, waited for the neighborhoods to turn around, and then gut-renovated the properties and sold most of them for four times what he’d paid. He kept a few buildings as rental properties.
