Anchalee’s quaint setting, with a maximum capacity of 50, made it easy to spot Wayne the moment I walked in the front door. Besides that, we had beat the lunch crowd. I smiled big upon entering and seeing the hostess, Kay, and the owner, Linda, both who I knew well.
“Long time no see, Chanel!” Linda greeted. “How is that handsome young man of yours?”
“He’s fine, thank you!”
“Just you today?” Linda asked.
“No, I’m actually meeting a friend over there,” I said, pointing in Wayne’s direction.
When both Kay and Linda gave me an inquisitive eye, I had to buffer really fast. “He’s mine and Dario’s friend.”
“Oh, okay,” Linda said. “In that case . . .”
I was tickled at her concern, and chatted with her a little more, before finally heading over to my lunch date. My mouth was watering for my meal and my Thai tea, which I always made it a point to start with.
“Hey, beautiful,” Wayne said, standing from his chair to greet me and pull my chair out.
“Hey, yourself. Such a gentleman,” I complimented, hugging him.
We pulled away from our quick hug, and both took our seats. I immediately sat my backpack to the side and put my napkin across my lap.
“So, what’s good here?” Wayne asked. “Since I’m a newbie and all.”
Simultaneously, Kim, one of the hostesses, walked up with my Thai tea. “Linda said to bring this to you,” Kim said, smiling. “And is there a beverage I can get for you, sir?” she asked, her voice soft.
I tapped the side of my glass with my nail. “He’s gonna have one of these too,” I offered, speaking for Wayne.
Wayne looked up from the menu and smiled, his blue eyes lighting up at the petite Asian girl. “Yep, I’ll try what she’s having. Even though it’s a bit girly for my taste.”
“Oh, everybody drinks it . . . men and women. And they always love it,” she offered. “It’s pretty popular.”
“Well, I’m sure I’ll enjoy it, then.”
She smiled at him, demurely, then sashayed away to get his drink.
“You are such a flirt, man,” I teased him. “It’s a good thing I snatched my man up from that lifestyle that you’re so deep in.”
Wayne smiled at me and ran his hands across his blonde, low-cut fade, before folding his arms across his chest. “You snatched him up alright,” he teased. “Never seen the man so wide open in my life. Didn’t even know that was a possibility.”
“Whatever,” I said, smiling hard with pride.
With my baby, I had indeed gotten the prize.
“And just so you know, yes, I’m a flirt. But, I’m selective with who I give my attention to.”
“Wayne, don’t make me choke on my good tea,” I shot. “You forget, I know how you get down, you Paul Walker knockoff.”
“Knockoff!” he exclaimed. “I look enough like him to be the real deal!”
“Boy, bye! You’ll pass for a cousin . . . but not Paul!”
“I have references that say different, but I’ll let you believe what you want. Mirrors don’t lie.”
I winked at Wayne and laughed a little. “M’kay . . . if you say so, partner.”
“Yeah, you laugh now.”
“Gonna laugh now and later . . . and any other time you say that.”
“Oh, okay. That’s fine. I’m curious though. What did you mean by you know how I get down?” he asked, unfolding his arms and leaning forward in his chair.
“Stop it.”
“Okay, I’ll stop,” he quickly agreed.
I laughed out loud. “Good. Because I’m not going there with you.”
“Well, it’s all fair game until I get to the level that you and D.C. are, riiight?” he sang.
“And just what level is that?” I queried, already knowing what he meant, but never hearing it enough.
“You got D.C.’s nose so wide open, he doesn’t even see other women.”
“Well, it’s for sure a two-way street, because he is the only man I see,” I replied, unable to contain my blushing.
“That’s a beautiful thing.” He nodded. “I’ll find love one day. Until then, I’m—”
“Here you go,” Kim interrupted, setting Wayne’s tea in front of him. After she walked off, Wayne put the drink to his nose to grasp the scent. He looked over at me.
“You look crazy,” I joked. “Stop sniffing the damn glass.”
“I hope it’s good, Chanel,” he kidded.
“It is to me,” I said, coming off a huge gulp. “If you don’t like it, I’ll take it. But let’s get this order going so I can be chowing down, while you tell me what it is you really wanted. Because I know it wasn’t to just hang out.”
“Aww, it could be, though!”
“But it ain’t . . .”
About 20 minutes later, the food arrived. I ordered a variety of items that I thought complemented each other: Pad Ke Mao, mango salad, Kao Pad, Moo Yang, and Gao Yang. I was in heaven. Wayne would be lucky if I heard a single word that came out of his mouth, once I started to devour the food.
“This food looks good,” Wayne said, as he began filling his plate with portions of everything, sans the salad.
“Wait until you dig in. You’ll be back here again—for sure. In the meantime, and in between time, you can go ahead and tell me what I can do for you. Because you’re not fooling me. I know it’s something.”
There was not only silence, but slight tension that loomed over our table for a few minutes, while Wayne dug into his food. He was stalling; and if I hadn’t been so hungry, I would’ve called him on it. Instead, I chose to let him pace himself.
Finally, after eating in silence for what had to be 10 minutes, Wayne spoke. “How’s D.C. doing?” he asked.
I looked at him, surprised. “Huh? You’re not serious.” Since I had been in a relationship with Dario, Wayne had been a constant, and active presence. “What do you mean? You haven’t talked to him?”
“I mean, I do . . . I have. But he always seems to be busy with something, so it’s never lengthy convos or anything.”
“Awww, you poor thing! You’re missing your friend,” I teased.
Wayne furrowed his thick brows at me and shook his head. “Not like that,” he chuckled. “I just wanna make sure he’s not going through withdrawals or anything.”
“Oh, no,” I assured him, dabbing the edge of my lip with my napkin. “My baby is not going through withdrawals of any kind. He’s fine. You probably just caught him during the times where he’s at Wicked or something. Or is it that you’re having withdrawals?” I pressed. “You missing that whole fast-paced life of making deals and going after the multimillion-dollar purses, huh?”
Wayne stopped to focus, his mind clearly churning. “You just said ‘multimillion-dollar purses’ and didn’t flinch. That doesn’t bother you? I mean, I know D.C. will never have a shortage of money, but you didn’t even bat an eye.”
I cut my eyes at Wayne, agitated. “Why would I?”
“Psssh, you’re different than most women, I’ll tell you that.”
“Why? Because I’m not in Dario’s pockets? I don’t need to do that, Wayne. I’m a self-made woman and have my own, and what we have together is more than enough.”
“I didn’t mean—”
“No,” I said, holding my hand up. “Let me say this. I’m behind him a thousand percent. When that man decided to retire, he thought that shit out front to back. He’s smarter than you’re giving him credit for,” I snapped, feeling super protective of my man, in that moment.
“I think you’re reading me all wrong with this, Chanel,” Wayne remarked, pushing his food to the side. His demeanor switched to serious, and his normally tanned skin turned a bit crimson. He ran a palm over his thin mustache, as though it needed to be straightened or something. “Hey, I know D.C. is smart as hell. I’m not insinuating otherwise. I know that he’s invested, and all that. He’s good either way. When I made the comment about the multi
millions, I was just saying that hearing the word millions makes anybody perk up—especially, with ‘multi’ in front of it.”
“Well, I guess I’m not just anybody then. Sure, money is nice. Don’t get me wrong. But money doesn’t make my world go around.”
“I totally get it.”
“That’s good to hear.” I stopped for a second, before saying anything else, because something in Wayne’s face was jabbing at me. There was something that he wasn’t saying. “Wayne . . .” I said, tilting my head to the side, as though doing so would allow me a preview of his mind.
“Yeah?”
“Motive. Speak on it. Like, what’s your real motive for having this ‘meeting’ with me?”
I don’t know if he meant for it to happen so overtly, but his eyes widened when I made that statement.
“Okay, so I really just wanted to ask you about the ins and outs of having a nightclub.”
“Wayne, come on now. Don’t do—”
“No, really. I’m thinking about opening one up in Florida or Vegas somewhere, since I don’t plan to take on anymore clients for a while. You seem to do really well, so I figured you could usher me in the right direction. That way, I’ll know whether I have what it takes. Or whether I even want to take the plunge.”
I saw clear through Wayne’s lie. I wanted to tell him that he needed to quit, but I decided to let him believe that I was buying his BS. If he wanted to get to know about club life, he had plenty of space, time and opportunity to do that long before this good-ass lunch he was paying for.
I had stopped eating by the time Wayne tried to insult my intelligence. I didn’t know for sure what it was, but it had something to do with Dario retiring. Wayne didn’t want that, for some reason. And I got the sense that he brought me there to feel me out, so that he could know if he had an ally. Was he trying to get me to persuade Dario to go back to fighting, so soon after he retired? That would never happen, if that was what he was trying to make happen. Dario and I had talked plenty. I knew how he felt about his decision. It was definitely final.
“Why are you looking at me like that?” Wayne asked me, nervously, finishing off his food.
I shrugged my shoulders. “Just wondering at what part of all this you’re gonna tell me the whole truth and nothing but the truth.”
“I told you everything, Chanel.” He forced a smile upon his face. “Really. You’ll see when I finally make the decision and show you the floor plan.”
“Okay, I’m gonna take you at your word and leave it be.”
“Finally,” Wayne sighed. “You’re a tough cookie, lady.”
“You just remember that.”
We both laughed, as we began closing out the lunch with dessert and, ultimately, the check.
I meant it when I told Wayne that I’d take him at his word and leave it be. However, that was as long as I felt everything was cool and on the up and up . . .
CHAPTER 12
Shane Michaels
Manhattan Detention Complex, New York City, NY
“Listen, man, I don’t know how many times I have to tell you, or how many ways I need to tell you. I didn’t rape no fuckin’ body. I ain’t ever had to do that! Pussy is thrown at me, literally, every goddamn day of my life!”
Shane’s rant was passionate. He couldn’t believe that anyone would think that he ever had to take sex from a woman. Though, he paid a high price for the sex he bought, there were plenty of women who would give him grade-A ass—for free! He wasn’t called ‘Pretty Boy’ for no reason. He once had a woman faint on sight. Came up to him, smiling, words got stuck, and then her knees just buckled under her ass. His looks were known in the boxing world. The women couldn’t get enough of the baby-faced, caramel-complexioned man with the sexy, green eyes, thick brows, and lashes that were the envy of every woman that saw them. It didn’t hurt that he was covered in ink, stood at six-foot-two, and boasted a physique that was not overdone with unnecessary muscle. He was cut in all the right places, and an extra perk was that he was packing heat . . . between his thighs.
Exhausted from days and days of trying to convince anybody that mattered of his innocence, Shane inhaled, and then released a hefty sigh. His plight would’ve brought a weaker man to tears. He leaned back in his chair and allowed his head to fall back. He covered his face with his hands and took a few deep breaths, before lifting his head again to look at the detectives.
The only time he had ever been as frustrated as he was in that moment, was when he was in the ring fighting an unworthy opponent that made shit much too easy. Right now, he wished that he could have either of the dumb-fuck detectives standing in front of him—on his turf—so that he could beat the dog shit out of them for being stupid as fuck.
“I’m just as frustrated as you, Shane,” Officer Prick Number One said. “Imagine the struggle of having a perp who insists on living in a lie. It makes our job very difficult.”
“Wow,” Shane huffed, shaking his head side to side, in disgust.
“Wow, is right,” Officer Prick Number Two mimicked.
Shane shot him a look through tightened eyes, thoughts of torture behind them. But he quickly drew back his daggered stare, knowing it would only fuel their envy even more. In his mind, it was definitely envy that both pricks were operating off of.
“We have a victim who is prepared to testify that you raped her, and that she was forced to remain in your room all night. And that the only way that she was able to free herself was when you fell into a deep sleep. So, we have you on rape and false imprisonment.”
Shane pushed the chair back and shot to his feet. “That bitch was bought and fuckin’ paid for!”
“Sit down, Shane!” the detective roared.
Shane pounded his fists into each other and let out a growl, as he angrily reclaimed his seat.
“What the fuck part don’t y’all get?!” he shouted, waving his hand around in the air. “You keep throwing that ‘rape’ word around like there’s some ounce of truth to it. I’m not a ‘perp’ who’s living a fucking lie! I’m Pretty Boy motherfucking Shane! When the fuck have I ever had to rape a bitch? Never!”
Detective Number One leaned forward, his hands placed firmly on top of the table. “Maybe you just never got caught until now, Shane. Maybe you just lucked up with women who were too starstruck to tell their truths. Unfortunately for you, you’re in the ‘hashtag Me Too’ era. Looks like your winning streak just came to an end, buddy.”
Shane wanted to tell him that he wasn’t his bud and then pound his face into the fucking table until the flesh started to fall the fuck off. That would’ve done Shane’s heart good. Since he couldn’t do that without getting murdered in the precinct, he added more to his earlier statement, instead. “I’ve been getting pussy thrown at me since I was 11. Getting it . . . from any woman, anywhere, anytime, has never, ever been an issue.”
I’m sure I could have your bitch sucking my dick and licking my ass, if I wanted her to! He swore, in silence.
The detective looked at Shane with a smirk on his face. His eyes were smiling and Shane could tell that he was enjoying all that he was taking him through. Shane turned to his lawyer, Richard, with angry eyes.
“Any time would be a good time for you to speak up on my goddamn behalf, you worthless piece of—” Shane cut himself off mid-sentence. Because, regardless of how worthless the man was, he was Shane’s last resort. His hope was that ‘Richard the Fool,’ had some kind of trick up his sleeve. “Richard, all I’m saying to you right here in this goddamn moment, is that I pay you enough to open your goddamn mouth! Too much time has passed since I’ve been in this dungeon. Cut the fuck off from the rest of the damn world—my kid and my wife.”
The two detectives traded looks at the mention of a wife. It was a look that said, ‘Is this man seriously thinking that he still has a wife to claim?’
“It’s bad enough you haven’t done shit to get me out of here! I got a fight coming up in two weeks! What the fu—”
; “Uhh . . . no, Shane,” Richard said, breaking his silence. He nervously adjusted the front of his expensive sports jacket. He looked over at the detectives, then back to his client to break the news. “The fight has been cancelled. Too much press—negative press. I’m sorry, man.”
Shane’s brows furrowed, tightly. “Wait. Cancelled or postponed?” he queried, desperation in his voice.
“They . . . umm . . . yeah, man. It’s been cancelled.”
The room stood eerily quiet. Everybody for different reasons: the detectives, probably gloating at the fact that their perp had just suffered a major loss. Shane, because he was in disbelief, and Richard, because he had been anticipating all along, having to be the bearer of extremely bad news.
“What the fuck are you saying, Richard? Don’t give me pieces. Give it all to me.”
The attorney looked over at the detectives, and then cut his eyes. “Here?”
“No, in the fuckin’ VIP in the next goddamn room!” Shane yelled, sarcastically. “Yeah, here!”
“Okay, well, it’s all done, Shane.” Richard looked away from his client. He didn’t want to say the rest, but he had to. “The endorsements, the fight . . .” After a two-second pause, he concluded his statement. “Jodie’s not happy. At all. Reporters got to her before I could. She’s having paperwork drawn up. Says she’s done. It’s all . . . done.”
CHAPTER 13
Dario
I was operating off of about two hours of sleep, when I pulled into Wayne’s gated community. I’d left Chanel in bed asleep and I wished like hell I was still there with her. Especially, playing back the events of last night—and this morning. Her body, her hands on my body, the sounds of her moans . . . Damn. I felt my dick jump through my grey, Nike sweats. I had to quickly reach down to contain the brewing excitement. Shit, brewing? Let’s be honest; it never fucking stopped, so it didn’t have to brew at all.
My only plans for this last day of the weekend had been to be in bed, feeding on my woman and doing all kinds of other sexy shit to her body—all goddamn day. What the fuck was I thinking?! I chastised myself. Whatever the fuck Wayne had to talk about better be fucking good!
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