by Diana W.
Rather than comment in a manner that would deem him speaking to his father like a stranger off the street, Cornell rolled his chair back and stood up. “Enjoy the rest of your day, Father.”
“I am not finished.” His father stood, too, seemingly ready for war.
“But I am.” Cornell didn’t offer him a glance when he left out the boardroom.
CHAPTER 2
Cornell could feel it gaining on him. No matter how hard his arms pumped or how much distance he covered, it was always on his heels. He looked back and the darkness was once again trying to engulf him. At the first feel of it wrapping around his neck, he jolted upward in a cold sweat, struggling to catch his breath. Still panting, he looked over to the clock on the nightstand and realized it was well into the evening. He’d been asleep since he left the verbal sparring session with his father earlier. He scrubbed his hands over his face, attempting to shake off the nightmare that was starting to occur more frequently, but his brother’s boisterous laugh accompanied by that of an unrecognizable female’s caught his attention.
Annoyed but oddly amused, he threw the covers off his body and stood up to stretch the rest of his sleep away. He swiped his t-shirt from the grey lounger on the other side of the room and threw it on before making his way toward the lively conversation.
“It’s a secret recipe. I can’t give that vital info up,” his brother Mo tried to whisper, but his heavy voice wouldn't allow it. It never did. He was usually the one who got caught talking on the phone after their mother had told them to go to bed.
The woman, who held a champagne glass filled with what Cornell was certain was from his exclusive alcohol collection, was sitting on Mo’s lap with her hand on his chest, devouring every single word. When she saw Cornell approach the grey leather sectional, her eyes widened, seemingly startled, but the common glow he’d seen in all women’s eyes when it came to him and his brothers, quickly took over. There was always lust with the small ping of curiosity, wondering if the rumors were true. The Gaines brothers, well, two out of three of them, had built a reputation over the years that exceeded them. They were all businessmen first but ladies’ men a close second. It was a badge of honor that none of them would deny, not even Mo, the only one legally spoken for. His marriage wasn’t a secret, yet, it made him an automatic target for most women.
“What’s good?” Cornell clenched his brother by the shoulder and squeezed.
“Oh shit, what up, Cee?” Mo looked up at him and grinned. He then returned his attention to the woman who had yet to stop staring at his brother like a perfectly plated medium-well steak. “This is my big bro Cornell. Cornell, this is Lex.”
Cornell offered her a respectable nod. More than he was already certain she deserved. “Nice to meet you. I see my brother has shown you proper hospitality.” He referred to the drink in her hand. Mo would pick up on the disapproving undertone in that statement, but for Lex, Cornell sounded like a courteous host.
“He...he has.” She could barely get the flustered words out. She wondered how they expected her to be coherent when the pictures she’d seen of them on social media and TV did them no justice. Where Morris “Mo” Gaines was built like a true cornbread-fed, country teddy bear, Cornell was the complete opposite. He was slender but muscular, and the tallest of the three brothers, standing at six two. Mo and Cornell favored each other with their baby-faced features inherited from their mother, but Cornell covered his with a low-cut goatee while Mo rocked a clean face except for a small patch of hair on his chin. Deciding who she thought was finer was like being asked to choose between milk chocolate and more milk chocolate. There was no selection needed because the only answer was yes.
“Good,” Cornell smirked, knowing the reason for her perturbed state. The Gaines Effect, so eloquently named by the media, could throw even the strongest off their game.
“Mo, a word with you.”
Cornell started toward the kitchen without waiting for a response. He opened the fridge and rummaged through the boxes of leftovers that he’d stacked up during the week. Cooking was no longer an option since he practically lived, breathed, and slept work. Eating out and delivery had become a way of life.
“Wasup?” Mo leaned against the counter behind Cornell.
“Why you bringing this bullshit to my spot?" Cornell opted for the bowl of grapes Cyn, his personal assistant, must have left for him. She was almost as busy as he was but made it a point to leave a trail of healthy snacking options wherever she could because she was aware of his takeout habits.
“You talking about Lex?” Mo’s nose wrinkled.
Cornell gave him a dry look. “No, I’m talking about the other woman who isn’t your wife up in here.”
“Aww man,” Mo waved him off. “Mia knew what she signed up for when she said ‘I do’.”
Cornell had to stop himself from shaking his head. “If that’s the case, you should be able to bring Lex to your own place, right?” He popped two grapes in his mouth. “You got a sister-wives situation you’re trying to create?”
“I wish.” Mo blew a gust of air from his mouth as if the thought had crossed his mind a time or three. “Mia would dice my shit off if I brought that to our front door.”
“But you have no problem bringing it to mine?” Cornell held up his hands perplexed by his brother’s logic.
“Bro, when you see the ass on this woman,” Mo used his hands as if he was displaying the width of a watermelon, “you’ll understand. And she a freak.” He patted Cornell on the chest. “All she wants is to give me a little head. Ain’t nothin deep. And before you even ask, she already signed the NDA before I brought her up here.”
Cornell shook his head, deciding it was useless to try and reason with Mo. He and Clark had tried numerous times to talk him out of it when he told them he wanted to marry Mia. Out of all the women they ran through while attending Morehouse College, Mo became obsessed with having to have her. They knew he had taken her virginity, but it was more than just that prideful arrogance of having been her first and only. Mo and Mia seemed to border on that tight rope line between love and hate, trapped in a vicious cycle of explosive breakups to make-ups. He would cheat. She’d fight him and leave him. He becomes physically ill without her, and then she comes back, only for another rinse and repeat. Everyone around them had accepted the rhythm of their relationship, but that didn’t mean they wanted to be actively involved in it. Mo had somewhat wisened up, and instead of taking the women to his other homes and hotels where he’d been caught before, he started bringing them by either Cornell or Clark’s place because he knew Mia wouldn’t be able to get past their security.
“She the reason why you weren’t at the meeting today?” Cornell’s brow rose in speculation.
“What?” Mo stood straight up, noticeably confused “Since when did I have to start going to that boring shit?”
“Since Dad was coming at me all sideways about you and Clark missing it.”
“Why?” Mo’s voice elevated past the hushed tone they’d been using, even though they were well out of Lex’s earshot. “He knew where I was. He’s the one that sent me to VA. I got back on the redeye this morning.”
“It’s cool.” Cornell held up his hand to calm his brother. “I killed the conversation before it could even begin. Richard filling his head up with a Rowe Industries acquisition has him acting out of sorts lately.”
Mo massaged his forehead. “Why is he so adamant about the one company that doesn’t want shit to do with us? There are a million others that’ll gladly take their place with less effort.”
Cornell shrugged. He didn’t understand it either. “You know how he is. Once he has his eye on something, he won’t let up until he’s exhausted all options.”
“And that’s the fucking problem,” Mo bit through gritted teeth. “He ain’t the one enforcing the exhaustion.”
There was no need for Cornell to agree. He knew how much Mo hated being the designated muscle of the family. The rest of them
had to get their hands dirty when the time called for it, but Mo was solely responsible for making those special “house calls”.
“Have you seen Clark?” Cornell switched subjects to diffuse the tension. “He hasn’t been answering my calls.”
“Nah.” Mo stroked the hair on his chin, thinking about it. “You don’t think he’s back using—”
“Don’t,” Cornell abruptly warned, not wanting him to put that thought in the universe. “He might just be laying low after that FBI hack. Give him some credit until we know otherwise. I’ll stop over there tomorrow.”
Another family crisis surrounding Clark wouldn’t be a good look right now. If they were truly going after Rowe Industries, everyone had to be on one accord. One unhinged link could create a domino effect worse than the fallout that happened over the failed partnership with Taylor & Taylor two years ago.
“Do you mind if I get a refill?” Lex’s sultry voice interrupted their conversation.
“God damn,” Mo managed to communicate what Cornell was thinking. Lex walked up to the two of them, barefoot and topless, swirling her empty glass in her hand. Perky and more than likely paid-for C-cups bounced to each sway of her hips. She had pushed her hair up in a disheveled bun, but a few unruly strands remained behind her shoulders.
“You sure that’s the kind of refill you’re looking for?” Mo looped his finger around the thin red lace waistband of her thong and pulled her to him, allowing Cornell to get a perfect view of the ass he’d spoken so highly of.
He had to admit that when Mo was right, he was fucking right.
Cornell swatted her left cheek, just to watch it jiggle, prompting Lex to shoot a smile over her shoulder before she began unbuckling Moe’s jeans.
“You two have fun,” Cornell drawled and made it two steps away until a pull on his shirt made him look back.
“You don’t wanna have fun too?” Lex bit her bottom lip as she massaged Mo’s crotch.
Mo mouthed “I told you” from behind her and grinned. Sharing women wasn’t an issue, but Cornell wasn’t in the mood for it tonight.
“I have somewhere to be, but I’ll take a rain check. Take care of my bro properly though,” Cornell smirked.
“No need to worry about that,” she offered him a seductive smile before lowering herself into a squat.
CHAPTER 3
The ride to Madam Sinclair’s was always quiet. The banter Cornell would exchange with his driver Raymond was replaced with mellow music—something both Cornell and Raymond preferred. Raymond may have started as his driver, but their relationship over the past few years grew into something more solid. Cornell trusted him not only with his safety, bringing him to and from questionable places at times, including Madam Sinclair’s, but with his secrets. The other side of him people, not even his own family, saw. He never felt like Raymond was judging him or trying to school him, even though he was five years younger than his father was. They shared an understanding and mutual respect, and Cornell appreciated Raymond’s discretion and loyalty. Tonight, it was Prince's “The Truth” album providing the soundtrack of their ride, serenading them with crisp guitar solos and perfectly executed falsettos.
Cornell looked out of the window at the buildings he’d seen hundreds of times while his thumb moved methodically back and forth over his phone. The shift in his mood was unexplainable whenever he was on his way there. A grey area dwelled between anticipation and guilt because he knew he was on his way to engage in a worthy sin.
Raymond turned into the hardly visible alleyway and came to a stop. Cornell made eye contact with him via the rearview mirror.
“I’ll text you when I’m ready.”
Raymond nodded his understanding, already having decided to go to the hole-in-the-wall lounge that was block away to pass the time.
Cornell exited the backseat and entered the unsuspecting door covered in rusty black security bars. He passed through three different doorways and winding corridors until he reached the all-steel door. He pressed the red button to the left and a small slotted window to his right opened
“Card,” a deep voice commanded.
Cornell recovered the sleek black card from his pocket and held it up, allowing a red beam to scan over it. The loud clink of a lock signaled its acceptance, and the large door slowly opened. As he entered, two towering guards, dressed in all-black suits nodded their greeting and proceeded to pat him down as he held his hands up compliantly. It was standard protocol for admission. Madam Sinclair’s specific clientele was for those who could afford to pay for their extreme measures of privacy and discretion. No real names were used between members or workers, and everyone, including himself, was required to sign non-disclosure agreements that had sinister consequences if they’re ever broken.
Cornell traveled further into the parlor filled with a few scantily clad women and men who hung on the arms of other members, en route to their designated rooms. He approached the seated concierge whom he could see smiling at him, even through the black lace of her mask that shielded her face from the nose down.
“Good evening and welcome back.” Her thick hair fell into her face as she reviewed his digital profile on her monitor. Everything was sent to her the instant a member’s card was scanned at the entrance.
“Any changes to your standard?” She looked up with her fingers already positioned on the keyboard.
“No,” Cornell responded coolly.
“Food or drink?” she followed up.
“Yes.” He took a minute to think about what he would want. The grapes he had before he left the penthouse were almost comical to his hunger pangs at this point. “Let’s do a ribeye, medium-well, with a side of asparagus and mashed potatoes. My current drink preference is fine.”
The concierge quickly typed the appropriate changes and nodded her completion.
“Anastasia will be in your room shortly, and your food should arrive within thirty minutes or less. If it’s any longer, please alert us.”
Cornell offered his thanks and walked past her station to ascend the left side of the red grand staircase behind her. At the top, he made a sharp left to his room that was two doors down. He slid his card into the access slot to enter and momentarily closed his eyes when the door shut behind him. Despite the edge he always felt coming there, his room felt like a safe space the minute he was inside of it.
He walked toward the massive circular bed that sat on top of a two-step black platform and took a seat on the edge of it. Rubbing his hand over his head, he looked to the right wall and decided he needed something different. Something relaxing.
“Allie, change scenery to New Orleans at night,” he spoke aloud.
“Changing scenery,” the automated woman’s voice responded.
Each wall in the room, minus the one in the front that housed the dim lighting, went dark and then became one running picture of a drones-eye view of the city that was meant to simulate you flying along with it. Cornell always wondered if others made over-the-top requests like his when they became members. With each room in Madam Sinclair’s being designed specifically for a member's individual taste, he assumed after your preferred colors, lighting, mood, mattress firmness, amenities, and flooring were taken into account, you could have anything you wanted as long as the money was right. The decorator didn’t even flinch at his request for full-length wall monitors.
“I always enjoy this one.”
Cornell adjusted his posture at the sound of Anastasia's voice.
“I know.” He watched her walk toward him from the workers’ designated entrance near the bathroom.
Her tall black heels and long thick legs effortlessly made her float like the bronze angel that she was. She kneeled in front of him, giving Cornell a healthy glance of her cleavage spilling out the top of her black leather corset dress.
“How was your day?”
Her tone was sincere as she slid off the sneakers and socks from his feet and began to massage them. At the first feel of her fingers, the tensi
on from his trying day dissipated on contact.
“Busy but what else is new.”
“You work too hard,” she hummed her chastisement from under her lace mask. Unlike the concierge’s, Anastasia’s mask covered her entire face, a requirement of all member companions unless it’s specifically requested not to.
“If a man likes nice things...”
“He has to work for them,” she finished, the mantra he’d consistently recited to her since their first encounter over six months ago. It had become habitual for them both to say.
“What else are you willing to work for?” She stood up and stared down at him, forcing his eyes upward.
When he didn’t respond promptly, she clamped her hand around his throat and applied pressure. “I asked you a question.”
“Fuck you,” he spat back defiantly. The knot of anticipation in his chest was screaming for attention. The secret within him had awakened.
“You can’t,” she tauntingly whispered in his ear, massaging the bulge in his joggers. “Isn’t that right?”
Cornell closed his eyes and struggled with the lust overcoming him. It was sick. He was sick. But he needed this more than he needed to breathe.
“Take everything off,” Anastasia barked and released his neck from her grasp. “And if you keep me waiting, there will be consequences.”
He had already been subjected to her pulling, pinching, and slapping, but he wasn’t in the mood to piss her off tonight. Knowing the type of “work” it would take to acquire Rowe Industries, he needed an escape, to relinquish the control always thrown on him. His father always placed the legacy of the business on the shoulders of him and his brothers unevenly. A failure would mean he alone caused it. That his strategy wasn’t enough to do what needed to get the job done.
He discarded his clothes without hesitation while Anastasia impatiently paced in front of him. Despite the act she was forced to put on, she held a soft spot for the man called Mr. Q. Even in his desperation for her, arrogance and cockiness rolled off him in waves. Anastasia didn’t thoroughly understand why he liked being treated this way by her, but she secretly looked forward to their encounters. It had become the highlight of her job.