by Eva LeNoir
“What…what are you talking about?”
But I knew.
“Marlon Brooks, baby girl.”
And apparently, so did he.
Chapter 5
Marlon
I was so fucked.
After getting home and hitting the gym, I took a shower and poured myself two fingers of Toki whiskey. It was all the rave in LA as Japanese whiskeys began taking over the market with a product that was oftentimes even better than the original Scottish single malt.
It was easy to get used to the finer things in life. The money, the women, the alcohol, the drugs. The City of Angels was run by the devil himself and for two years, I was his humble servant. At the age of twenty, I wouldn’t have known the difference between Jack Daniels and Toki or TJ Max and Armani. I wouldn’t have cared whose pussy I dipped my tongue into so long as it was free and clean.
Ten years ago, a girl like Jaidyn Hughes would have been completely out of my league. Today, she was par for the course.
Except she isn’t. I thought. She wasn’t a trophy or a doormat. She was real.
Every businessman in this country knew the name Robert Hughes and what he had built throughout his life. Hell, most aspired to be him; going from just another guy in the corporate world to billionaire in barely half a lifetime, all the while staying a decent human being. It was impressive. Unfortunately, in the world of the rich and famous, we all assumed that his daughter would be a spoiled little brat with an IQ the size of her Louboutin.
After just one meeting, I could say without a shadow of a doubt, that Jaidyn Hughes was every straight man’s wet dream. The unattainable fantasy girl. The one that made fools get down on one knee and spew poetry in the hopes of a yes.
Stunning.
Intelligent.
And fuckable in all the ways of the Kama Sutra.
She was the trifecta in this ruthless world of money and fame.
So why was I fucked?
Because I didn’t want to just have her. That would be too simple.
I wanted to own her. Possess her thoughts and her body. Command her pleasure and her pain. I wanted to be her first thought when she touched herself and her last when she cried out in ecstasy.
But those types of desires have been known to destroy friendships, businesses and entire cultures since the beginning of time. Just ask the city of Troy how they felt about Helen and her magical pussy.
Jaidyn Hughes was a client, as of today, so I needed to give this case back to Madeleine. But I knew I wouldn’t and not just because of Jaidyn.
There was something about Robert that remind me of a different life, a long time ago.
Looking out from my condo, I let my mind take a rare ride down memory lane as the hints of citrus and vanilla from the Toki rinsed my palate and slid down my throat leaving a heavenly punch of pepper and oak.
From the window, my reflection stared back at me, my bare torso highlighting the hours I spent out in the ocean, surfing. The light patches of hair on my chest and below my navel added to my year-round tanned skin. My pajama bottoms hung loosely from my hips, the strings to fasten them forgotten in my haste to dress.
I was LA’s youngest self-made millionaire, not counting Hollywood stars. I was a fucking catch with my five-thousand-dollar suits and multi-million-dollar condo.
Except, I was an imposter.
I was the kid whose parents got shot in their home after stealing from the wrong kind of people.
I was the guy who lived in a foster home with other fucked up kids.
I was the one who was found, alone, by his old neighbor hours after his parents were shot down Wild West style.
I was the idiot who forgot what was important the minute dollar bills started flying my way, who had traded Millie’s no-nonsense upbringing with booze, sex, and the occasional snort by the time I hit my drinking age.
The guilt over those two years of debauchery always took its toll on me because in that time, I had disappointed the only woman who ever gave a shit about me.
Millie Barnes. When I first arrived, at age twelve, Millie stared straight down at me with her stern but kind eyes, a colorful head scarf keeping her wild curls in check and asked me one question, “You gonna cause any trouble, here, son?”
I remembered blinking up at the tiny woman and thinking I’d probably be taller than her within the year and still, my first instinct was self-preservation.
“No, ma’am,” I’d uttered softly, my voice barely audible, hands clutched behind my back, head down, eyes watching her every move.
“All right then, welcome to my home, child. Welcome to Dunbar street.” She’d reached out for me, froze at my instinctual flinch and then asked for my permission with a silent nod.
Raising my head, I’d given it to her. She was the first adult I’d ever trusted.
With her thumb and forefinger on my chin, she smiled and announced, “You’re gonna be just fine, Marlon. Just fine.”
And just like that, I was home. No abuse, no fears, no starving. Only love.
Finishing off my glass, I let the memories slide away before getting lost in the abyss of nostalgia. My phone ringing on the kitchen counter was a welcome distraction. As was the sight of Liberace, my baby skunk, walking into the living area. As a nocturnal animal, Libs usually woke up from an intense nap around this time of night. His little legs wobbled all the way to the kitchen bar where I picked him up. As I sat on the stool, I placed him on the counter and ran my index finger along the softness of his black and white fur. The little guy was the best except for one small detail: He was illegal in the state of California.
“Hey buddy. Let me get this and then I’m all yours.” I told him, picking up the phone sitting beside his left leg. He burrowed his little nose against my elbow and curled back up into a ball.
The thought that Miss Jaidyn Hughes could be calling me crossed my mind, but I quickly shot that idea down. Instead, on the screen I saw Emma flashing impatiently.
If anything, she’d be entertaining. The painful memories combined with the sexual tension from earlier had me in a bad head space. I needed sarcasm and levity in life and Emma was perfect for the job.
“Hey,” I answered the call before it could cut to voicemail.
“Hey sexy, I just got off work and thought we could get some pizza and chill,” she said, the purring sound of her voice making my eyes roll into next week.
“Chill?” I asked, suspiciously. Emma never chilled. She was a ball of vicious energy from morning to night.
“Yeah, isn’t that a line one of your readily available money-bunnies would use to get your attention?” Did I mention she was crazy?
I busted out laughing because only Emma Young could make a statement like that and get away with it.
“You had me at pizza. Hurry up, I’ll order.” I reassured her.
“You sure you’re not gonna have someone over because I’m not riding all the way there just to turn around and haul my ass back home so you can get laid.”
“You’re safe, I’m not in the mood tonight. Pizza and a movie sound perfect.” I told her, rounding the bar to get to the counter. Liberace followed me from the other side of the counter as I rifled through my kitchen drawer looking for the leaflet advertising for the best pizza in the world. Thinking I was playing with him, Libs started chasing whatever moved around in the drawer. He was so fucking adorable.
“Are you okay?” I heard Emma over the phone. “Did your dick grow warts or something? Because I think I have meds for that around here, somewhere.” Sadly, I doubted she was joking. Emma never threw anything out. If it weren’t for me, she’d be living like a hoarder, buried underneath a mountain of Tattoo magazines and dildo boxes.
“Jesus, Em. You do realize something is terribly wrong with you, right?” I said, then added, “It’s been a long day, that’s all,” hoping she’d drop the subject.
“Well, bad days have never stopped you from swinging from the chandeliers before.” Good point. It woul
d make sense for me to be losing myself between some nameless, faceless woman’s thighs but chilling out for a while was, somehow, more appealing. Maybe I was coming down with something? And where the fuck was the pizza flyer?
“You coming over or what? It’s not like you have anything better to do if you’re calling me right now.” I finally found the damn thing buried inside a pile, between the Thai place and the Harley Davidson ads. Libs looked up at me with those little black, soulful eyes, probably afraid I would leave him on the counter.
“I could, asshole. I’m a hot commodity, I’ll have you know.”
“Look at you, using big person words. Get the fuck over here or those pizzas won’t live long enough for you to taste them.” I wasn’t kidding. I was starving all of a sudden.
“Aight. I’m on my way.” She abruptly hung up but that didn’t mean she was done with the interrogation.
Before putting the phone back on the counter, I called up the restaurant and ordered three pizzas. It was always good to plan for breakfast and dinner the next day.
Emma and I had a strange friendship that bordered on sibling love. We looked out for each other. She was a sounding a board and I was the reasonable voice in her head that made sure she didn’t destroy the city whilst looking for trouble. The price of this friendship was that in return for the unbreakable bond, I had to sit through her irrational obsession of romantic comedies. Like I said, she was certifiable.
Emma Young was the epitome of contradictions. She wore leather at night riding her Vespa, and tailored suits during day as the owner of a tattoo shop in West Hollywood.
Her motto? Alis volat propriis. “She flies with her own wings” was proudly etched between her shoulder blades. Emma was unique, followed her own set of rules. The first time I had met her, she’d told me: “I’ll know it’s love when he hears everything I don’t say.”
Forty-five minutes and a pizza delivery later, I heard the knock before Emma’s key turned and she rushed in like a tornado on a rampage. Dropping her keys in the makeshift bowl we made from an empty paint can, she unzipped her knee-high boots and kicked them into the corner before going to the fridge and taking out an energy drink that I stocked especially for her.
“So, what the fuck is your problem, man?” she asked, no warning, no preamble, as she jumped on my couch and sat cross-legged and picked up Liberace as he ran straight for her. Little traitor. They cuddled, their noses touching and his little paws trying to latch onto her.
“I don’t know what you mean,” I answered, opening up two pizza boxes and handing over a slice of the pineapple atrocity before taking a good old-fashioned slice of pepperoni for myself.
“Please, don’t patronize me. Who’s the girl?”
I snorted. Liberace ran back to me so he could get a little taste of the pepperoni. That’s how I’d managed to get him to come to me the night I found him; using pepperoni as a peace offering. He’d just been born, no mother in sight for the entire day and a few hours into the night. Seeing him abandoned sparked something in me, a protective gene somewhere inside me. It wasn’t until I tried to find a vet to check him out that I leant about the law in California. By that time, I’d formed a bond with the little guy and instead of giving him to Native Animal Rescue, which would have been the right call, I’d taken him home.
That’s right, Libs. I got the meat.
“As if.” I answered.
“Not exactly a denial, there, Brando.” She said, using her favorite nickname for me before biting into her pizza. I didn’t mind. Especially since my little pet name for her so much better. “None of your business, Jack.” Because, The Shining.
Liberace crawled up on my shoulder as soon as he saw her pick-up the remote and turn on the television. There was nothing Liberace loved more than watching TV, the excitement had him wringing his little paws and shaking his entire body. He was weird and I loved him for it.
“Please,” she scoffed, “everything is my business.” Correction, she made sure she got into everybody’s private life. Big difference.
“Why aren’t you wearing leather pants?” I asked, hoping to change the subject.
“Deflection? Really? That’s the best you’ve got?” she asked, shaking her head in disbelief. Thankfully, she still answered the question. “Someone complimented my outfit. I felt violated so I changed.” I turned my head to look at her profile, the skepticism evident on my face.
Emma was gorgeous by any standard, no matter how hard she tried to hide her beauty behind extravagance. With long legs she inherited from her pro-basketball playing father to her facial features mainly inherited from her Japanese mother, she could have been a sought-after top model. But her whole life, people only saw her lithe body and soft features and never paid any attention to her art, her skills, her intelligence that rivaled my own.
We got each other. I was hiding in suits and she was expressing herself with bright colored hair, tattoos and leather clothing.
The first time we met was in a tattoo shop. She was interning and I had just received the contract for the sale of my app. I wanted to celebrate by getting my first tattoo to document the turning point in my life. I thought it would be cool to write Rags to Riches in Japanese, so I looked it up online.
When this long-legged beauty with bright purple and pink hair saw my design, she said there was a mistake and fixed it. Then, she told me to take a day to reflect and maybe look up what she had written to make sure I was okay with it.
I did as she advised, I looked it up.
It did not say Rags to Riches.
It said, “You’re a fucking idiot.”
I went back to the shop the next day ready to lay into her when it suddenly hit me.
I was a fucking idiot. Why Japanese? It wasn’t my language. And Rags to Riches was probably as clichéd as buying a Ferrari just because I could.
That night we hung out at the nearest bar until last call and the rest was history. Emotionally, we were still two fucked up teenagers trying to make it through the week. But at least we had each other. Now, if only I could get her to actually like hanging out with Ethan and Luca. That was an entirely different story.
One day, maybe, we’d get our shit together and appreciate ourselves.
That day couldn’t come soon enough because the questions just kept coming.
“Tell me, who’s the girl? You’ve never been iffy about fucking before. I’m intrigued. Oh! Is it a guy? I always thought you’d look good as a bottom,” she said, turning her attention to me and looking me up and down as though imagining me with a dick up my ass.
“Nope, still not bi, Emma. Be like ‘Frozen’ and ‘Let it Go’.”
With a sigh and a pout, she turned back around and finished off her first slice of Hawaiian.
“I swear, Marlon, if you don’t fess up, I will steal Liberace!” As though he could understand, Liberace ran down my back and made himself comfortable between her legs. His favorite spot.
“See?” she said, pointing to her crotch, “He’s already half-way to my house.” Emma stopped changing the channels and landed on some old Melrose Place reruns.
“Really? I can’t watch this again. Although Heather Locklear was hot as fuck.” I said, taking a big bite of pizza.
“UGH, Maaaaarlooooon!”
“Fine. There’s no girl. Just, a client who got me hot and bothered.” There. Said and done.
“Hot and bothered? What are you, twelve?” her question was followed by a huge bite of pizza and a disgusted look on her face.
“She’s a client.” As if that would explain it all.
“Wait. Whoa!” she cried out, her full attention back on the matter at hand, “Did you take on a case?” This also got Liberace’s attention and I felt like both were looking at me as though they didn’t know me. My skunk was judging me.
“She was hot and pissed off for some reason. I was curious and hard.” I told her, shrugging for effect.
“And did you?”
“Did I what?�
�
“Brando?”
“Jack?”
“Holy shit! You took the case hoping to get to know her and fuck her and then have beautiful babies together!” she howled, laughing hysterically.
Apparently, the idea of me diving into a serious relationship was either ridiculous or nothing short of unbelievable.
Chapter 6
Jaidyn
It was Sunday night and I had ignored Calvin’s text messages all weekend. Before calling him to wish him a great Monday, as per my weekly routine, I needed to take a breath and get my mind in a more Zen mode. Between Dad’s diagnosis, his ludicrous wish list, and meeting a certain godlike businessman that made my skin prickle with excitement, I was exhausted.
There was nothing I could actively do about my father’s diagnosis except make his life easier and more comfortable. I had so little time left with him, I had to remind myself to let things go. Maybe be less stubborn. Let him live out his dreams. I blinked away the tears as they threatened to spill over onto my cheeks.
What will I do once he’s gone?
Who will I be?
But that was it, wasn’t it? Living out that wish list would bring my father unpreceded joy and I knew, above all, he needed some levity and beauty surrounding him.
But the travelling was ridiculous. His list practically took him all over the globe and the bungee jumping? Oh, hell no. I was putting a hard no veto on that insanity.
The only problem I had that bore no complications, was Marlon Brooks. He was enjoyable to look at, for sure, but hot men were a dime a dozen in California. His charm was addictive but I wasn’t planning on seeing him much so I could easily ignore the siren’s call. It was the dominant tone he had sometimes used that could be my downfall.
Again, I would stay away, and all would be right with the world.
Just as I was about to call Calvin, my phone began to the haunting sounds of Summertime played by Ella Fitzgerald and Louis Armstrong. Just as Louis’ trumpet belted out its third note, I quickly answered to avoid waking Dad in the next room. Growing up, jazz was my father’s music of choice and Ella was his queen which explained my middle name.