by C. L. Donley
“I sense there’s a ‘but’ coming.”
“But… there’s no amount of money that will keep you from falling in love with me.”
Grayson Davis was in front of her, using the words “love” and “falling” and “me.” And “with.”
The words were so vulnerable in her that she thought she’d just as soon die rather than to say them, yet he offered them freely. Her armor was useless it seemed, because he was seeing right through her.
“I’m in love with you anyway, only right now I have nothing,” she flatly stated.
“You don’t even know what you’re talking about,” he responded rather gruffly. “Love, virginity, a million dollars, they’re all just concepts to you. You have no idea…” his voice trailed off. “Let’s say I agree to this thing. When it’s over, for you, the pain will likely be excruciating.”
He was right. Amara had very little idea what he could be talking about. In her mind, heartbreak could only happen when it was sudden.
“Bet I can handle it,” she teased. Another wicked smile.
His mind refused to be turned on by the sophomoric response, but his body only laughed in defiance.
He continued, “That’s not what I mean, and you know it. You’re asking me to be the one to inflict one of the greatest miseries to befall the human heart on you, and you want me to pay you afterwards.”
“Quid pro quo, it’s only fair,” she answered. He still looked apprehensive. Amara tried a different approach.
“Think of it as an education for me, then. Do you wanna know what the last guy who hit on me told me?”
“Not really,” he replied honestly.
“He said, ‘If you’re looking for a stud, I got the std, all I need is ‘u.’”
“That’s actually… pretty good,” he chuckled.
“Save me, Grayson!” she said, grabbing a loose hold of his lapel as if crazed. “If you think I’d have better luck out there, than here with you, then you need to check your privilege.”
Grayson laughed aloud again. He couldn’t remember the last time he had, and now he was laughing incessantly like he’d had one too many.
“If someone told me that Amara Riley would be at this party propositioning me tonight, I would’ve told them to pinch me because I was dreaming.”
Amara closed the deal, though she knew it was already in the bag.
She let go of his blazer and reached up on tiptoes to put her arms around his neck, though she was tall enough that she barely needed to strain to span his 6’2” frame.
She underestimated what the closeness would do to her, but she continued undaunted.
“Take me to parties so I can charm all your snooty friends and they can be all, ‘she’s so articulate.’”
“Because rich people are unapologetically the worst?” he grinned.
“Wine me, dine me… sixty nine me,” she said, her eyes widening at “sixty nine.”
Yikes. He fought back a few of the mental images.
“You’re such a virgin,” he said hopelessly.
“Do we have a deal or not, Davis?” she said. He found her faux assertiveness an irresistible challenge.
His hands surveyed her waist for a long moment as he looked down at her full lips. One hand moved to caress her jaw line and the nape of her neck, where he could feel her pulse was racing. The hair at the back was softer and lighter than he imagined it. He brushed her long locs to one side exposing her neck and kissed, as though he were a vampire moving in to bite. Her hands moved from around his neck to his shoulders, and she held on for dear life as he teased, lighting up every synapse she had.
He brushed his lips up against her ear, licking and biting. “What room are you in?” he asked quietly.
The Palm hotel was all white quartz and high ceilings, with deceptively comfortable tufted leather sectionals and chaises, gathered around a white stacked stone feature wall that was also a fireplace. When they arrived arm in arm, they were surprised to see that a portion of the party had moved to the lobby, and the scene was surreal.
A very popular if not forgettable singer was at the piano, and Amara was surprised to see that she could actually play. An older gentleman she recognized as Jerry Stone who was one of Clarisse Brooke’s musical directors, the female half of the greatest music couple this century. He was lounging around with artist/producer friggin Pharaoh Stewart singing riffs and runs as the forgettable singer played.
Their large entourage were not quite as respectful. They were blowing smoke in the non-smoking hotel, and seemed to be as new to this level of luxury as Amara was. The air in the hotel was that of discomfort and disruption, but it was overlooked for the sake of the general awesomeness of the sight. They’d kept it to a dull roar, and anyone there that weekend had known about the party and expected as much. They seemed to know they were immune to reproach.
“Amaraaah,” Pharaoh sang as she walked in.
Whaaat! She smiled and waved.
“Player play-ah!” One of them said to Grayson as he walked past, the implication not lost on either of them. Grayson didn’t seem to know him, but that didn’t stop the comment. It was 2am at a celebrity filled Malibu beach party, after all.
“Gentleman, ladies,” Grayson replied cordially. For the first time Amara could mark the distinction between the man and his image, the latter of which never faltered.
“Grayson Davis takin’ a walk on the wildside?!” the musical director said, an old interracial relationship reference from the 70’s. He reminded her of one of her uncles. Part of her wanted to stay in the lobby and listen to him crack jokes. The singer at the piano seemed to glance at her with a look of jealousy.
“Get that money, girl,” said one from the entourage.
She felt Grayson tense under her arm and some of the people that’d met her earlier gave the random onlooker a groaning reprimand.
They were almost at the elevators when Amara unexpectedly stopped and turned to them, piping up in all her stereotypical black glory saying, “Excuse you, I’ll have you know that I have a Master’s degree from Beaumont University in Writing and Pedagogy, okay, thank you I am not a prostitute.”
“Tell ‘em girl, get em!” her new best friend Pharaoh egged on. Another person whooped at the elaborate description of her anomalous degree. Everyone was quiet for a beat and she couldn’t pass up the opening.
“He is about to get it though, so ya’ll enjoy the rest of your evening,” Amara said.
The room erupted like a bomb went off before she could get the whole punchline out, and when she turned around Grayson had a smile glowing like embers under his disapproving look.
They got into the elevator wordlessly. Grayson pushed her floor and they both watched as the numbers ascended. After a moment, she finally spoke.
“I take it you don’t approve of my outburst?” she deduced.
“You sure your calling isn’t stand up?” he replied.
“I just made one of my faves die laughing, and you’re not going to take that away from me.”
“They don’t need to know what we’re doing.”
“They already know. Dale seemed to know the nature of our relationship before you did.”
Relationship?
“This isn’t a relationship, it’s a transaction,” he corrected.
“Semantics.”
“The more you stick to the semantics the better off you’ll be.”
“Would you relax? I’m not gonna catch feelings and stalk you afterwards if that’s what you’re worried about.”
“You already have, according to you.”
She sighed loudly, “I promise not to catch further feelings or stalk you afterwards, and I absolve you of any responsibility and/or wrongdoing.”
Grayson was quiet and seemed satisfied. After a moment she continued.
“Now can you please just be your sexy self and make me feel what I felt on the beach again?” she asked sweetly. A stray loc fell across her face as she cocked her head to th
e side.
He looked at her and flashed a smile that spiked her temperature. His eyes drew to the floor as though suddenly shy.
“I’m just dropping you off tonight,” he said.
“What? Why?” Amara asked urgently.
More smiles. “It’s late and, honestly I’m tired, and you deserve to have time to think about this first. Alone.”
She wanted to roll her eyes but he was being sensible, she knew. It was chivalrous in a weird way, but nevertheless pointless. Once her mind was made up she could never change it.
“How long do I have,” she said.
“We’ll spend the day tomorrow,” he replied.
His words exploded warm joy along the highways of her heart.
“I’ll give you until tomorrow evening.”
True to his word he dropped her off without so much as a goodnight kiss. She closed the door behind her, looked around at her ridiculous room— was that her luggage?— and paced it a few times cursing and praying and generally freaking out. She couldn’t help diving backward onto the large plush bed, so comfortable that she lamented the fact that there was no way she was falling asleep anytime soon. She looked at the clock— almost 3 am. She desperately needed to call the girls. It was late but, they would have to deal. It was almost time for Kim to be up for work in Nashville, so she picked up her phone. Kim would be excited.
Mya… less so.
“What…the actual fuck, Amara,” Mya said as though wide awake.
“Girl, she got BILLS, THAT’S what the fuck,” Kim defended. “Our girl is about to be a millionaire. This is some Jane Austen shit.”
Amara threw her head back laughing at the two of them, at her situation.
“Jane Austen? Was that also a slave’s name that I don’t know about, because this right here is the fuckin’ Antebellum South.” Mya sniped.
Kim rolled her eyes and sighed exaggeratedly, “I don’t remember any slaves breaking a million for some poontang,” Kim argued.
“Same shit, different era,” Mya warned.
“There you go with your atrocity porn again Mya,” Kim retorted.
Amara tensed on Mya’s behalf.
“Sorry, but that afro centric high horse mess is played out,” Kim continued. “The world has changed, and if you ask me, it’s even more a matter of survival now than it was then. I was more mad at Amara for insisting on that weak ass degree. And then she doubled down on the shit, and got a second one.”
Amara laughed, breaking up the tension.
“At least she can pay her bills,” Kim lectured. Mya knew Kim well enough to know it wasn’t a dig directed at her. “It’s not a billion, but as smart as she is, I know she can multiply it and we’re gonna help her. She’s set for life.”
“She’s SELLING HER BODY!” Mya exclaimed.
“To a fine ass man who respects her!” Kim preached. “He made it clear he’s not here for love— no illusions. You know how rare that is just to get honesty out of a man?? It’s not happily ever after but hell, this is the next best thing, if not the best.” Kim was making Amara feel like a genius.
“I knew you’d approve, Kim,” Amara broke in.
Kim continued as though she hadn’t heard. “And none of y’all have a mom who’s strung out and on the street, so if anyone should be mad, it’s me— and I’m NOT. This ain’t even close to the same thing as that.”
Amara was silent. Kim’s response seemed to temper Mya’s emotions.
Mya’s voice was level as she confessed, “Maybe you’re right Kim, and it’ll be perfectly fine but… it’s just not what I wanted for you, Amara. You deserve better. You deserve love.”
She had love, at least on her end. Wasn’t that going to be good enough? Would he love her in time? Maybe it was a bad idea but she saw no other recourse. She fought back a threatening drizzle of tears.
“You were the one that told me whatever crazy thing happens just say yes!”
“And you pick now to listen to me!!” Mya argued.
“Well you were right! Girl, those dead-end jobs were killing me, but I trudged through them so I wouldn’t leave you out in the lurch. I’m not a lawyer I’m not a dancer, I just don’t have the kind of talent that anyone cares about. But now I’ve found it out here, and you know what it is? I attract billionaires.”
“Amara….”
“I made my half of the rent and utilities for the month in seconds, Mya. Just helping Dale with a joke. And now I’ve made a deal with the man of my dreams, and it’s so good that I’ll never have to make another one.”
“Which reminds me, Amara, let me draw you up a contract,” Kim interjected.
“Ugh, I cannot believe we are having this conversation.” Mya sounded genuinely concerned, as though she’d told them she was joining the circus.
“I don’t know, Kim, I don’t want to like, scare him off with a bunch of legalese.”
“If he gives you a buncha shit about protecting yourself, then you should definitely back out,” Mya insisted. “There’s no virtue in being naive about it, if you’re gonna do it.”
“I gotta agree with my girl on that one,” Kim said.
Amara’s guts fluttered and she sighed. “Fine.”
Whatever this was, it was definitely not Jane Austen shit.
“Have you even thought about after he’s done using you?” Mya suddenly offered.
“Nope,” Amara answered glibly. Kim snickered.
“How are you going to explain to any man afterward how you came into your fortune?” Mya proposed disapprovingly.
“Girl, whatever. If they can’t respect the hustle they can move around,” Kim replied.
“I’ll just Indecent Proposal somebody else,” Amara said laughing.
Mya shook her head. She’d done all she could do and had to let her friend make her own decisions, disastrous as they seemed.
“Well you two hoes enjoy yourselves, I’m going back to bed. Amara?”
“What, girl.”
“Be…careful.”
Seven
Chapter 7
That night, sleep eluded Grayson like he was a kid waiting up for Santa Claus.
Not that he’d ever believed in Santa Claus, but still.
He’d definitely never had a childlike eagerness to sleep with someone before, but then again, never had sleeping with a woman been this premeditated for him.
There was still a chance that it may not happen, which was even more unique and he appreciated the distraction. It seemed that many firsts accompanied Amara, which was starting to give her a mystifying quality in his consciousness. This was going to be fun indeed, he thought. He didn’t get far into that hedonistic anticipation before guilt began to overshadow it like a tropical storm.
He remembered that she was a virgin, and that he was, in this scenario, probably equivalent to the gross guy that tried to pick up girls during lunch by frequenting the high school he’d long since graduated.
Also, he realized that he liked Amara enough that perhaps he would’ve approached her eventually, without the money.
But this will protect them both, his head insisted, likely his second one. Amara had promised not to make this emotional, and though that seemed impossible knowing what he knew about her, he sensed she was smart enough to keep the consequences at bay and not bring them to his doorstep. He’d given her a whole night, and now would give her the entire day to rethink her decision. And yeah, the fact that they would spend the entire day together using his money in whatever way she wanted was probably not going to keep her in the most objective state but dammit, she was his guest. He wasn’t a caveman.
When he arrived at the Palm Hotel the lobby’s modern white decor was so pristine it was almost surreal. You would never know that there were impromptu performances and at least a baker’s dozen entourage members smoking various plants and lounging around in it a few hours before. He caught his reflection in the mirrored wall behind the concierge desk. At 34, he’d almost been an attractive male longer than
he had not, but every once in awhile his reflection still startled him. He looked like every good-looking asshole jock in high school combined. He was now king of the asshole jocks.
He was dressed smartly in a navy sport coat with a crisp, blinding white polo underneath and khakis. He’d vacillated between showing up casual to put her at ease and trying to look his best for her and give her a weekend that would blow all of her future suitors out of the water. He felt he’d landed somewhere in the middle, but by the time he got to the desk he was greeting a distant old feeling of self doubt.
“Can you ring room 1703 and tell Amara Riley that Grayson Davis is waiting for her in the lobby, please,” he told the concierge.
“Lucky girl,” the concierge couldn’t resist as she picked up the receiver. She was an attractive brunette with a British accent, which used to be his weakness.
Used to be?
“She’s on her way down, sir. Anything else I can do for you?” Her professional demeanor returning as though he’d imagined her comment. He returned her polite smile as he declined the offer.
Amara must’ve ran down, because not a moment later she was standing in front of him like the most delightful acid trip ever, in a bright yellow racerback jersey dress, fitted at her small waist and flared out past the knees. She should’ve looked like a giant banana but instead she was striking and regal, the brownness of her skin almost giving a severity to the whimsy of the dress. Dark skin, bright colors. He made a mental note. Her locs were down again and brushed almost completely to one side. There was a slight curl to them and they looked almost beachy. With her stylish sunglasses she did indeed look like she may’ve been famous, yet when she saw him her jaw dropped, and she playfully put the slender fingers of her right hand to the side of her mouth. She was quite girly, he was starting to notice, and the exquisitely feminine gesture brought a smile to his face.
“I’m underdressed yet again,” she said to him quietly. He could’ve easily moved in for a kiss somewhere, anywhere on her face but he didn’t. Patience is a virtue, he said to himself. One that he rarely had the need to exercise these days. He wasn’t all that worried about her changing her mind, and now that he’d seen her looking like some kind of exotic dessert, he wasn’t sure he would let her.