All Up In My Business

by Lutishia Lovely

  He lightly rubbed a finger over her mouth. “I’ve missed these.”

  Alexis eyed Toussaint’s lips and licked hers. “I’ve missed yours too.”

  Toussaint’s voice dropped to a husky whisper. “May I have a kiss?”

  Alexis nodded, already melting by the look of love and longing in his eyes. He aggressively tongued his way into her mouth, crushed his lips on hers, and wrapped her in his arms. Alexis felt a jolt of electricity as she wrapped her arms around his broad shoulders and turned to deepen the kiss. Warning bells of self-preservation went off in her mind, about the danger of dating a Livingston, the potential hurt, deception, deceit that could lurk behind every business trip, every closed door, every female customer at a Taste of Soul restaurant. Alexis heard the bells, but soon their sound was drowned out by the desire in her heart and by the love that encouraged her to throw caution to the wind.

  When Toussaint requested the check and they walked back to Alexis’s car, she knew something for sure: She might again hear the bells of caution tomorrow, but she was going to dance to the music of ecstasy tonight.

  60

  “She looks just like you.” Joyce stood behind Malcolm, who was seated in his office. They were waiting on Joyce’s friend Bernice, who worked with QVC.

  “Yeah, I guess she does,” Malcolm replied. He fingered the picture of his fifth child, taken one month ago, when Victory was just one week old. He ran his finger over the cherubic face, his daughter’s eyes tightly closed and lips puckered. Lips that looked like his. Malcolm’s mind went back to the night in his man cave, when his father had demanded he do the right thing and support his wife. He’d gone to the master’s suite shortly after they left and found Victoria lying in bed, chatting with her mother.

  “I need to speak to my wife, Valarie, alone.” Valarie paused, and then continued talking to Victoria as if Malcolm hadn’t spoken. “Now, please.”

  Slowly, Valarie turned to face him, a look of pure disgust on her face. “Oh, so when you finally decide to pay Victoria some attention, I’m supposed to scurry off somewhere, fade into the scenery? Whatever you have to say to my daughter, you can say with me present. I’m not going anywhere.”

  “Mom, please …”

  “Please what? This is the man who left you alone, Victoria, who wasn’t present when you labored for three hours before giving birth!”

  “Mom, enough!” Victoria winced from the pain that yelling had caused her. Malcolm rushed to her side. “Please leave, Mom. I want to talk to Malcolm—alone.”

  “And just so you know, I relieved your nurse, Doris,” Malcolm said. Valarie turned to argue but he put up his hand. “Don’t worry, a new nurse will be here in the morning, one that her doctor recommended. I appreciate all you’ve done, Valarie, but this is still my house and Victoria is still my wife. Thank you, and good night.”

  “Well … I …” A stuttering Valarie rushed out of the room and down the stairs. The slamming of the door marked her departure.

  Malcolm gingerly sat on the bed and took Victoria’s hand. It was the first intentional touch in months. “I know I said it before, but I’m so sorry I wasn’t there for you and Victory. I should have been, and I feel awful about it.”

  Tears welled up in Victoria’s eyes. She placed her hand on top of his. “And I forgive you, Malcolm. True, you weren’t at the hospital when Victory was born, but I haven’t been here for you either. Your mother warned me years ago about giving all of my love to the children and leaving none for you. But I didn’t listen. I made excuses. And the next thing I knew, we were like strangers in our own house.”

  “It wasn’t just you, Victoria. You focused on the kids and I focused on work.”

  “We’ve made a mess of our marriage, Malcolm. But I’ll do everything in my power to make things right again. I’ll lose the weight, quit that church, even go back to working for the company if that’s what you want.”

  Malcolm looked at Victoria, and for the first time in months, maybe years, saw the woman he married—the caring, adoring woman he once loved.

  “I know it’s a lot to ask, but do you think we can get it back, the magic that was there when we first got married?”

  Malcolm’s eyes were misty and his voice hoarse as he answered, “We can try.”

  Malcolm stood abruptly, shaking off the hand lightly kneading his shoulder. Joyce felt and saw the change in attitude immediately. “Do we have the numbers from consumer testing?” he asked. He walked over to the desk in his office, papers strewn everywhere even though it was the weekend.

  “Yes, they’re right here, along with the testimonials. I’ve also compiled a promotion with the video footage that was shot of customers who tested the smoker. Would you like to see it?”

  Instead of answering, Malcolm crossed to his office’s sitting area. A flat-screen television was mounted on the wall, viewable from both the chairs and love seat. Joyce scurried to her briefcase, retrieved the DVD, and joined him there. He put the disc in the player, turned it on, and sat on the love seat. Joyce took a tentative seat beside him, close but not touching. Her eyes watched the people on the screen, heard their words of praise about the device that produced a perfectly cooked piece of meat every time, but her mind whirled. Malcolm had been different since shortly after Victory’s birth. She’d asked him what was wrong, had tried to gauge where he was in his marriage and whether there was a chance for them to have anything more than they already did, but he’d shut down emotionally for the first time since they shared that dinner at FGO.

  “She’s excellent,” Joyce commented as she and Malcolm watched a charming redhead clasp her hands in glee after the chicken she’d pulled from the soul smoker fell off the bone. “They might be able to use her testimonial in promotions leading up to your appearance on the show.”

  “I appreciate everything you’re doing,” Malcolm said, eyeing Joyce intently. “I’m going to make sure you’re compensated for all the help you’ve given me.”

  “I’m not helping you just for financial gain,” Joyce said, hurt evident in her voice. “I love you, Malcolm. I—”

  Joyce was interrupted by a knock on the door. Upon Malcolm’s directive, the security guard entered, escorting Joyce’s associate, Bernice, the QVC producer.

  “It is a pleasure to meet you,” she said after Joyce made the introductions. “I’ve heard a lot about this Soul Smoker!”

  “Well, I hope you’re hungry,” Malcolm replied with a grin. “Because I’m getting ready to let you taste what all the hype is about!”

  It was well after ten p.m. when Malcolm entered the kitchen from the garage. He was exhausted but elated at how the meeting with the QVC producer had gone. She had raved about the ribs she ate and was equally impressed with the chicken and links. Joyce had given her a copy of the DVD, which the producer planned to take back to the network in order to develop the strategy for introducing Malcolm Livingston’s Soul Smoker to America.

  Bypassing the den and his usual two-finger cognac drink, Malcolm climbed the stairs and headed to the nursery. Opening the door slowly, softly, he tiptoed inside. The plastic sunshine on the nightlight bathed the room in a soft, golden glow. He walked over to the crib where Victory lay on her back, sleeping soundly. A smile played across her lips, and she squirmed slightly at Malcolm’s touch. Malcolm reached out a thick forefinger and smoothed down a wisp of his daughter’s straight, black hair. With that same finger, he touched her tiny hand. Victory opened her small palm, clasped her father’s finger, and continued sleeping. Malcolm’s heart clenched as it opened up. This was his daughter, his fifth, beautiful, wonderful child.

  “Hi, Victory. It’s Daddy,” Malcolm whispered. He leaned down and breathed in her fresh, baby scent. She’s perfect, he thought as he folded back the blanket and rubbed a light hand over her long limbs and round, milk-full belly. “I think you’re going to be tall, like your uncle,” Malcolm said softly to the still-sleeping child. He leaned down and kissed her. “Daddy loves you,” he said,
and quietly left the room.

  Malcolm walked to the guest bedroom he still occupied. He opened the door and was surprised to see Victoria there, sitting on his bed. She wore a sheer white, floor-length negligee. He stood just inside the door, standing, waiting.

  “I had my six-week checkup yesterday,” Victoria said. Her voice was soft, tentative. “The doctor said I was healed enough for intercourse. I want to have sex with you, Malcolm, tonight.”

  Malcolm stepped inside and closed the door. He pulled off his jacket as he walked to his wife. He stopped in front of her, and without a word began to strip. When he was naked, he reached for her hand. “Are you sure?”

  Victoria stood. “I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life.”

  They reached the master suite and lay on the bed. Slowly, but surely, Malcolm became reacquainted with his wife’s body. He ran his finger over her scar and then kissed it. Victoria explored his body and soon rubbed him into hardness. She turned on her side and directed him to enter from behind. You should spend the rest of your life being faithful to your wife. How you feel while you’re doing that is up to you. Malcolm couldn’t predict the future. There was a lot of hard work ahead to get back to the love he and Victoria once shared. But as he parted her folds and began the physical journey of their reconciliation, for the first time in a long time, Malcolm was optimistic.

  61

  “You’re back in the bedroom, Candace. Be thankful for that.”

  “Yes, Diane, but we still haven’t made love. He says that whenever he gets ready to, he thinks about me being with Q. It’s messing with his mind, and I don’t know what to do about it.”

  Adam had invited Candace back into the master suite right after hearing that Q’s gym had been closed down. That night, he’d hugged her close to him, and she’d fallen asleep in his arms. But when she’d reached for his penis and began to stroke it, he’d turned away from her—something he hadn’t done in thirty-plus years of marriage. They’d talked the next day, and he’d bared his soul, told her how her cheating had affected his manhood, made him doubt his ability to satisfy her, made him feel that he’d be compared to a tall, buff brothah twenty years his junior. Candace still cringed as she remembered these revelations and how they were met with her silence. Quintin Bright was like no other man she’d ever known, a stallion who’d sexed her to within an inch of her life. He was nine inches of hard, pounding flesh, and on his weakest days had far surpassed Adam on his best. So how, she’d wondered, was she supposed to answer a statement like that?

  “Look, girl. That’s Adam now. Thanks for listening to me ramble.”

  “Call anytime.”

  Adam stopped just inside the front door. He raised his nose, much like a greyhound tracking prey. Was that dinner he smelled cooking … again? “Candace?”

  “In here, baby.”

  Adam smiled and walked toward the kitchen. “I know that isn’t Candy’s candied yams I smell.” He came around the corner, put down his briefcase, and took Candace in his arms.

  “It is indeed,” she replied after a kiss. “Dinner will be ready in about ten minutes.”

  “The chef does all right, but I could get used to this, you know. Having you cook dinner every night, like you used to when the boys were young.”

  “You were so tired in those early years, putting in sixteen-hour days at the restaurant. And then coming home and bottling sauce, ready to peddle on the weekends.”

  “We thought we’d died and gone to heaven when that first contract for the sauce came through.”

  “Yes, and we got real distribution, just in the tristate area at first, remember?”

  “Woman, how can I forget? Me and Dad went to each of those stores personally, met the managers and the store’s staff. Shared some sauce-slathered ribs and turned them all into barbeque salesmen!”

  “We’ve come such a long way, baby. Thinking back to those early days almost feels like a dream.”

  Adam put his arms around Candace again, his hand cupping her backside. “This feels like a dream.”

  “Hmmm. So does this,” Candace said, reaching between them and stroking Adam’s dick. They kissed, a melding of the lips that went from soft and tentative to hot and wet. Candace reached for Adam’s buckle, unzipping his pants at the same time. Soon, she palmed his manhood, which was hard and throbbing. She went to her knees, right there beside the island in the center of her kitchen, and put the length of him into her mouth.

  “Ahhh.” Adam rocked back on the island, placing one hand on the cool marble and another on the back of Candace’s head.

  “Mmm,” Candace moaned, slathering her man’s dick with her saliva. She opened her mouth wider, sucking him in deep. It had been too long since she’d tasted him, too long since they’d shared intimacy. She licked and sucked and bobbed her head, her time with Q becoming more and more of a distant memory with each passing second. Candace’s knees scraped against the slate-tiled floor, but she ignored it. Her focus was only on the moans, groans, and thrusts that signaled Adam’s nearing release. He grabbed the back of her head as it happened, as he spent himself inside her, and she swallowed every drop.

  “Baby, oh … baby.” Adam slumped against the island, unable to pull up the slacks that were now down around his legs. “That was … amazing.” She’d never given head like that before. The thought of how she’d honed these new skills, riding a strange cock when she should have been riding a treadmill, killed the mood. “Move, baby. I’ve got to use the bathroom.” He pulled up his pants and began walking away. The phone he’d placed on the island began to ring.

  “Candace, grab that. It’s probably Ace. Tell him I’ll call him back in a couple.”

  Candace hurriedly retrieved Adam’s phone from his briefcase. She was still reeling from what happened, still rubbing her knees to stop the burning and get the circulation back in her legs. But she’d been with her man again. Adam and Candace were back!

  “Hello?” she almost sang, with a smile so wide it could practically be seen through the phone.

  Almost, but not quite, as was evident seconds later. “Where’s your punk-ass husband?”

  Candace almost dropped the phone. “Q?”

  “Damn right.”

  “Q, have you lost your mind? What we had is over, so why are you calling my husband?”

  “Don’t act like you don’t know, and don’t try and play the part of protective wifey. Your ass wasn’t so concerned about him when I was knee-deep in that pussy. But you should be concerned about him now.”

  Candace paused. She’d never heard Q talk like this: somber, threatening. But why? Several doses of penicillin was proof that she hadn’t been the only one Q was screwing. So why was he so angry that they were through? “Q, look, I don’t know what your problem is. If anybody is angry here, it ought to be me. You’re the one who gave me the clap, remember?”

  “Yeah, and that bitch you’re married to is the reason my business is shut down. But that’s all right. I want you to deliver a message to his ass. He’s fucked with the wrong player, believe that.”

  “Q, what in the … Q? Q!”

  Candace was still holding the phone when Adam walked back into the kitchen. “Who was that?” he asked, immediately noting the concern on Candace’s face.

  “It was Quintin, Adam. Something about his business being shut down and that it’s your fault?” As Candace watched the emotions play across Adam’s face, a sense of foreboding began to beat in her chest. “Adam. Talk to me. What is going on?”

  62

  Toussaint was walking on clouds, had been ever since Alexis waltzed back into his life. What started out as a night of passion after surprising her at her loft had turned into them practically living together. Whether at her loft or his penthouse, they’d spent almost every night together. In between thoughtful, tender lovemaking or sometimes rough-and-tumble sex, Toussaint and Alexis had talked, sometimes for hours. Her diverse interests equaled his, and she could talk about fashion one min
ute and then hold her own in a conversation on basketball the next. Toussaint didn’t think he could be satisfied with just one woman. It’s why he’d never married. But Alexis appeased every one of his hungers. Which is why he’d told every woman who called him that it was over, and when they kept on calling, he had his number changed.

  Toussaint reached the front door of Ace and Diane’s house. He was overdue for a visit and knew his aunt would make sure he knew this.

  “About time you came to visit,” Diane said, giving Toussaint a hug once he’d stepped inside. “I was about ready to hire a detective to track you down.”

  “I’ve been busy, Aunt Di. You know, work and all …”

  “Work my foot. Come on back to my office. I’m working on your Food Network stuff.”

  In the Livingston Corporation’s early days, Diane had handled marketing and PR. When Shyla was fired, Diane volunteered her services during the transition and was now determined to see her nephew become the next Food Network star. They reached the comfortably lived-in office and sat down. Diane eyed Toussaint closely. “Looks like somebody’s happy.”

  “Somebody’s ecstatic, Aunt Diane. I don’t think I’ve ever felt this good.”

  “Something tells me this has nothing to do with the cooking show.”

  “I could never keep anything from you. It’s Alexis. We’re back together, and closer than ever. Which reminds me. I need to thank you.”

  “Me?”

  “Don’t even try it. Alexis told me that you called her right after the incident. When you told her that I’d fired Shyla and encouraged her to give a brothah a chance.”

  “I’m happy for you, baby,” Diane said, putting her hand in the air. She and Toussaint high-fived. “I guess I don’t have to tell you how to keep her happy.”

  “When I make my vows, it will be for keeps, like all of the other Livingston men.” During a recent conversation with Malcolm, Toussaint had found out just how hard it was to keep those vows. But he was determined. “I’ve played the field and sowed my oats. When I marry Alexis—”