An Alpha's Desire

by Amarie Avant

  “Desire!” Angelique hollers from the kitchen. The big, shapely woman saunters back into the living room with two mini champagne bottles in her hand. “Why is this the truth, though? Niecy really has a whole case of Brut champagne—not too shabby—while giving you and I glasses of 99-Cent-Store wine!”

  Now Niecy is laughing. I smirk, “Humph,” but my cell phone begins to buzz in my pocket. I pull it out to see Daniel’s profile. “Hold on ladies.”

  They silently chortle as I answer.

  “Hello, Daniel.” We greet each other. “Glad you called. Are we still on tomorrow? I have an entire itinerary of vendors I wanted to take you to, and a three-star Michelin chef who is flying down from San Fran to wine and dine us for lunch with various samples…”

  “Yes, we’re still on. Cancel the Michelin chef or book him for the event if you prefer. But I need you to come to me.” His usual innuendo doesn't hold much allure. In fact, his usually rich, sexy voice is not quite monotone since it's authoritarian in nature. “I will have a car pick you up at 10am. Does that timeframe work?”

  “Sure. I could pick you up,” I offer. Usually, we planners will have a driver for all of this, but the night we went to Asahi Shark was too soon to request. “I’ll take you to the places—”

  “Vendors in Los Angeles will not be necessary unless you have a brilliant, out this world idea. The car will escort you to the airport in Long Beach as LAX is busy tomorrow and couldn't confirm squeezing you in.”

  “Squeezing me in?”

  “Yes, apparently, a lot of people are preparing for summer vacation and all of their runways will be in use. My jet will be in Long Beach. You will come to Dallas. Pack for the weekend. There is a change in plans. No party. But compensate the Michelin chef or book him for the event date as we all still have to eat.”

  “Um,” I lick my lips in thought, “Daniel, I'm totally lost here. I don't think going off with you for a weekend is appropriate.” Was that too presumptive? I don’t know his intentions.

  “My new jetliner will have a commercial and it will be set in Dallas. There'll be actors. You will make it entertaining enough for the cameraman to do his job. The storyline will give the appearance of a party. If you do not wish to come to Dallas or do not believe yourself competent enough to add the appropriate amount of glamor and glitz, let me know. I will have my assistant review the contract and compensate you on time wasted, and wasn’t your rate based on fifty-percent of the expected event costs?”

  I damn near dropped the phone. Niecy and Angelique are quiet now, glancing my way. An insect can fly into my mouth. Did I just get dismissed?

  Daniel

  Fuck me. Having only been associated with Desire for all of three weeks, I know from the get-go that we have always tossed banter. Even in her misconstrued mindset, I’ve enjoyed the debate. But my tone holds bite, my eyes are on treasure, and I’m too much of a fucking go-getter to let up now.

  She doesn't think running off with me is appropriate. Hell, I bite my tongue to that statement. Texas is not appropriate. No exotic enclave or turquoise island on God’s green earth compares to her beauty, but I would take her on a safari just to attempt to come close. But I'm not allowed to say such. She has blocked all my attempts. Instead, I lean forward toward the massive wooden desk, in my leather chair, in my office at Titan, and glance at the red button of the desk phone. Desire is still on speaker.

  The other end is silent for a while. My fingers cross in hopes that the hardball strategy, usually reserved for various board members, such as Paul and my investment team, works.

  “If you're willing,” Desire seems to be swallowing copious amounts of air, “I would gladly show you my capabilities. And it would be an honor to be a part of your Titan Jetways commercial.”

  Smiling, I sink back into the chair “It’s settled. See you tomorrow afternoon. My assistant will call you shortly with the details regarding where you'll stay.”

  I press the end call button, and then speed dial my old nanny. My demeanor softens. I become the respectable young man Odessa Bowers raised.

  Before I called her Mama, she was just Odessa to me. Not because I had no value for my family's domestics. I knew them all by name, joked with some, played tricks on those who were lenient enough. That’s the kind of kid I was, being home schooled, and they all understood that.

  But my mama was just Odessa because she would beat my ass. Spankings were against the Rutledge way. I was four years old in therapy before my grandfather sent Odessa to the Rutledge estate in Greenwich, CT to care for me. She was a big woman, and her first words to me were “you sure are a cute one, but I don't take no mess.” She had a country twang. I offered a less than enthusiastic glare, and then I tried her as I do all people.

  Odessa beat the white off my ass. I steered clear of her. She steered clear of me.

  One day, I was about six, Father had no time for me, as usual. Mom was submerged in depression by this time, and no amount of my love or my father’s money could tear down the angst in her soul. My instructor was out sick so Odessa had to keep tabs on me. That meant going to the grocery store with her. On our way home, she pulled the Rolls over near the alley. I didn't trust her. She turned around and glared at me. I glared right on back as she issued another threat. “Tell and I will whoop you.”

  Odessa then got out of the car, and grabbed a few groceries from the backseat. She took them to homeless people in the alley. I got out and helped.

  She's been Mama to me ever since.

  The phone call connects. As soon as I hear Odessa’s cheery voice, I say, “I can smell the homemade biscuits through the receiver.”

  “Oh boy, that must mean you've come home.”

  “What's for dinner?”

  “Somebody's favorite,” she teases.

  “Meatloaf and mashed potatoes.” I rub my hands together.

  “Humph, I didn't say your favorite. Chicken and dumplings are on the menu.”

  I sigh.

  “I probably won't make your fave until you bring home something pretty to sit next to.”

  “Damn, Mama, what happened to your standards? The basis of your credo has always begun with an educated woman. And I don't get any meatloaf until I—”

  “Bring home a guest. You're too old to run around with any ol’ broads, so sophistication is a given, and mama raised you better than what Juliet was harping the last time she was here—”

  I cut in, almost with a stutter, “Juliet, uh, just wanted to get a rise out of you—”

  “Boy, don't sign a check for one of those ‘old-school ass whoopings you used to get.”

  I smile. Odessa reads straight through me. Juliet was pissed at me for something or the other. My kid sister plays dirty when angry. There had been a glitch in my agenda regarding imperative meetings and conferences while she was visiting on break. The promise to not place work before her had to go on the backburner in that instant. She retaliated. No matter the fact that my women were always clean, Odessa almost had a heart attack.

  “No, ma'am, no beating necessary. I'll arrive shortly to get my chicken and dumplings. By the end of the week, you can prepare my meatloaf too. You'll meet the first and last woman I plan to bring home.”

  “That right?” Odessa sounds interested.

  “Yes, ma'am.”

  We chat for a while longer before I disconnect the call, and rub a thumb across my eyebrow in thought. Desire Taylor. I never make mistakes.

  Desire

  Chin poised, I descend the steps of the Titan aircraft. The maxi wrap dress grazes against a tasteful curve of side cleavage, yet my greatest asset has always been my ass and hips. Damn, I have hit ‘diva status’ and a smile tugs at the edges of my full lips as I descend the last step. I can’t believe I just flew on a jet, and a jet which is apparently going out of style due to the hoorah about the new lines.

  Daniel steps out of a gray Lamborghini Aventador LP750-4 Superveloce Roadster, and I don’t know which to gush about more. Riley ha
s salivated over my flat screen while excitedly pointing to this car, which is the reason why I’m aware of the type of car.

  Or Daniel.

  It’s been fourteen days since I’ve set eyes on him. He’s dressed in tan, tailored slacks and a polo. His skin is a beautiful gold, and the definition in his arms transports me to the night…well, the night of my life with him holding me tightly. My mouth waters as I reminisce on how freely I had offered myself to him.

  “How was the flight?” Daniel asks.

  “Best ride I’ve ever had.” Damn, did that have a slight hitch of suggestion to it? He doesn’t seem to be fazed. No charming smile. No raunchy quip. We've talked on a few occasions, and he's been respectable and kept it strictly business. Only a few subtle mentions about Riley when I came home and the television was loud with rap music, and another time when Riley texted ‘emergency’ mid-conversation with Daniel. But so far, there's been no crossing the line. Though, we've kept our phone conversations short so I didn't have to look into his gray-hazel eyes.

  I quickly note a spray of blond hair peeking from the collar of his polo before my eyes lock onto his—exactly where his eyes have been the entire time. On mine. The lusty saliva in my mouth evaporates.

  Good. Mr. Rutledge is aware of our vastly diverse roles. He doesn’t even take a glimpse of all this ass while opening the passenger door to his convertible. “Your luggage will be waiting for you in your hotel room. For now, let’s get to work.”

  Daniel comes around the other side of the convertible, places a palm against the top of the closed door, and hops inside. His gaze finally lands on another part of my body. My hair. He inquires, “Roof up?”

  “No, thanks.” I twirl a bit of feathery hair behind my ear. Never have I ever ridden in a convertible. Niecy will just have to squeeze me in again.

  The Lamborghini glides along the freeway, navigating downtown. It’s almost as if potholes and asphalt cervices have removed themselves just for this glorious beast. Riley will kill me later if I don’t show him the car. I stealthily pull out my iPhone, flip the camera to selfie mode, and lean my head closer to the window somewhat to get the insignia, which is etched into the leather headrest, all the while pretending to be typing, and click.

  Daniel glances over toward me while veering onto the turnpike. “You took a selfie?”

  His tone isn’t entirely accusatory; more curious, but more … I don’t know. As if he actually gives a damn about my response. Even at Asahi Shark his inquiries were full of life, compelling me to want to answer. He truly listened. He listened until I told him to keep it business and slammed the front door of my house in his face.

  “Yes.” I nod. “My godson, Riley is in love with this car. I hope you don’t mind.”

  “Riley. The one who liked his music amplified. How old is he?”

  “Twelve.”

  “He’s the roommate’s kid?”

  “Meh, not really a roommate. I cannot stand my best friend, his mother, Lauren for lengthy amounts of time. But hey, I’ve got the title of godmother, so there’s that.”

  Once more Daniel glances at me. He expects me to continue or I’ve read him wrong. He navigates the exit ramp like a pro. We turn onto a street named after his family, called Rutledge Way. After passing a few buildings, a long white immense structure comes into view. Instead of pulling into the parking lot, Daniel makes a left and drives parallel with it.

  “Get ready to press play,” he says.

  “Play?” I arch an eyebrow.

  “On your camera, for Riley. We’re going to tap this bitch out.” His deep voice makes my panties lush in the center. The car floats along toward the sign which says North entrance.

  I press the play button. After a few minutes, the asphalt disappears for gravel as Daniel eases the Lamborghini onto the edge of—

  My eyes bug out. We’re on a runway! The Titan Aerospace runway that stretches miles long. There are a few jets parked toward the end of the South entrance.

  “Des, let me know when it’s my cue,” he says.

  “I pressed play, but…” My mouth opens and then closes and then opens again. “Daniel, one of the jets is on the runway. Is it heading towards us?”

  “Yup. My educated guess is that’s why I had to pick you up from the airport instead of using my own damn runway.” He shrugs.

  “But the jet is headed this way…”

  “Desire, stop overanalyzing. You’re going to have to chop some of the video for Riley.” His hand slams the gears. My body is propelled back. The supercar zooms. My eyes close instantly. Why didn’t I tell Daniel I am not a fan of amusement parks, and this shit feels like a Six Flags roller-coaster? I open my eyes. There’s screaming in my ears. My screaming. The jet is coming closer. I close my eyes. Frigid ice surges through my veins though the air blasting against my skin is warm.

  “Lift the camera, Des,” Daniel shouts to me over the loudness. “Open your eyes.”

  My arm rises above my head as I hold up the phone’s video camera. And I open my eyes. The Titan Jet zooms up into the sky literally yards above our heads. On the belly of the plane are the words: HELLO, DES.

  It’s exhilarating.

  ###

  “You met me at the airport to break the monotony?” I ask for the umpteenth time while placing my cell phone onto the white linen-covered table in the exclusive steakhouse.

  Daniel pulls out my chair, but offers hardly enough room for me to pass by in order to sit.

  Taking a heady inhale of his intoxicating cologne, I sink down onto the low-sitting leather chair. He replies, “Your walls were up.” He towers over me, eyes lingering on my breasts. I force myself not to lick my lips as he subtly infers that we have some sort of relationship.

  “For the last hour, Riley has texted me and called me, repeatedly,” I steer the conversation away from turbulent trails. Daniel introduced me to Titan Aerospace employees after I shook hands with the pilot who had soared above us earlier. The pilot had been well versed about us coming. He did all of this for me and Riley…

  Daniel takes his seat cater-corner to me. His chuckle is as lush as whiskey. Not sure where that analogy came from, but we’re sitting in a steakhouse. There were aged slabs of beef in a preview galleria at the entrance of the dark, woodsy restaurant.

  “Riley doesn’t get much attention outside of playing basketball. There were a few pregnant chicks at our high school, but his mom… she isn’t one of the most ‘kid friendly’ parents. She grew up in a broken home, and,” I pause before telling him too much. Lauren slept around a good amount of time before Riley and said she wouldn’t be one of those hoes on Jerry Springer, with a slew of guys. So, I shrug. “No dad in the picture. Damn, I’m rambling. Riley is happy. I’ll never hear the end of it.” I smile somewhat since the mood has taken a turn for the worse due to Riley’s childhood. “Anyway, he’s calling you his hero.”

  “Hero?” Daniel’s charming, cocky smile uplifts the mood. Before I wonder what compelled me to be so personable, he’s already captivated my full attention with his self-assessment. “Hero has such a good ring to it albeit, I've never been called that, but I do believe Riley is onto something there. I’ll have to bring Helen to L.A. next time.”

  “Helen?” I arch an eyebrow, glancing at the leather-bound liquor menu.

  “Helen of Sparta, my supercar.”

  “Oh, so your car has a name?”

  “Supercar,” he corrects with a nod. “Of course, they all have names, Des.”

  “Humph,” is my response to him, before turning to the waiter and ordering a, “strawberry martini.”

  “Coke,” Daniel says, then to me. “That’s toxic enough for me.”

  I recall the A&E documentary on Wentworth the second. Daniel’s father died in a drunken Lamborghini car crash when he was young. It had to be a few years after Celine took her life. I always thought that Wentworth II’s generation, or maybe just he and his wife, were selfish people. He was such a drunk.

  Though D
aniel mentioned, while on the drive to dinner that he had extensive racecar training, I have the feeling he is totally against alcohol. The two were so similar in looks, and it seems they have parallel characteristics. Drinking aside, Wentworth II was said to be charming and a playboy.

  Our drinks are placed before us, and a young woman with curly blond hair stops before our table. Candle light twinkles in her emerald gaze. She introduces herself as Gloria and our server. The woman is simply gorgeous, and I swear, I can go days without seeing a handsome man or a beautiful woman, but the model types seem to flock toward him.

  I glance at the menu. With Wagyu Kobe beef and Wagyu ribeyes on the menu, there will be a hefty price tag. I bite my lip, searching for something not too pricy.

  “Get whatever you’d like, Des.”

  “I have noticed you’ve given me a nickname.”

  “No changing subjects. Des is your nickname. It’s your nickname because I say so.”

  “Humph, whatever you say, as long as the checks cash,” I quip. How easy it is to step into friendly territory with him. Desire is my nickname, but he doesn’t necessarily need to know of that truth. “I’ll need a kid’s menu, this is entirely too much beef.”

  “That’s what to-go boxes are for.” He glares. “Or shall I order for you?”

  My eyelid twitches. Daniel reads that his death is impending if he tries me.

  The waitress returns. Though Gloria is attentive while taking my Kobe filet order, when she attends to Daniel, I fade into oblivion. And then Daniel is pulling me back into the conversation, which appears to be against our waitress’ desires.

  “Can't let Des outdo me especially since I'm now your superhero,” he jokes, ordering the biggest piece of beef on the menu.

  Her eyebrows raise before she turns and struts away.

  “I am not a pre-teen boy, so no I didn't call you my superhero.” I smile, shaking my head. “Okay, Daniel, since our arrangements were changed, Lacy and I have been hard at work on communicating with possible vendors in the greater Dallas area, though you and I have yet to come up with a theme,” I say, switching the subject to appropriate territory.