by Amarie Avant
Desire rolls her eyes. “Other super rich men and women do too. What I’m getting at is, Titan Jetways’ clientele travel for the destination. Unlike regular folks who—if fortunate enough—have the added step of calling or bidding online for flight reservations, the top two percent of the population’s getaway is at the tip of their fingers, via Titan Jets. With your new line of luxury jets, it’s not the vacation, it’s the ‘how to’ escape. What's between point A and B is king.”
Her rushed, energetic monologue ends with the rapid rise and fall of those curvy melons. Her innocent eyes beg for my approval. My dick is fucking swollen. I rush out of my seat, and heft her into my arms. “Desire, you are fucking brilliant.”
“I know.”
Fuck, I'm going to explode at her arrogant ass retort. Her legs clamp around my hips, holding me siege. Her mouth brushes against mine in a soft kiss. I nip at her bottom lip, while carrying her to the bed.
“Mhmmm,” Desire murmurs. “Boy, this will forever be an idea if we don't leave this room. It's time to exit and work for a change.”
“Time to leave this room, eh? I’ll set an emergency meeting with the director and storyline editor for the commercial.” I plant her luscious curves in the center of the bed. “I see it now,” I begin, turning her over, ass peeking from the linen shirt. I grip the plentiful flesh while adding, “A party on the jets, and Elite events along with the lovely Miss Taylor will receive all due credit.”
Desire’s back arches, ass pushing back against me. She purrs, “I’ll take the credit, thank you. But no party on the jets.”
“What do you mean?” I inquire, tone heavy, massaging a curvy cheek while my thumb strums along her asshole.
Desire rolls over onto her back, her legs open, pussy wet, and eyes just as shiny with a hungry glare. “Mr. Rutledge, you are a god. Don't play yourself.”
She beckons me over with the pull of her index finger. Her tongue twirls and twines with mine, and she has me caught in her web, heady and feigning like I treated her last night.
I don't mind being brought low on my knees in submission. Desire will be a stellar domme, but she hasn’t learned her role yet.
Her voice is enticing as she says, “Your jets are exclusive. There will be high stakes gambling tables and chips on the runway. Then there will be ropes offering the mindset of exclusiveness that millionaires—ahem, billionaires feel while in Vegas.”
What a fucking riot. It’s the same asshole demeanor I offer Paul. I say no Vegas, she adds emphasis to it. Her kisses smack against my mouth. “Then, Daniel, I guess some camera affects will expand to the three jets which are surrounding the uber exclusive gambling area. The symbol will blow away any desire a person has about being in the gambling area. Every fucking body will crave those jets instead!”
I rub a hand over my rock-hard cock. “See what you do to me?”
“I see it all.” Her voice is husky with arousal.
“Then why aren't you on your knees before me, Desire?”
Desire
We were holed up at The Four Seasons until Sunday morning. At which time, Daniel and I met with the film team for his commercial. They loved the entire idea, indicating that it had storyline potential. They mentioned having possibly George Clooney, Christoph Waltz, Denzel Washington or maybe even Pierce Brosnan exiting the symbolic velvet rope to enter one of the jets. A set of people were already stepping away to make calls, and another man quickly transcribes thoughts onto a storyboard.
In the mix of such organized chaos, I’d gotten a text message from my father, since I was missing at church. He implored that I come to dinner this afternoon. Understanding my need to return home, Daniel scheduled my return on a larger Titan jet with one vital amenity: a shower.
I’d rifled through my luggage on the ride to Los Angeles, and because I spent most of this weekend naked, and I always pack more than enough clothing for vacation, I settle on a summer dress. With only three weeks left before the calendar marks summer, the sun has already added a beautiful roast to my skin tone. The driver pulls parallel to my house. I hop out of the car, thank him, and head to the garage.
The garage door rolls up. I quickly peek into the kitchen door and call out to see if Lauren or Riley are home. It’s quiet inside, so I drive like crazy to Pacific Palisades, fingers crossed that the pastor had such a good sermon that masses of people have come to the front of the church. Not because I know my current actions with Daniel will co-sign me to hell, but to stall my parents and—
Shit, I forgot. And Terry Bradshaw.
###
The table is set for dinner, on the veranda outside the kitchen. The umbrella blocks some of the scorching sun. But my mother had just purchased a new patio table and chairs so we had to sit in the heat.
My dad is also puffing O’s from his illegal cigar, head tilted toward the blue sky. The Cheshire grin on his face adds to his flair of conceit. Terry is talking and my mother is laughing as I place my keys into my purse and step onto the patio.
“I expected to see you at church.” Dad has a straight attitude while reaching in to give me a hug.
“James,” Mom cuts in as they all stand.
I hug my mother and nod my head toward Terry before claiming the seat directly opposite of him. “Well, I have a new event to plan, a very high profile event. I spent much of the morning attempting to secure various vendors,” I mention, glancing from him, to mom, to Terry. Mom rolls her eyes away. She isn't mad at me. Not technically. She just prefers not to talk business around a table full of food.
My father’s demeanor brightens. “Tell us more.”
I briefly speak about reaching out to various companies, not mentioning the fact that the companies are gambling in nature or how I wasn't anywhere near home this morning. Part of this is the truth. After our meeting with Daniel’s creative film team, and while on the jet ride, I called some of the closest casinos to Dallas to inquire about Blackjack table rentals.
“Sounds like you have a very demanding, yet rewarding job, Desire,” Terry speaks up. He is seated to my left.
I glance his way, and have to gulp the lump forming in my throat. The sun is scorching but regardless of how exhausted I am, there's no denying the fire in his gaze.
My hand grazes the white sangria Mom poured me. It’s filled with sliced fruit. Damn it, Daniel. Where the hell does he and I stand?
Because I know what is standing before me. A man with an excellent education and whose ancestors have spilled the same blood as my own. Throughout dinner, Dad boasts about some of the most difficult surgeries he has headed—all of which I have heard before. Mom does a great job feigning interest. Terry is thoughtful enough to string us into the discussion at certain intervals. Then the conversation turns to travels.
“Desire traveled all across the states when she was little. We took her to Atlanta to the Martin Luther King …” Dad carries the conversation as usual, mentioning various museums and historic landmarks we’ve traveled.
“James, shhh!” Mom snaps. It's rare for her to speak up and cut in. “We all are aware that your child is cultured. Let the girl talk. Desire, talk.”
“All right, Monique.” Dad shrugs.
Damn, I have never minded retreating to my head. Really, my mind is stuck on Daniel and the longest weekend of my life. “I went to Northern Spain about two years back. I had to squeeze in the trip due to a fudge in my work schedule, and barely made it to a wedding of one of my childhood friends, Angelique. She married a Spanish chef in Spain. Like my father said, I've probably been to every state, and visited every historical museum or piece of land. But I have not gone anywhere else really. I guess I’m waiting to become a famous event planner.”
As I speak the words, Jada, Scarlett and Ari consume my mind. All the exotic destinations Daniel took them. Terry mentions the Yucatan and how he’s just returned from there. He jokes about only visiting due to clients, in an attempt to build a connection with me. “When you’re working your way up the corpo
rate ladder, there’s no room for living.”
My laughter is stiff and seconds later, I’m rising from the chair, dropping my linen napkin onto the table, and mumbling a gesture before heading into the house.
I end up in the guest bathroom upstairs, splashing water onto my face. Images of myself opening up for Daniel cloud my mind. Though my aunt told me he no longer had ties with her business, images of his mistresses, their perfect bodies fucking him beneath waterfalls and in a picturesque hotel across from the Eiffel Tower, become my torment.
“Don’t do this to yourself, Desire.” I lean against the pale green wall. “He offered the night, it spilled over into Saturday, and one last quickie this morning.” Damn, I am lying to myself. There was the quickie, then the sex in the shower, followed by all the manhandling in the elevator at Titan Aerospace.
Using a black, plush hand towel, I wipe away the water spots on the marble countertop, all the while, a void washes over my body like a tidal wave landing at my core.
A few more moments of rationalization does the trick, and then I step out of the bathroom. Terry is leaning against the landing, one leg cocked about the knee and hitched over the other. He comes to a standing position and turns around.
“You all right?” his eyes were nurturing and full of concern and is the remedy to bring a fresh wave of tears to my eyes. Why does he fulfill each requirement on my list of the perfect man, yet I am numb to him?
I have never been a crier. Shit, I’ve always been too busy to even fathom the idea of crying, let alone shed a tear. Rubbing the back of my palm against my eye, I croak, “I’m all right.”
“I admire your father, but it has to be a job just meeting his expectations.”
I bite my lip. Never have I ever met a man who places my feelings above his admiration for my father. Here he is attempting to create connections, put me at ease, and Daniel consumes my mind to the point of utter speechlessness.
“Your mom lets him slide, at times. I see that every so often she puts him in check, though.”
A smile begins to blossom at the edges of my mouth. I sniffle and wipe away another stray tear before shrugging. “Somebody’s gotta do it or his head would burst.”
Terry follows me downstairs. “That’s exactly what I’ve been waiting for.”
“What?” My eyebrows knead together.
“You to smile.”
Oh god. I needed witty romanticism and the dark angel blocked my path. Terry could be just the man that would’ve knocked me off my feet. My black knight! I chuckle, just a tad. Terry grins as if his flirtations are the cause, but in actuality, Daniel Rutledge has caused me to go crazy.
“There’s a little bistro in Santa Monica I’d like to take you to. Just as friends.” With his perfect communication skills, Terry pauses just long enough for my agreement. My throat is too damn heavy, though in retrospect I'll probably wish I had spoken.
He adds, “Don’t worry, I have your number already.”
Though there’s some truth to his assertion of ‘just as friends,’ my eyebrow arches as we walk through the hallway. “Oh, really? That’s just a tad bit presumptuous of you.” I beam once more at the ease he has placed me into.
“Yup, your father thought I should speak to you. But I have the feeling I won’t be getting you alone anymore this afternoon. So just thought I’d warn you to look out for my call.”
“I don’t think so…” What the heck am I saying?
“I’m not that easily dissuaded.” His hand lingers on the small of my back before we meander out into the sun.
###
By Wednesday morning, Lacy is already drawing up the paperwork for a small casino in Eagle Pass, Texas, to provide blackjack tables and other gambling props for Daniel’s commercial.
Lacy sinks down onto the couch across from the desk, a pen and paper in her hand.
“Did the casino have a shiny roulette wheel?”
“Part of the contract.” She bobs her head. “They signed it this morning.”
“Good.”
“Jackson organized a gambling event in the past for one of his clients—down-south clients. Maybe we can speak with him about the gorgeous models and outfits they utilized during the service.”
I chew on the inside of my lip for a second in thought. “Where was this event?”
“Louisiana, I think. But some of the girls were out-of-staters, some Texans, so there shouldn't be any issues with travel and they'll already be privy of Elite’s requirements.”
I nod.
“We want tactful,” I mention, due to the nature of Jackson’s clients. I swear, he could give Azalea a run for her money. “See how many you can connect with. Never mind, scratch that. There was a casting agent Daniel had at the meeting the other morning. Connect with him, get costume sizes for the best outfits you can find. And we aren't fronting over a slew of broads. We want big, buff guys too. I am not too confident about commercials, but regardless, sex sells; this isn’t a stupid ass Carl’s Junior commercial. Those messy ass hamburger ones from a few years back still make me cringe in thought.”
My cell phone chimes. Terry texted me just yesterday to interest me in dinner. I softly declined. This morning, he texted me to have a great day at work, and reminded me that the offer still stood.
I glance at the text from Azalea. It’s rare for her to send such a response. She always says that text messages delay what could be ascertained from a quick call. Not sure how her stance changed after learning about sexting.
AUNTIE A: Call me ASAP.
“Lacy, please excuse me.” I glance up.
“Okay…” Lacy rises. “Anything I can do for you?”
“No, thank you,” I reply. As soon as the door closes behind her, I dial my Azalea. Why text me to call? The call is reverted after the second ring. I dial again. Once more, the line is busy this time after half a ring. At a third call, the connection goes straight to voicemail.
What the heck is going on?
###
I walk over to Azalea’s office and knock with purpose. Whitley opens it donning a red dress with white polka dots that flairs at the bottom, in her signature 50s style, cat-shaped prescription glasses, and bright red lipstick.
Her eyes widen. “Desire, hey, how…how are you?”
“Hi, Whitley. Is my aunt here?”
“Nope, she’s at home. Should I call her?”
“No, I’m worried about her.” I explain to Whitley what happened, but her gaze won’t quit meeting mine. “You know what, sorry to bother. I’m going to head over there.”
“No!”
My eyebrow arches.
“I mean, I think she’s in a meeting. You should just…come inside. I’ll give her a call.”
I offer a hasty smile. “Nah, I’ll just go check on her instead.”
###
I called for a Lyft instead of hurrying back to the office. The Prius zips up to the curb of my aunt’s Spanish-style estate in Hollywood Hills. There’s a baby blue convertible out front mingling in with Azalea’s other imports. I am sure she hasn’t purchased herself another baby, since each of her cars has her initials on the license plate and this one doesn't. I hurry up the hand-painted tile steps toward the arched, ornamental wrought iron front door. I ring and ring the doorbell to no avail.
Digging through my purse, I pull out the second set of keys I was given after housesitting her poodles on many occasions. I unlock the door. As soon as I allow myself to enter, I hear shouting from the back of the house. There are antique statues all over. I opt not to grab a poker shaped stick from an African artifact, since it sounds like an argument more than anything.
Though I always had a love-hate relationship with my hair and hated the process of upkeep, I owe Azalea for her facial care regimen. Hardly in the double digits, I had already experienced my first mask.
She's the only aunt I have! I stalk down the hall, hands tightly balled.
“… I’ve already told you, Jada. This is a no-win situation
for you!” Azalea shouts.
“But I fucking love him, Madame, not—not anybody else. None of the other women can love Daniel like I do!”
Daniel? My eyes bug out. Jada Richards found out who Daniel is? Why am I reacting to something that isn’t even my business?
My business is this whore disrespecting my aunt in her own damn house.
There’s shouting and heels, the sound of pointy heels stalking toward the front. I’m still stuck on Daniel’s desire to keep his mistresses in the dark. Why? And I wager all my assets that Azalea has no intention of telling him that his identity has been breached.
“You!” Jada shouts, pointing a long, red, glossy stiletto fingernail in my face. I move a few paces back, aware of how dangerous those things are.
“What the hell did I do?”
“Don’t act stupid, bitch,” she yells at me. Then the black beauty goes off in French. Azalea matches her word for word, of what, I do not know.
“Excuse me!” I shout, bringing myself back into the fold.
“Desire, go!” Azalea gestures for me to retreat to the dining area.
But I stand tall, feet planted wide. “No, she just called me a bitch. Don’t get confused with the cute face!” The vain in my neck is pulsing. “I have only crossed paths with you once, Jada, so I have no idea what your malfunction is. But let me promise you, I will not fight you over a man. So don’t come for me.”
The fire under Jada’s ass simmers down a few notches. Then her gaze narrows. Jada points a finger between Azalea and I measuring her words. “Oh, the two of you are…the two of you are running a game, and you’re trying to steal my man.”
“Your man?” I ask.
It's like two cats going at it. I'm almost tempted to speak up once more and warn Jada that my aunt has a mixed past. I’ve seen my aunt toting a sling blade knife. The damn thing had a pearl handle, and I thought it was a makeup contraption while digging into her leather bag.