Games Divas Play (A Diva Mystery Novel)
Page 23
“Sean, we appreciate all your help. Like I said, Marcus King didn’t kill your friend. Stop sending the messages before you get into some trouble that you can’t hack your way out of.”
“Feel free to reach out if you think of anything else that might be helpful,” Terrence said, handing Sean his card.
“Are you around the rest of the weekend in case we have more questions?” I asked, turning the knob to open the door.
“Yeah, I’m around all weekend. I’m working on my senior project,” Sean said as he placed the card in the pocket of his baggy shorts.
“Good, we’ll be in touch if we have any further questions,” Terrence said as he stepped out of the cramped apartment and into the sunshine with me and slipped on his sunglasses.
“Please find out who killed Kalinda,” Sean said as he leaned against the doorjamb, squinting in the sunlight as he looked down at the pool full of people having fun in the cool water. “Whoever did this deserves to pay for what they did to my friend.”
CHAPTER 19
Laila
Fresh from the shower, I stood in front of the mirrored closet in my W hotel suite and admired the view. Then I stretched out on my stomach on the bed, naked except for my Prada python platform sandals and a diamond-studded belly chain. I thought about all the wonderful things that were going to happen tonight and the insurance policy I was creating as I took a deep drag on the joint Darryl had given me earlier to relax. My fingers skipped along the tops of my breasts and moved slowly down toward the moisture between my thighs. Wet. Ready.
I heard the knock on the door and called out to my handsome visitor to come in. I had left the door ajar so that I would be lounging, ready and waiting. I kneeled in the bed, my hands on my knees.
Marcus strode purposefully into the bedroom. I hadn’t seen him in weeks, and my whole body ached for him to be inside me. He was dressed in a black Tom Ford suit, black shirt, and black tie with huge diamond cuff links at the sleeves. His perfectly smooth chocolate skin glistened. His hair was freshly lined and his facial hair neatly trimmed. His eyes were deep dark pools framed by long silky lashes, and his lips were full and juicy and eager for my kiss. Unable to wait any longer, I began to crawl toward him on the bed, my hair falling into my eyes. I knew how he loved seeing me beg for it.
“Hello, baby,” I drawled huskily, my voice deep with desire. “I’ve missed you.”
“Laila, we need to talk,” Marcus said as he picked up the robe that lay across the settee at the end of the bed and tossed it at me. “Put on some clothes. I don’t have much time.”
He walked back into the living room. Confused, I climbed down off the bed and wrapped the silk robe around my body, then followed him into the main area of my suite. I came up behind him and wrapped my arms around his waist; letting the robe fall open, I pressed my body against his. I was sure he could feel my heat through his clothes. My hand began to slide down the front of his slacks, reaching for the long, hard chocolate treat I couldn’t wait to slide into my mouth. He pulled away from me and then turned around to face me. He looked like he was steeling himself to say something.
“Marcus, baby, what’s wrong? Aren’t you happy to see me?” I smiled as I opened the robe and let it fall to the floor in a silky red puddle.
“Look, I came here to tell you that it’s over,” he said in a tone I had never heard before. He ran his hand across the top of his head. “Things have gotten out of control. I have to focus on my career and my marriage. I can’t afford any more distractions.”
“Distractions?” I said, putting my hand on my hip, the diamond belly chain cutting into my skin. “Is that all I am to you? A distraction?”
“Look, baby. This is the way the game goes. We had fun, but now I’ve got to go back to real life. I’ve got to get focused back on what matters and take care of business.”
I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. Maybe Darryl gave me some fucked-up shit and the weed was making me hear things. I stepped forward again and dropped down on my knees in front of him, my hands desperately clawing at the silver YSL belt buckle on his slacks.
“Laila, get up,” he said, pulling me up from the floor by my elbows and leading me over to the sofa to sit down. He didn’t sit down next to me.
“I don’t know how else to say this. We’re done. It’s over. Now, look, Kareem is going to contact you in a few days and take care of you. We had fun while it lasted and there’s no need for you to walk away empty-handed.” And with that last little insult, he kissed me on the top of my head and headed out the door.
When the door to the suite closed, Darryl burst out of the mirrored closet in the bedroom and came out into the living room with his video camera dangling from his hand.
“What the hell just happened, Laila?” he asked, looking back and forth between me and the door. “I didn’t catch anything on tape. What happened to the wild, crazy sex tape I was going to record and leak to the press in case we needed it?”
I slumped down on the floor next to my robe and said three words I had never said in my entire life: “He dumped me.” Tears began to fall as my body was racked with huge sobs. Where the hell did I go wrong? What happened, and how did Kareem double-cross me?
“Look, stop crying,” Darryl said as he put his camera on the table and helped me stand. He grabbed the robe from the floor and wrapped it around my naked body. He led me back into the bedroom, and I sat on the bed.
“I’m going to take care of this. We’re going to get this money. Trust me.” Darryl took his cell phone out of the back pocket of his baggy jeans and placed a call. When the person on the other line picked up, Darryl began to speak to them rapidly in Spanish.
“Pull yourself together, Laila. It’s time to move to plan B,” Darryl said as he slid the phone back into his pocket and sat beside me on the bed, stroking my hair.
“Plan B?” I asked, looking up at him, mascara mixing with my tears and running down my cheeks.
“Yep, you know real gangstas always have a plan B. And your boy D just called in the cavalry.”
CHAPTER 20
Vanessa
Two large bodyguards shielded Marcus as he strode out of the front entrance of the W hotel, holding back the crowd of screaming fans and groupies clamoring for his autograph and attention. He unbuttoned his suit jacket and slipped into the back of the waiting SUV next to me. One of the bodyguards took the driver’s seat after closing the door behind Marcus while the other folded his large frame into the front passenger seat.
“It’s done,” my husband said as he took my hand and brought it to his lips.
“Good,” I said quietly as I smoothed down the front of my strapless red sequined Versace gown, trying to hold myself back from asking for the details of his final meeting with Laila James. Had she cried? Had she begged him to stay? Had she screamed?
I looked out the window as the chauffeured SUV turned out of the crowded hotel parking lot and glided smoothly down the dark Phoenix city streets on the way to our next engagement. I could tell that Marcus was dreading this one as well, but at least this time I would be right by his side as he delivered the unfortunate news.
I felt my phone vibrating in my Alexander McQueen snakeskin box clutch. When I took it out, I saw a text message from Nia and smiled.
We found ur stalker. He won’t b bothering U anymore. TTYL.
I exhaled deeply as I put the phone back into my clutch. Even after our fight this afternoon, I trusted Nia with my life. She wouldn’t play with something this serious, so I knew if she said this person wouldn’t be bothering us anymore, then my family and I were safe. I looked over at my husband and thought about telling him, but he looked deep in thought about how life was about to change forever. I’ll tell him later on tonight.
“Hey,” I said to Marcus as I squeezed his hand and searched his eyes. “Baby, don’t worry. You’re doing the right thing. Yo
u have no other choice.”
“I know, but do we have to do this tonight?”
“Yes, sweetheart,” I said gently but firmly. “We do. It’s time.”
“I know, baby. I just never imagined we’d end up here after everything we’ve been through together.”
“I know, honey,” I said, stroking his hand lightly with my glossy silver nails. “I didn’t, either.” That last part was a lie, but he didn’t need to know that.
I opened my Christian Dior compact to freshen my makeup. Felecia, my makeup artist, had done a wonderful job. My dark brown skin glowed, the golden bronzer highlighted my cheeks, and the silver and gold smoky eye shadow and long silk eye lash extensions really made my eyes pop. I applied another coat of glossy red Versace lipstick and then smoothed down the sides of my hair. The stylist had flat-ironed my thick black hair into supersleek straight waves with a jagged part down the middle. And he had sworn on his life that it would stand up to the desert heat. I didn’t want to look crazy on the red carpet when we got to Kevin Hart’s comedy jam later on that night.
The SUV made a left turn into the parking lot of the Nikko Tower. Designed by the Orito Group out of Japan to great acclaim, it was a stunning sixty-floor construct of twisted burnished metal and glass, and it was one of Phoenix’s newest and most exclusive office buildings. We stepped out into the evening’s dry heat, and the bodyguards escorted us into the glass lobby’s cool interior. A lone security guard stood watch at a large marble desk facing a bank of computer monitors in the center of the modern lobby. The only sound was that of a janitor cleaning the already sparkling floors with an automatic polisher. Out of the bank of thirty elevators a bespectacled man in a dark navy-blue pinstriped suit and red tie made his way over to us.
“Mr. and Mrs. King, welcome,” the man said, and his voice had the faintest hint of a British accent. “I’m James Van Helsen. And I’ve been asked to bring you both up to the executive boardroom on the seventieth floor.”
“Thank you, James,” I said. As I looped my arm through Marcus’s, I could feel his body tense over what he knew he needed to do. I hoped he wasn’t getting cold feet.
“Now, will your security team be joining us, or will they be waiting for you in the lobby?” James asked the both of us.
Before Marcus could speak, I jumped in.
“They’ll be joining us for the first meeting but not the second,” I said firmly.
“Very good, Mrs. King. We’re happy to have them join the first meeting, but I’m afraid I must ask an indelicate question. Are these gentlemen armed?”
“Yes, of course,” I said.
“Unfortunately, as a matter of protocol, no weapons are allowed on the seventieth floor. So I’m afraid I must ask that they leave their weapons down here.” James motioned for the security guard to come over to us and addressed our bodyguards. “If you don’t mind, could you place your weapons in this security box? You can claim them straight away when you come back down to the lobby. Clarence won’t let anything happen, I can assure you of that.
“If you’ll just follow me this way.”
I signaled to Bruce and Tyson, who I knew could kill anyone with their bare hands in seconds to protect this family, to hand over their weapons. They opened their suit jackets and removed nine-millimeter guns from their holsters and placed them in the metal box. James closed the box, locked it, and gave the key to Bruce.
“Thank you so much for your understanding. Now if you will all follow me, please.”
James began to lead us over to the bank of elevators, and my Rick Owens ankle-wrap stilettos clicked along the marble floor. James inserted a key in the panel on the wall, and the doors to a private elevator opened. There were only two buttons on the panel on the inside of this elevator, one for the lobby and one for the seventieth floor. James once again inserted the key and then pushed the button for the top floor. The elevator silently glided up to the top floor of the building, and then the doors opened into a large reception area framed all around by a bank of floor-to-ceiling windows that looked out onto the twinkling Phoenix skyline and the desert mountains. A receptionist with a severe black bob, wearing a black dress with a mandarin collar, sat behind a large walnut reception desk, typing on a computer. She barely looked up at us as James escorted us past her desk as if it were normal to see a meeting conducted at this hour on a Friday night.
We walked down a long carpeted hallway, its walls decorated with works of art I had only previously seen in art books or museums. I must have counted at least two Picassos and a Renoir by the time we made it to the end of the hallway and stood in front of two walnut doors with brushed metal handles shaped like rams’ ears.
“Are you ready, Mr. and Mrs. King?” James asked, turning to us as he stopped in front of the doors.
I looked at my husband because, even though I had gotten us to this point, he was the one who had to make the final call.
“Yes,” he said firmly as he inhaled deeply. I clasped his hand tightly and gave it a reassuring squeeze.
“Very well,” James said as he pushed open the doors. The executive boardroom was one of the largest rooms I had ever seen. The same bank of floor-to-ceiling windows showed off the skyline in here as well. We made our way into the room as James escorted us down to the end of the long glass table that sliced down the center of the room. A stenographer, a blond woman also in a black dress with a mandarin collar, was seated on the opposite side of the table, fingers poised above the keys and ready to begin. Two men in dark suits got up from their chairs as we approached, and James introduced them.
“Mrs. and Mrs. King, please meet Cedric Jameson and Cristoff Warner, the two senior partners who will be overseeing this evening’s transaction.” We shook hands with the two men, who both looked to be in their early fifties, and then we took our seats next to them at the table. James instructed Bruce and Tyson to stand by the door.
With that, James left the room and returned a few minutes later with a familiar face through a side door at the same end of the room.
“What the hell is going on, Marcus?” Kareem thundered as he walked into the boardroom and saw his best friend, his wife, and their lawyers. James instructed him to take a seat across the table from us and then sat down in the empty chair next to me.
The stenographer began to type.
CHAPTER 21
Nia
The photographers screamed out names to get the line of reality TV stars, R&B singers, and rappers to stop along the red carpet so that they could get their shot. But as soon as the woman of the hour hit the carpet for her premiere party, only one name was heard.
Her firm golden-brown body was encased in a flesh-toned strapless minidress laced with chunks of crystal in strategic places. One shiny cluster hugged each of her full breasts, another fanned across her bikini line, and then a line snaked down the back of the dress over the crack of her ample bottom. Her long light brown hair with golden highlights was piled down the center of her head in a cascading Mohawk of curls. Her fire-engine-red lips curved into a seductive smile as she placed her gold-studded talons on her hips and blew kisses to the photographers.
“Laila! Laila! Laila!”
Glam Network’s newest star had turned the pack of photographers into a frenzied pool of sharks all trying to get the perfect shot of the one-of-a-kind dress that with one false move would present a priceless image. MJ and I watched Laila pirouette on her sky-high Christian Louboutin crocodile and sequined platform pumps on the red carpet while she waved to the screaming fans lined up five rows deep behind the police barricades in front of Inferno.
Luckily, the DivaDish video team had prime placement in order to live stream the party on our website. So far, Tanya, the reality show’s executive producer, had told me we had about seventy-five thousand people logged on, and she expected that number to grow throughout the night as they kept posting updates and photos.
“Looks like a packed house,” I said, trying to make myself heard over the noise.
“Yeah, good turnout,” said MJ, whose black suit was accessorized with oversize chrome zippers along the lapels.
“Great party for our last hurrah,” I said as I hung on MJ’s shoulders. I had told him that once I revealed this cover, I was probably going to get fired. So for the second time in a year, we’d both be out of a job over something I did. MJ took it all in stride as usual and said we should enjoy the night because there was no telling what might happen.
“Now why aren’t you on the red carpet taking pictures with the person you’re hosting this party for, Miss Thing?” MJ said, moving his little skinny hips to the beat of Beyoncé’s “Drunk in Love.”
“You know why,” I huffed. “It’s bad enough I have to host this damn party for the woman sleeping with my best friend’s man, but I don’t have to take any damn pictures with her, too!” Besides, even though I was looking good in the short Junya Watanabe floral lace shift dress and Manolo Blahnik black patent leather booties MJ had picked out for me, I wasn’t trying to stand next to someone basically wearing a body stocking.
“I think someone may disagree with that,” MJ said in his singsong voice as I turned around to face someone tapping me on the shoulder.
“Why aren’t you taking pictures with Laila?” DeAnna snapped. She was dressed in a fitted red suit with skinny pants and sans blouse, her large breasts visible between the curved lapels of the suit. Her long black hair was slicked back in a severe chignon at the nape of her neck.
“I was coming in to check on how things were going,” I yelled as DJ Nice started the opening chords of Jay Z’s “99 Problems” and the club erupted.