by Love Belvin
by Love Belvin
MKT Publishing
Copyright © 2018 by Love Belvin
All rights reserved. This book may not be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without written permission from the author. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidences are fictitious and a product of the author’s imagination.
Cover design by Visual Luxe
Table of Contents
~One
~Two
~Three
~Four
~Five
~Six
~Seven
~Eight
~Nine
~Ten
~Eleven
~Twelve
~Thirteen
~Fourteen
~Fifteen
~Sixteen
~Seventeen
~Eighteen
~Nineteen
~Twenty
~Twenty-one
~Twenty-two
~Epilogue
~Love Acknowledges
~Other Books
~Extra
“Bitches be the set up…get wet up…
Let you nut up…then burn you the fuck up.
They seduce you with that shit…
Stroke ya dick…then have they hands all up in ya pocket.
Shit, I know we all got our hustle and I ain’t tryna knock it.
But to the crack bitch, groupie bitch—and corny bitches—y’all be the same…
Stay the fuck out my hustle ‘cause, man, all y’all be fuckin’ lame.”
~ Young Lord
~One
As Mario held the door open, I rolled the white cloth covered cart into the plush office. No matter how many times I’d been in here, the ambiance and moving energy of the room was no less unnerving. Before this job, I’d never been inside the office of a chief executive officer, much less a billionaire. And my boss’ boss was just that.
I pushed my way to the opposite side of the room charmed with old-world aesthetics. Three-fourths of the galactic space was encased in handcrafted Gothic bookcases built into the walls. The fourth wall, from floor-to-ceiling, was a window with the most incredible mountainy vista behind the building. The carpet was a deep green with labyrinthian designs featuring other bold tinctures.
As I neared the table set for two toward the floor-to-ceiling window, I could hear the calm rumbling of masculine tones and observe the sun setting over the mountains. When I made it to my destination, I greeted the men with my eyes then quickly retreated down to the cart, careful to hit all the marks Nyree had taught me. Tonight I’d be filling in as Eli Richardson’s personal assistant, serving a private dinner to him and his friend, Azmir Jacobs.
“But who is this motherfucker?” Eli posed angrily.
The tall, chocolate—beyond handsome—friend of his, sitting across from him shrugged with indifference. “A nobody from Compton,” his voice smooth, agitation hidden beneath the surface.
“A damn nobody implicating you as a drug lord!” rushed from Eli’s mouth with agitation to a level he couldn’t contain. Realizing that colorful slip, his eyes brushed against me as I kept working to gather their salads to be served. “Pardon me.” He bowed gracefully as I placed the plate before him. “Thanks, Parker.”
I nodded, remembering to remain invisible amongst men like this. The trigger words of drama didn’t faze me much anyway. When I was hired, I had to sign a nondisclosure agreement. Working here in the front office of the Connecticut Kings, there were loads of grist for the gossip mill. They were a high-profile team, from what I’d been told, before their franchise quarterback had gone to prison. America’s attention returned when the player, Trent Bailey, was released and reacquired by the Kings. His second season back, Trent led the team to win the Super Bowl. It came with its price, though. Trent’s new wife that had been in the media for one reason or another was the latest talk. Ironically, she’d been someone I’d been getting to know recently, too.
Without a word, I placed their silverware before them, taking my time and being meticulous in service. Azmir picked up his phone that had been chirping more than Eli’s since I’d arrived. In fact, Azmir had two phones laid out on the table.
“Ain’t nothing I’m stressing at this point,” Azmir attempted control of whatever the irritating agent was. “I’ve been talking to Chesney. We got a plan in place if it goes beyond YouTube.”
“But I’ve seen it’s already gotten close to a half a million views in less than two days. Azmir, don’t make small of a potential disaster,” Eli warned in rare unrest. “What’s his motive, the guy who produced the documentary? Who does he have behind him? Who’s funding this bullshit? How does this kid even know you to include you in that bootleg ass home video?”
“A former associate of mine from out West affiliated with a cat that was good friends with him.” Azmir’s answer was dismissive.
Azmir Jacobs was a polite man but one of discernable power, no less. I seriously doubted if he welcomed these questions. I’d observed him over the time I’d been on staff here in the executive suite. He moved with an undercurrent of uncompromised authority. I could sense a tinge of a thug in him, but Azmir presented himself with elegant masculinity. And he was fine as all hell. Lengthy, filling his clothes well, and exquisitely dressed.
“Was?” Eli questioned as I placed his salad before him.
Azmir shrugged. “We haven’t heard from his friend in a minute.”
“As in AWOL?” my boss pressed.
Azmir waved his hand in the air. “Street shit. Nothing to stress.”
“Street shit? This doesn’t sound like a low-level car jacker, Azmir! He’s got enough dough to produce a damn documentary!”
Seldom did I hear Eli upset. The subject matter must have been some serious implication with damning consequences.
Azmir Jacobs kept his face toward his plate, turning over salad leaves to blend in his dressing. “No real money. Just an irritant.”
Eli scoffed, “You sure know how to let shit fly over your head.”
“Or brush it off my damn shoulder.” Azmir’s eyes drew up to Eli’s as I brought dinner rolls to the table. “Now, I know you ain’t invite me here to stress over some amateur, indie documentary that won’t make more noise than it already has.” His bright and well-aligned smile appeared, a move of finesse. “What’s good witchu, E?”
“Damn,” Eli coughed up a chuckle. “This bullshit’s got my head spinning, brother. I done forgot why I wanted to see your smooth ass in the first place.”
Both gentlemen laughed.
“How’s Mel and the baby?” Azmir asked.
“They’re good. She’s away.”
“Yeah? Where?”
“Wanted to cruise Southern Italy. Soooo,” Eli released a dramatic and telling breath, “she and a few of her friends set sail for ten days.”
Azmir gave an intense chin dip. “On your dime?”
“Of course!” Eli chirped a laughter. “Gives me baby and daddy time.”
“You better than me, fam.”
“How so?”
“Mrs. J could have a day or two with the girls. But a few days across the pond would require a pop up visit.” Eli chuckled at his friend’s boorish admittance. “I ain’t never lie. Shit. She knows. She’d be dropping the boarding stairs for me after about forty-eight hours.”
They both laughed. It was actually adorable to see men being lighthearted at possessive talk where it concerned their wives.
“How’s
my girl, Rayna, anyway?”
Azmir forked food into his mouth then garbled, “Still stuck to me and my babies. That says it all.”
“Cheers to that.” Eli raised a tumbler and his friend did the same before clanking glasses.
“Indeed,” Azmir proclaimed before swallowing back brandy. “There’s still time to get in on ‘Project Vegas,’” Azmir goaded before forking more salad into his mouth.
“The casino?”
“Yup. It’s been a process, but things are running rather smoothly at this point.” Azmir’s dark knuckles knocked the surface of the table superstitiously.
Just before turning back for the cart for butter, I caught Eli’s forehead stretched with suspicion. “Could it be because of your heavy-handed influence over there in Nevada?”
Azmir sat back, chuckling as he wiped his mouth with a cloth napkin. His spirit seemed anew.
“I’m the master of influence, bruh.”
“That you are,” Eli muttered before going for the last of his salad.
That was my cue to get their main dishes ready from the warmer on the cart. When that was done, I could leave them to it for a while before returning. Already, I’d been feeling like an interloper. Once Eli laid down his fork, I removed his salad plate and swiftly replaced it with his entrée.
“And I’m sure that’s what you did with my staff,” Eli croaked with a raised brow.
“What do you mean?”
“Underwood, Butler, and Henderson said you ‘conferenced’ them to discuss a special recruit before and after the Combine.” Eli watched his friend raptly for a reaction.
Unbothered, Azmir cleared his plate and lifted it for my taking.
“Oh, that.”
“Yeah, that!” Eli sprinkled salt onto his plate.
Azmir shrugged with his head and brows. “Those numbers he put up there were unparalleled. You heard the echoes of his abilities. He broke records in the drills.” His lips lifted with wicked pomposity. “I believe Rut would be a great fit for the team.”
“Yeah. But a pain in the ass for my brand.”
“Not on my watch.” Azmir’s declaration was delivered with that sound authority.
“Yeah. Let’s hope so.”
“I can guarantee it.”
With a chuckle, Eli grabbed his fork and prepared to dig in. “How so?”
“You know I’m familiar with his family.”
“He’s a grown ass man.”
“He’s an unbridled talent. You’ve dealt with those before.”
“Yeah. And the last one did a federal prison sentence, leaving this team in a serious tailspin.”
“But Bailey came back and set us straight. He had his wild out period—young and dumb. But I like to think much of his rebounding came from the strong support we were able to offer after his bid was done.”
Eli laughed heartily, this time his napkin covered his salt and pepper goatee. “Azmir, there ain’t no we. You’re not on my staff. Shit. You can buy your own team. You got the fucking money.” Azmir snickered, but in another non-bothered manner as I set his plate before him. “But no! You won’t do that. Instead, you come to your old buddy’s and sit in on meetings concerning the team and league, even speak directly with my coaches and scouts.” An even thicker howl exploded from his belly. “And with no shame!”
Less amused, Azmir forked a glazed carrot spear. “Not at all. I’mma King, duke.”
Eli shook his head at his friend warmly, his laughter slowing. “That, we know, too.”
“I’m fully aware of my passion for this team,” Azmir’s thick tenor poured. “I’ll even admit my expressions of it’s been a bit unorthodox, but I’m giving you my word Rut’ll work. He’s been working hard. Soared at the college level.”
“Soared being redshirted, and with gang—”
“Conjecture,” Azmir asserted firmly. “I can assure you, Rut ain’t in no gang. He may be a product of an inner-city climate and grew up with gang members, but you can’t penalize him for something he can’t help.”
Another round of laughter ripped from Eli as I placed a box of cigars—expensive cigars—on a smaller table a few feet away. Nyree told me the market price for the Gurkha His Majesty’s Reserve. My God!
“What’s not alleged because it was, in fact, recorded was that threesome shot in his dorm room the end of his freshman year. What’s also real is the police report from the young man he knocked out behind the movie theater. He could have blown his chances then. Lucky for him, the kid didn’t want to press charges.”
“Because said ‘kid’ was drunk off his ass that night, taunting Rut and his crew. The kid followed them there after the game his team took an L in back on the field. He squatted for hours just to stalk and harass them. What’s a kid from the slums of Trenton, New Jersey supposed to do? Give him a Quran to correct the course the kid had put himself on?” Azmir took a sip of the brandy I poured him earlier. “In fact, that same lil’ punk got kicked out of school that semester for sexual harassment.”
Eli shook his head as I finished serving dinner.
“Just trust me on this, E.”
“It ain’t you I don’t trust. It’s the wild tyke I don’t need as a risk this season—or next.”
“I got you.”
“I hope you do. It may be our luck if no one snatches him up before our final pick on draft day in a few weeks. You know nobody wants him.”
“Indeed,” Azmir admitted calmly. “But everybody needs his talent level. The kid is skilled. You familiar with his numbers?”
Eli shrugged, chewing. “Mildly.”
“Well, let’s hope for you he’ll be doing more of them with a Kings’ robe on his back and crown on his head.”
“The kid turned down endorsement deals from apparel lines like Nike at the Combine!”
“Because,” Azmir calmly quantified. “You and I know those offers were a slap in the face. They were trying to bait him with lowball proposals although they’re fully aware of his athletic footwear company. That small hustle he started in high school is now a four-million-dollar company with very little overhead. Instead of presenting an equally profitable contract, they’d rather diminish his brand.”
“You don’t have to sell him to me. I trust my competent staff. If it turns out we acquire him, he walks right or will be on his face. My coaches’ll cut his ass before he steps out on the green come the first game day.” That was Eli’s invisible shrug.
He was unmoved.
I waited for a break in their conversation before speaking. “Mr. Richardson, Mr. Jacobs…” I addressed both their eyes as Nyree instructed during her quick tutorial this week when we agreed I’d fill in for her while she took her grandson to the doctor. “Will that be all for now?”
Eli smiled as kindly as I was accustomed to by this point. “For now, Parker. Thanks.”
I turned to Azmir in silent request. His eyes brushed across me, causing me to instantly feel subconscious about my appearance. “I’m good, sweetheart.”
I nodded, turned for my cart, and began its haul across the room. Behind me, their conversation continued.
I could identify Azmir’s voice. “I can always have Jordan keep an eye on him for me.”
“And here you go again on my turf,” Eli sighed, good-naturedly. “You forget I’mma boss here, too? This is my arena, Azmir. You’re just a fan. I run this multi-billion dollar enterprise.”
I was just at the door, wearing a smile from their banter while appreciating seeing Eli lighthearted. He was an older man. I wasn’t quite sure how old but he had a very mature air to him. It seemed to me his buddy Azmir Jacobs brought down his guard a bit. Ruffled his feathers.
As I opened the door to push the cart out, I heard Azmir pose with full on swag. “Yeah, but what’s better than one billionaire?”
Eli, without delay, uttered a seemingly practiced, “Two.”
Damn.
Her ass jiggled a two count before clapping, lifting in the air, and starting the s
equence all over again. Her rhythm was on point as music blasted from wall to wall in a private room at Arch & Point. This was why I fucked with the spot.
She craned her neck to look at me over her shoulder and mouthed, “Fuck ‘em then I get some money.”
Aye…
The one a few yards away on the pole was upside down. Her eyes were on me, too. Just the way I liked it. I was glad she got rid of that rhinestone top. Her tits were banging. Fake, but dope as hell. She was the gold standard of the club. I’d been after her since the first time I stepped foot in here two weeks ago. Arch & Point had a serious no fraternizing policy here, and I’d been told they highly enforced it…until the kid, Rut, came to town. I wanted her bad, and I knew she’d come around with the money I threw at her four days a week. Tonight, the look in her eyes was darker. Her dips curlier, drops lower.
“You enjoying ya time up here?” My cousin, B-Rocka, to my right with a thick one on him, smiled with tight eyes.
This was his first time visiting since I moved to Connecticut a week ago.
I smacked the dotted cheeks of shawtie on my lap. She was working hard for the bills I wrapped around her bikini string.
“You know I make the best outta every situation,” I answered.
“Word.” B-Rocka’s attention was back on the ass in his face while her face was inches away from the floor as we sat on a cushioned red leather sofa. He loved this just as much as I enjoyed it. When I got drafted, he told me the upshot of it was that we’d kick it at this very spot. “That’s what’s up. How that nigga, TB, treating you?”
That’s what all the homies from back home wanted to know, even the chicks. Everybody wanted to know about the Super Bowl 2018 QB from our home state.
I shrugged. “He chill.”
“That’s it?”
“Yeah. I only seen him once. Them niggas on vacation—most of the vets are. We ain’t have a full practice where everybody’s on the field at the same time yet. The first off season workout session’s coming up. I’ll see them niggas there. I’ve mostly been with the trainers, keeping in shape. We live in the same development though—me and Bailey.”
“The one the Kings own?”
“Yeah.”
“I thought he got a crib in Jersey. Alpine, right?”