by Zaire Crown
It was three o’clock in the morning and she was on Marcus’s side of their walk-in closet. Tuesday had already sorted his shirts according to color, function, and brand.
She was doing the same with his shoes when she stumbled across something hidden in the toe of an old pair of Timberlands. A jewelry box. Inside were two ugly little rings that she had never seen her husband wear. Both were identical, only one silver and the other bronze.
Tuesday was still reshuffling shoes when something inside her snapped and she threw one of his Jordans at the wall. She threw another shoe and another then snatched all his clothes down from the hangers. She exhausted herself destroying his side of the closet then sat amongst the designer piles of cloth, silk, and fur, breathing hard.
She raided their weed stash then rolled a blunt way too fat for a solo burn. She sat on the floor while she baked herself.
She picked up one of the watches from his collection and put it on. The rose-gold Louis Moinet seemed too bulky for her slender wrist. It forced Tuesday to think about the Parmigiani she gave him at Dominic’s and that sparked other thoughts she didn’t want to entertain. How that might be the last gift she would ever give him, that he might have died with it on his arm.
She tried to silence those thoughts with more kush. She tried to smoke herself dumb.
But the strand was potent. After just a quarter of the blunt, she had to put it out. Tuesday was already so high that her face felt too heavy.
Her blood-red eyes surveyed the result of her little tantrum. She told herself that she was going to have to do something special for Esperanza. The housekeeper was going to have to handle this one because Tuesday definitely wasn’t about to clean that shit up.
Chapter Thirteen
Brandon advised her to take a few days off from work but Tuesday refused. While she didn’t enjoy being at Abel, it was the principle. To accept bereavement days would be to acknowledge the unacceptable.
The next two weeks were hectic but Tuesday went to work each day and powered through, working hard even if uninspired. This company was her husband’s dream, and for her husband, Tuesday was doing her best.
Brandon was pressing her about the need to declare Marcus dead so that his estate, the company and all his assets could be transferred to her. Tuesday wasn’t quite ready to do that, but with each day she didn’t receive a call from her husband, Brandon’s position seemed more logical.
On this day Tuesday was in between meetings when her secretary announced someone from accounting was requesting to see her without an appointment. Tuesday agreed and Shaun was escorted into her office looking awed and intimidated by the spacious five thousand square feet of marble, glass, and wood.
Even dressed for work, Shaun was nothing less than a stunner. Her blouse was imitation silk, the skirt that hugged her curves was only a polyester-blend, a no-name pair of mules completed the look, but the cheap clothes couldn’t negate the natural beauty.
She and Tuesday kept things formal until the secretary closed the door on them.
“Girl, what the fuck you doin’?” Tuesday beamed fury at her from behind the desk. “You know this ain’t the time or place for this shit.”
“Look I’m not here for the drama,” Shaun said on approach until she stood before her. “I’m only here to say sorry. Been wanting to come for a while but—”
She didn’t need to explain because they both understood how important it was to keep up appearances at work. There were about six layers of management between them. This was a total breach of protocol that could actually get Shaun fired if reported to her superiors.
“I tried calling you a few times but you didn’t answer.” Over the past two weeks Tuesday had received several calls and emails which she deleted instantly. The only call she was interested in was one from Marcus.
Shaun looked out on the seventy-story view as if ashamed to meet Tuesday’s gaze. “I know I said some hurtful and disrespectful shit the last time we spoke.” Her tone was apologetic.
“Just disrespectful.” Tuesday said dismissively. It was a petty little barb to let the youngster know that only her feelings had gotten hurt.
“And all that stuff I said about going to human resources, I didn’t mean it. I was just in my feelings.”
“I understand.” Tuesday stood, a polite way of indicating that it was time for Shaun to leave.
However, when Tuesday tried to escort her to the door, Shaun pushed her back against the desk and kissed her.
She was caught off-guard but after a second of Shaun’s tongue swimming around her mouth, Tuesday pushed her away.
“What the fuck wrong wit’ you? You gone try this shit right here in my office, especially now?”
“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” Shaun grabbed her hands. “I just miss you so much. I’ve been missing you like crazy. I’ve been sick without you.”
Tuesday snatched away from her. “I ain’t got time to care about your hurt feelings.” The words poured out of Tuesday before she had time to consider them: “I don’t know if my husband is dead or alive and he dropped this company in my lap, and I’m trying not to run this bitch into the ground but I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing. I spend ten hours reading documents I barely understand then go home to one daughter who won’t speak to me and another who won’t stop crying for her daddy.” Tuesday’s eyes flashed gray. “Miss me wit’ yo’ shit right now, Shaun.”
“I know baby. I can see you’re stressin’ like crazy.” She took Tuesday’s hips into her hands and stroked her thighs. “Let me fix it for you.”
“Girl, get the fuck outta here. I gotta bitch sittin’ right outside my door and a meeting in twenty minutes.”
“Please, baby. Let me fix it.” Shaun’s brown eyes found hers and softened them from gray to green. “Just let me fix it for you.” She continued to beg as she pecked Tuesday’s lips again then left a trail of soft kisses across her cheek, around her ear, down her neck. “Let me fix it?” she asked in a throaty whisper.
“No, we can’t do this here. Stop.” But rejection without conviction was essentially invitation. Those weak refusals only encouraged Shaun’s advance to Tuesday’s breasts, where Shaun’s swift fingers undid her blouse. She freed a plump titty from its lacy prison and devoured the nipple.
Tuesday moaned “No, don’t,” but allowed Shaun’s hands to push her skirt to her waist. She whispered her worries about the secretary and the meeting but helped Shaun to hoist her onto her desk and permitted her legs to be pushed open.
During their relationship Tuesday had typically been the dominant one, but this time Shaun was driving. She pushed the computer and a stack of department reports out of the way, then reclined Tuesday onto her back. Bubble gum lip gloss made Shaun’s mouth look irresistible. Tuesday moaned breathlessly, receiving kisses on her stomach. By the time Shaun made her way down to her inner thighs, Tuesday was beyond even fake protests. She was snatching down her panties before Shaun had the chance to make the effort.
Tuesday’s legs were in the air, her head hung off the edge of the desk looking toward the glass wall, where one hundred and eighty degrees of the Hollywood Hills, the California coastline, and Pacific Ocean were presented to her upside down.
Shaun’s lips pecked hers, then she traced slow circles inside her labia with the tip of her tongue, causing Tuesday to broadcast her pleasure in soft falsetto mews. Then she sucked the clitoral hood and teased the clit by drawing figure-eights on it. Tuesday shuddered like something electric had passed through her body. She grabbed a fistful of Shaun’s hair and started to grind her crotch into her face.
“Bae, I miss you so much.” Lick, lick, lick. “I love you, Tabitha.” Lick, lick, lick. “Please baby, I need you.” Lick, lick, lick.
It wasn’t long before Shaun’s talented tongue drew undulant cries from Tuesday’s quivering lips. She was twisting and thrashing wildly atop the desk, back arched so severely it seemed her spine should snap. An intruder would burst into the office and thi
nk that Shaun was performing an exorcism, trying to pull a demon out of Tuesday rather than a stubborn nut.
Eventually Shaun found the right frequency to trigger that eruption. Tuesday trembled and shook as waves of pleasure broke against her shores over and over. She released her juices, grumbling praise and curses to God. The young lover continued to lap at her sticky sweetness until Tuesday forcibly pushed her head away. She lay across the desk panting heavily, heart knocking against her ribs, head spinning.
When Tuesday finally sat up and checked her watch, she realized she only had minutes to get to her meeting.
“Shit!” She snatched up her underwear on the way to the private bathroom attached to her office. She washed herself then stepped back into her panties.
Orgasms were transcendent experiences, but the fall back to Earth was typically hard and fast. With it came all the problems and responsibilities that vanished temporarily during the moment of passion. Tuesday’s return brought back the scattered papers smeared across her desk, and the meeting she had in two minutes where those reports would need to be referenced.
And then there was the one who helped to take her to that special place. The emotional needs and expectations of her partners were always waiting in the aftermath.
“You gotta go. Now.” It was an authoritative command that indicated that Tuesday was speaking as her boss and not her lover. “And don’t ever pull up on my office like this no more.”
If Shaun thought the sex was prelude to reconciliation, Tuesday shattered that illusion like a brick hurled through a pane of glass.
She responded with a solemn nod. “Look, it’s not like I want you to—”
Tuesday hurried to shuffle the papers back in order. Her impatient glare said she didn’t give a fuck what Shaun wanted.
Tuesday could tell Shaun wanted to cry and was praying she didn’t make a scene. It was suspicious enough for her to have entertained a peon-level subordinate who shouldn’t even be on her floor, but if Shaun left out blubbering and bawling like she did at the house, Tuesday would have too much to explain to Brandon and the other members of a board that already had little faith in her.
However, Shaun stayed composed, kept herself together. Tuesday couldn’t guess if it was pride or the forty thousand plus benefits keeping her afloat until the modeling thing took off.
“Glad I could be of service to you, Mrs. King.” Shaun turned on her heel and strutted out of the office.
Tuesday watched her go, feeling like shit. She felt like she had used Shaun, like she had betrayed Marcus. For that reason she was able to excuse the Fuck you glance Shaun threw back at her.
But damn, sometimes a bitch just needed to get her rocks.
Chapter Fourteen
Tuesday’s workday ended with a headache-inducing ninety-minute meeting of the executive staff. A dozen different department heads boasted about performance and expectations, and after the first twenty minutes, it was all white noise to Tuesday. These meetings were too much of a reminder that she didn’t finish school and why. Stuck there pretending to be interested while somebody talks forever about shit she barely understood or cared to. She fought to stay engaged through heavy eyelids and multiple yawns. Shaun’s stress-reliever had her ready for a nap, and the boring suits droning on in a flat monotone was making her start to nod. As much as she wanted to, Tuesday knew it would embarrass Brandon if she put her head on the desk and fell asleep like she did back in eighth grade.
When five o’clock came, Tuesday rushed to get out of the building like it was on fire. The executive elevator descended straight into the underground garage that was reserved for senior staff. Martellius was already waiting when she stepped off, parked and holding the door open for her.
A perk of being CEO came in the form of a company car, a Mercedes Benz S600 with a personal driver. Tuesday slumped in the back seat, slipped off her heels before he could close the door on her. Tuesday’s feet and eyes needed a break so she shut them while Martellius pulled from underneath the Abel tower and navigated the surface streets of downtown Los Angeles.
Tuesday appreciated that her chauffeur was quiet. After a perfunctory greeting of, “Mrs. King,” they typically rode in silence. Tuesday hated annoying cab and Uber drivers who tried to force conversation or use music to fill that space when it failed. Martellius seemed to get that at the end of the day that all she wanted was a few moments to decompress. He was courteous and professional for the most part; once in a while she caught him sneaking a peek at her ass when she climbed in or out of the car, but Tuesday didn’t mind that. Niggas was gone be niggas.
She felt the turns and pauses of the vehicle but still had her eyes closed, wrapped in a cocoon of her own thoughts. Tuesday didn’t even realize that the easy glide suspension and soft purr of German engineering had lulled her into sleep until she was suddenly startled awake by the impatient blast of a car horn.
The Benz was stalled at a green light. Tuesday scanned around, half dazed, trying to understand why they were holding up traffic on Wilshire Blvd.
Then realized it was only her holding up traffic. Martellius was gone. The car was shifted into park, key still in the ignition, the driver’s door hung open. Tuesday looked around until she spotted him on the sidewalk down the street walking fast. The driver threw back a nervous glance when he reached the corner then climbed into the rear of a burgundy Tahoe that was waiting to collect him.
Tuesday was a game-conscious chick but either it was sleep or the years of not being involved in gangster shit making her too slow to process things. She didn’t connect the dots until she noticed the brown wrapped package on the front passenger seat.
Her eyes went wide.
She thought, Oh shit!
Chapter Fifteen
She scrambled to be free of her seatbelt, snatched her bag, left the shoes. She darted out of the back seat into traffic where she tried to warn the drivers stuck behind her. She ran along the side of the cars, narrowly missed getting hit by a delivery van, waving her arms and shouting for them to leave their vehicles and run.
All she received for her efforts was the courtesy you would expect from L.A. commuters during rush hour. Those who didn’t bombard her with profanities, offered a one-fingered thanks.
Tuesday couldn’t guess the weight of the package but figured there could be enough C-4 in it to leave a crater in the middle of Wilshire the size of a swimming pool.
Tuesday finally said fuck playing hero, and put as much distance between her and the Benz as she could. She hurried to the other side of the street, now regretting the tight knee-length pencil skirt that restricted her leg movements. The best she could manage was an awkward shuffle in her stocking-clad feet. Looking back at the car, she expected it to erupt into a fiery ball.
It never did. She watched and waited from halfway down the block. The Mercedes just sat in the middle of the street with the doors hanging open, frustrating motorists. Many of them had already started to pull around it.
After two minutes Tuesday considered if it was safe to return to the car. The box might have been harmless, but that didn’t explain why Martellius bailed on her.
It also didn’t explain why two men climbed out another familiar burgundy SUV at the opposite corner and were walking towards her with determined steps.
Two Latinos, early twenties, dressed too well to be street thugs. They were clean-cut in dark slacks and expensive leather loafers. These were the type of clothes young men only wore when they were on trial or had a job that demanded a professional vibe, although to her they killed their own swag by wearing tacky loud pastel-colored button-up shirts. One in blue, the other in green.
Tuesday locked eyes with them both and saw malice. Then looked to both of their waists and saw pistols.
The duo was approaching from the same direction as the Benz, removing the option of running back to the car even if the bomb was a dud. She turned and walked away from them at a desperate pace but didn’t run. Tuesday feared that trying to run
would only cause them to do the same, in which case she would be chased down instantly. She moved through the foot traffic on the sidewalk, many of whom stared at her like what the fuck for not wearing shoes.
Tuesday threw repeated glances back to the gunmen. They were causally stalking her from half a block but weren’t looking to close the gap. With all the pedestrians out she figured the eyewitnesses restrained them.
Tuesday cursed herself when she realized she never replaced the Heckler they had taken from her at Dominic’s. Tabitha King was licensed to carry so buying another pistol was a simple matter. She had been so distracted with seven different kinds of bullshit from work and home that it totally slipped her mind.
Luckily she had not left her bag in the car because then she would have been without her phone. She pulled it but rifled through the bag, searching for anything that could be used as a weapon. She carried nothing more threatening than a metal fingernail file.
She chose to call Brandon rather than the police. Without Marcus, he was the only adult family she had on the west coast. She grunted in frustration when she only got his voice mail.
Tuesday left an urgent message, recounted all that she could about the driver, the box, and the goons in that short window his inbox allowed.
The idea was to stay in the safety of the crowd, but the foot traffic started to thin out on her side of Wilshire. More people were going in and out of the shops across the street, but just when she intended to switch over at the crosswalk, two more men were coming from that direction to meet her.
They practically announced themselves as being with the other two by being dressed identically in dark slacks and bright shirts with the same style. The man in red and his partner in pale violet were crossing at the corner, forcing Tuesday to turn left on the side street to keep from being boxed in.