Читать книгу A Pleasing Temptation - Deborah Mello Fletcher - Страница 10

Chapter 2

“You look like you just got off a plane,” Paxton Reid said, his gaze sweeping the length of Kamaya’s slim frame.

“So now you have jokes? You know I just got off an airplane.” She was wearing oversized sweatpants, a tank top and Converse sneakers. The look was too casual and very basic.

“But you look like you just flew on a commercial flight and not private. You should look way better.”

“You’re an ass,” Kamaya said, narrowing her gaze on the man. She and Paxton Reid had been best friends for years. They’d met in high school, lab partners who both hated science with a passion. For a brief moment they’d been a couple, but that hadn’t worked. Occasionally they were lovers, and that did work, even when it didn’t. Despite their obvious differences—he was white and a male—they genuinely cared about each other and most days that was more than enough.

Her eyes rolled as she took the short flight of stairs to the front entrance of her office space. The Michelle Initiatives, located on Lee Street, was welcoming and looked like they were in the business of selling cupcakes and lollipops. The old two-story home with its lime-colored paint, bright yellow shutters and red door belied what was really happening behind the wooden entrance.

Kamaya had named the business after herself. Michelle was her middle name. Her brother Mason had the monopoly on their last name, Boudreaux Enterprises being his claim to fame. Michelle had been personal enough, but not so much that it drew any unwanted attention from her family. Because The Michelle Initiative was all about adult entertainment.

Most of Kamaya’s businesses, either directly or indirectly, provided sex-related products and services to an adult clientele. On the titillating side there was Play Candy, her line of adult sex toys, Eye Candy, the adult publishing line that was home to erotic stories, and her newest acquisition, forty-three strip clubs across the country soon to be renamed “The Wet Bar” and revitalized to cater to an upscale female clientele. On the less sensationalistic side there were the upscale massage parlors, A Touch Above, and the vaginal rejuvenation centers, Secret Garden Clinics. But, when asked, all Kamaya ever talked about were the convenience stores and gas stations that had been the foundation of her expanding portfolio. In the corporate offices of The Michelle Initiative she employed a staff of thirty-six people who all operated out of the pretty, gingerbread-trimmed home.

Paxton bounded up the steps behind her. “I may be an ass but I’m an honest ass!” he said, his expression smug. “And you can always trust me to tell you the truth!”

Kamaya tossed him a look as she pushed her way inside. “So what have I missed?” she asked.

“The first Wet Bar franchise is opening soon. Renovations are almost done and we meet with the franchise owner tomorrow.”

“Is he on board for the feature?” she asked. “He understands that we want him to be the face of The Wet Bar?”

“Well, he will. I figured we’d break the news to him in person.”

Kamaya’s eyes widened. “You told me we weren’t going to have any problems. You know very well that you and I can’t be associated...”

“I told you. It’s not a problem. No one will ever connect your good family name with the business.”

Disaster suddenly flashed before Kamaya’s eyes as she imagined everything going straight to hell. She suddenly had visions of her parents disowning her and her siblings disavowing any knowledge of who she was. People discovering that she was hawking sex and not chips and beer could be potentially devastating. She slapped her palm against the desktop. “I knew this wasn’t a good idea. I don’t know why I let you talk me into doing this profile piece.”

“I’ve got this! And we need the exposure. If we’re going to sell these franchises and grow this brand you need to do this.”

Before Kamaya could respond, their secretary, Virginia Wade, called her name, purposely interrupting the conversation. The two were renowned for their no blows held back battles and a rise of ire was beginning to curdle like spoiled milk between them. “Kamaya, I left some checks on your desk to be signed, and the massage center called to confirm your appointment. You need to be there by eight tomorrow morning.” The woman smiled. “And welcome back.”

“Thank you, Virginia,” Kamaya said as she moved from the reception area into her office space. She pointed her index finger in Paxton’s direction. “I swear, if this blows up...”

“It won’t. Stop worrying, please. We’ve been doing this for how many years now? No one has discovered anything about your salacious endeavors and they never will.”

The two exchanged a look and then she closed the door behind her as Paxton stood on the other side.

* * *

There weren’t enough hours in a day to do everything Kamaya needed to do. She was past the point of exhaustion and she still had a grocery list of things that she needed. Work had moved from her office to the dining room in her Marengo Street home. She pushed the folders from in front of her to the other side of her table, shifting documents from point A to point B as she attempted to bring some organization to the mess.

She had bought the chain of strip clubs in spite of having some reservations, but the purchase price had been too good to pass up. Envisioning where she could take the down-and-out titty bars had been a no-brainer. Revamping their programs, revitalizing their interior designs and hiring all male dancers had been the easiest decision to make. There was a market eager to enjoy the adult entertainment men brought to the dance stage. Women loved watching beautiful, hard-bodied males and they were willing to pay well for the privilege.

Franchising the properties and the business formula had been Kamaya’s idea. Starting with the New Orleans’s property had been Paxton’s, the proximity of the location allowing them an up close and personal view of what would work and what would not. That, and his inside connection to the investor who’d easily come up with the required cash had been enough for her to trust her old friend with the reins. Now she was excited to see if he’d actually been able to pull off her vision.

She pushed herself from the table and stole a quick glance at the clock on the wall. It was just past midnight and although she knew she needed some rest, she was anxious, her entire body a ball of nerves. She needed release. Something heated and dirty, where sweat carried the fretfulness from her body. She needed her sure thing for just an hour, or maybe even two if it was really good. In the realm of Kamaya’s small world, men were toys, sex was a game and she knew how to play them both to her advantage.

As she moved toward the master bedroom she pulled her cell phone from her back pocket and pushed the speed-dial button. Paxton answered on the third ring.

“Why are you still up?” he asked, his voice low, as if he were whispering.

“I have a lot on my mind,” Kamaya noted. “Is this a bad time?”

There was a moment of hesitation before he answered. “Can we talk in the morning?”

A hint of surprised lifted her brow. “Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean...”

“It’s no big deal,” he said cutting her off. “Laney just stopped by. She was upset and then she fell asleep...”

“Laney?”

He took a deep breath. “I was going to tell you tomorrow. Actually I was planning on telling you today but, well...” He took another inhale of air. “I asked Laney to marry me and she said yes. We’re getting married.”

Kamaya paused, his words seeming to go in one ear and explode someplace deep in her head. “You and Laney are getting married?”

“I really hope you’ll be happy for us, Kamaya. You’re my best friend, and it’s important to me that...”

She interrupted him. “Let’s talk tomorrow,” she said and then, just like that, she disconnected the call.

Seconds later the device rang, vibrating in the palm of her hand as an image of her and Paxton together flashed across the screen. She pushed the power button, and when the phone was off she tossed it to the floor of her walk-in closet and slammed the door shut.

Something like rage teased her spirit. She was surprised by Paxton’s news and she shouldn’t have been. Laney McDonald had been his Achilles’ heel for too many years to count. The woman had been blowing in and out of his life like a wayward wind, restless and wandering and never making any significant impact while there.

Laney McDonald was why she and Paxton had never been able to take their relationship past the point of friendship with occasional benefits. His obsession with the green-eyed redhead was like a fungus that had taken hold and refused to be eradicated. Laney would always find the most inopportune moments to suddenly come calling, teary eyed and emotional over something that had gone wrong and fallen apart in her life. She was a damsel in perpetual distress, and Kamaya’s buddy and pal Paxton felt obligated to save her.

Each time Laney needed to be handled, Paxton went running. Each time Kamaya’s feelings had been hurt for a split second. Deep down she knew that there would never be anything more between them and that she and Paxton would forever be friends.

Even their sexual connection had been a fluke of sorts, a night of too much rum and not enough cola spinning them into bed together. It would never have happened again if Paxton’s skills between the sheets hadn’t been so mind-blowing, but her friend was damn good in bed!

After that Kamaya had used him to scratch that itch when she didn’t want to be bothered with someone else. Because the someone else was always wanting more from her than she was willing to give. Paxton had been convenient and since she didn’t want permanent, it had worked for them both. And now he was planning to marry Laney. Kamaya couldn’t help but wonder what Laney’s husband had to say about it all.

For too many years Paxton had gone after the very married, very wealthy socialite like a rat chasing cheese. Sometimes he had stooped to a new low that had her questioning his sanity. But through it all Kamaya had known the two were a disaster waiting to happen. She was just glad she would be far from the mix when they exploded.

Stripping out of her clothes she moved from her bedroom into the bathroom. She reached for the faucet and turned on the water. She needed a shower. And she needed it ice cold.

* * *

It was close to two in the morning when Wesley locked the doors to the club and headed to his house on Camp Street. The custom home was centered in a prime location near Audubon Park. Wesley had been drawn to the home’s warm and charming simplicity. He’d first seen it when the market was down, homes lingering for months in the For Sale directory. He had considered it a blessing when he discovered the house was still on the market when he’d finally had the money to buy it outright.

Inside, he paused as he took in the herringbone brick floors and the wide planked pine that ran through the foyer and living room. During the daylight hours there was lots of natural light and everything about the space felt welcoming. The decor was extremely sparse; a futon and some pillows sat off to the side in the living room and there were a small table and two chairs in the kitchen. In the master bedroom, a king-sized mattress and box spring sat on the floor. It wasn’t much, but it was his and his chest swelled with pride each time he stepped through the door.

For a brief moment Wesley thought about making dinner, but he found the prospect of having to cook something daunting. Standing in front of the refrigerator he marveled that, for the first time in a long time, there was absolutely no leftovers inside. Deciding he wasn’t that hungry, he grabbed a Budweiser and the last of a bag of Cheetos from the counter and headed up to his bedroom.

He was excited about the future and he knew he was just hours from another turning point that would take him toward his goals. He’d been working hard to insure that The Wet Bar set the standard for those that would come after. He planned on owning as many of them as he could.

Lying across his bed he knew that he wouldn’t be able to keep what he did from his parents for much longer. But if all went according to plan, by the time they discovered the truth it wouldn’t make a difference. He’d be running an empire, making them proud of his success and accomplishments. Wesley had big dreams.

He suddenly realized how quiet his home was. Nothing creaked or leaked or gave him any reason to pause. It was disconcerting, and for the first time in a long time he felt very alone. He blew a soft sigh as he swallowed the last cheesy snack and then sat up to toss the crumpled wrapper into the trash. After chugging back the last of his bottled beer he threw his body back across the mattress.

For a brief moment he pondered the women he could invite to come spend some time with him. The list of late-night booty calls he could make at that hour was probably lengthy, but that kind of company really wasn’t what he wanted. As he thought about his future he knew he didn’t want to do casual with any woman. That time in his life had come and gone. He wanted more and he would only have the best. He prayed that God knew his needs and would bless him abundantly.

Rising, he moved himself from his bedroom into the shower. He came out of his clothes along the way, leaving a trail behind him. Stepping into the enclosure, he dashed his head beneath the hot water and allowed the spray to pelt his back. The heated moisture was soothing as it massaged him gently. He thought again about the women who were in his life. Or, more honestly, the women who weren’t.

Wesley couldn’t remember the last time he’d gone on a second or a third date. But he’d had more than his fair share of first and last dates. He was used to women throwing themselves at him. More times than he cared to count, women who had seen him perform or who knew what he used to do saw him as little more than a slab of beef, good for a late night between the sheets.

Brenda-Joy Taylor had been the closest thing to a serious relationship that he’d ever had. She’d been a church-going girl and someone his mother had liked. They had grown up together, and both their families had assumed the two would end up married with kids.

But Brenda-Joy hadn’t wanted the same life he had yearned for. She’d been happy with average and regular and hadn’t aspired to do anything extraordinary. The day she’d told him his dreams were too big had been the beginning of the end for them. He dreamed too big and she didn’t dream at all.

The last he’d heard, Brenda-Joy had married Quadell Baker. Quadell was an aspiring rapper, unemployed and sometimes known to stand on street corners, asking for handouts to help support her and their five kids. Apparently Quadell didn’t do much dreaming, either. But Wesley aspired to greatness and he couldn’t fathom a life of anything less.

* * *

The exterior of The Wet Bar was basic, at best; nothing about it raised any red flags. Despite its proximity to Bourbon Street and the French Quarter, there was nothing about the building or parking lot that drew anyone’s attention as to what might be happening behind its doors. It was exactly what Kamaya wanted; the neon lights and abrasive signs that had been there just months ago were long gone. The women who would frequent the club weren’t interested in everyone knowing their business. Discretion was key and Kamaya had insisted on everything that would make the clientele comfortable.

She nodded approvingly as she sat in the club’s parking lot waiting for Paxton to arrive. The two hadn’t spoken since he’d delivered the news that he was tying the knot. If canceling had been an option, she would have, knowing that at some point her friend would want to talk about his marriage plans and she wasn’t interested in having that conversation with him.

She still couldn’t fathom what all the fuss was about. In her humble opinion marriage was an antiquated concept pushed by bible-thumping radicals, the Hallmark greeting-card industry, bridal bloggers and her parents. Intelligent, educated women didn’t need a ring and a license to legitimize their most intimate relationships. They could build empires, mother babies and still enjoy the love of a good man. Oprah was doing it with Stedman, Coco Chanel had enjoyed the Duke of Westminster, Sheryl Crow had her lengthy list of talented, wealthy, successful male companions. Even Simone de Beauvoir and the existentialist philosopher Sartre had made love work without marriage. Marriage worked for some but Kamaya couldn’t ever see herself doing it.

Her thoughts shifted as she watched a car pull into an empty parking space right at the door. This one caught her attention and held it because the vehicle was neither flashy nor pretentious. It was a drastic contrast to the other vehicles sitting in the lot. She’d been watching as one dancer after another in some high-priced, high-end vehicle, wearing low-slung jeans or sweats and looking like they’d just graduated from a semester of thugs-are-us paraded into the club. They’d been hard bodied and buff and some very entertaining eye candy.

But this car and its owner were in a class all to themselves. The hooptie had seen better days, rust and Bondo holding it together. After shutting down the engine the driver continued to sit, seeming to look for something that had fallen between the seats. As he finally stepped out of the vehicle and locked the car door with the key, she eyed him curiously.

The tailored suit he wore looked like silk. The classic styling fit him to perfection, and unlike his car, his clothes looked expensive. The suit was a charcoal gray and he’d paired it with a white dress shirt, a somber gray and black print necktie and black dress shoes that were polished to a high gloss. He looked very corporate and very boring. Had she dressed him, he would have worn a hint of color, maybe a lavender shirt, something that hinted at a semblance of personality. Assuming he had a personality.

For a brief moment he looked toward her car, but she knew he couldn’t see inside the darkly tinted windows. Which was a good thing, because as his curious gaze skated in her direction, Kamaya felt a wave of heat course through her body and tinge her cheeks a deep shade of red.

Whoever he was, he was quite good-looking. Exceptionally good-looking! His complexion was a deep, warm vat of smooth, melted chocolate. His chiseled features were a testament to good genes, and even with the barest hint of a smile pulling at his full lips there was no missing the deep wells that dimpled his cheeks. He had facial hair, his beard and mustache meticulously edged and trimmed. He was better than good-looking and Kamaya was suddenly wanting to know more about the tall, dark and handsome stranger.

Just as he turned, moving through the front door of the building, Paxton pulled into the space beside her, his toothy grin wide, his blond locks stylishly unkempt. He stole a glance toward his wristwatch as he jumped from his car.

“Hey!” he exclaimed as he pulled her car door open. “Sorry. I had to get Laney situated before I could leave. Good morning!”

Kamaya gave him one of her infamous looks, her eyes narrowed ever so slightly, her jaw tight, her teeth clenched. There was no missing that she had no intentions of talking about his problems or his girlfriend. “We’re still early,” she said matter-of-factly. “Who are we meeting again?” She headed toward the building’s front door, Paxton hurrying after her.

“His name is Walters. Wesley Walters. As well as this night club, he has optioned the next ten franchises based on our guaranteeing support and backing as defined in our initial contract. With a few exceptions.”

“What few exceptions?”

“Nothing major. He’d like some concessions and control with how the business will evolve as a whole. It’s not much more than what we’ve already talked about.”

“And the things we haven’t talked about?”

“They’re things he’s willing to back with a cash investment, if necessary.”

“You mean, if he wants them badly enough.”

Paxton nodded. “Yes.”

Kamaya paused, her hand on the doorknob. She cut her eyes in Paxton’s direction. “And you agreed to those things?”

“I agreed to discuss it with the both of you in order to come to a mutually beneficial agreement. The contracts I had drawn up detail what I think is in our best interest under the circumstances. He may ask for more. I don’t know.”

“How do you know this man again?”

“We met in graduate school. He’s an upstanding guy. He’s going to do big things with or without us.”

Kamaya eyed Paxton a split second longer before finally giving him a quick nod, then she turned and moved into the club’s inner sanctum.