Lies Lovers Tell (16 page)

“Did you put the pepper spray in your purse like I told you?”

“Trish, please, what do you think waddling Walters is going to try and do?”

“Light his ‘a’ up with that pepper spray and it won’t matter. Don’t you remember anything from your hood days?”

“Yes, which is why I left, remember?”

“Girl, some lessons you should keep with you.”

“Trish, I’m not taking my pepper spray or a steak knife, and I don’t plan on having to take off my earrings. I’ve handled bigger, badder wolves in my day. I can handle Sam Walters.”

“Yeah, but insisting he have a car pick you up? It just seems funny, Maya.”

“Not necessarily, not in these circles. Anyways, I’ll tell you all about it when I get back, which, if he’s still in the foul mood I left him this afternoon, will be sooner rather than later. Besides, it won’t take me long to implement my plan.”

“What plan is that?”

“Oh, just a little test to satisfy a nagging curiosity I’ve got.”

“Oh my goodness, are you going to venture down there for a look-see?”

“You never know….”

“Ooh, you bad, girl, you didn’t tell a sista you were taking that route to the information highway!”

“I didn’t say I was, I just said you never know.”

“Listen, you call me—”

“The moment I get in…I will!”

“And how long should I wait before I call the police if you don’t call?”

Maya laughed. “Being an actress is perfect for you, because you’re straight drama!”

“Whatever, girl, you just check in before midnight or I’m ringing the po-po.”

“Deal, sista, I’ll give you a call.”

When the town car arrived promptly at seven, for her seven-thirty dinner with Sam, Maya was glad that her meeting had been less than ten minutes from her house and that even so, she’d left fifteen minutes before it was over. She’d showered and changed into a simple black silk cocktail dress that cinched at the waist and flared at the hips. She’d kept her jewelry simple as well: a thin gold necklace with a locket that contained a miniature picture of her mother when she was about Maya’s age, and a single, gold wrist band. While the weather was hot, the dinner was formal, so Maya compromised by wearing thigh-high stockings with the Christian Lacroix shoes she’d splurged on over the weekend. She’d barely been off the phone with Trish for two minutes when the car pulled up.

Maya used the time on the way to wherever to try and calm down. Normally her nerves wouldn’t be so on edge, but “normal” hadn’t stopped by to see her for over a month. Instead “crazy,” “trippin’,” and “you’ve got to be kidding” were regular visitors, lately showing up in her life day and night. Even now, as the driver wound his way through the L.A. streets, she heard “you’ve got to be kidding” whispering in her ears. Because the car in which she rode was headed to Playa Del Rey, an area of Los Angeles not known for its plethora of restaurants.
Surely he wouldn’t…

“Excuse me, driver, but which restaurant are you taking me to?”

The driver looked at her in the rearview mirror and smiled appreciatively. “No restaurant, ma’am.”

No restaurant? This man did not just say that I wasn’t going to a restaurant.
“Well, where exactly have you been instructed to drive me?”

“To Mr. Walters’s residence, ma’am.” The driver kept looking between her and the road as he easily navigated the streets.

Maya calmly turned and looked out the window. The driver’s smile had told her he expected an outburst; well, she most certainly was not going to give him one. So Mr. Walters thought she was some naive assistant ripe for seduction, did he? She’d surely give him something else to think about once she arrived at his home.

Not that she could totally blame him. It was not her style to be overly flirtatious in her line of business and she had to admit that had purposely happened earlier today. In fact, the entire meeting had been…weird. She wondered if her plan would shed any light on the unsettled feelings that had cropped up where Sam Walters was concerned. The driver turned on to Pacific Avenue, two minutes away from her destination. It looked like she was getting ready to find out.

Maya’s second clue that the night would be unusual, after finding out the dinner would be at Sam’s house, was the butler who answered the doorbell. She’d expected Cecilia. But a distinguished-looking older gentlemen, with silvery hair, a ramrod-straight back, and a pleasant demeanor greeted her instead.

“Ms. Jamison,” he said, bowing low. “Please, come this way.”

Maya stepped into what looked like a page out of
O At Home
magazine. The chandelier lighting was set on low, casting thousands of shards of light against the polished, bronzelike ceiling. White, lit candles adorned the sconces and were placed throughout the living room. An elegant display of orchids dominated the marble coffee table and their delicate aroma filled the room. Maya suddenly felt shy, vulnerable. This was a setting for a seduction, not a sales meeting. Her stomach flip-flopped. And why? Certainly not because she was meeting Sam Walters? She couldn’t stand the man. Maya’s hand went to the locket around her neck.
Be with me, Mama.

Instead of taking Maya to the dining room, he led her to a set of double doors that opened onto a patio facing the ocean. White candles of all shapes and sizes illuminated the area, along with two dimmed sconces affixed next to the doors. A stark linen tablecloth lay under bone china, stemmed crystal ware, and sparkling silver, ironically, probably the silver she’d shined! Maya had to admit, it did look good! A soothing sound came in from the ocean as the waves ebbed and tided, and a gentle breeze lent an island air to her surroundings. There was no denying it; Sam Walters had outdone himself with the setting. Now she’d have to outdo herself in setting him straight.

“Would Madame care for white wine?” the butler asked.

“No, thank you, I’d rather wait for Mr., for Sam.”

“Wait no more lovely, lady. Sam is here.”

Maya turned and almost stepped back. It was indeed Sam, but she’d never seen him look like this before. He wore a black, double-breasted suit that deemphasized his portly middle and enhanced his broad shoulders. Broad shoulders? Until now, Maya didn’t even remember Sam having shoulders. Of course he did, but she’d never noticed. His hair, mustache, and beard were groomed to perfection. Why had she never noticed how brown his eyes were?
Brown like…hmm…
With his mustache cut down, Maya could detect the lips that had been hidden beneath it; soft, kissable-looking lips.
Lips like…no. I’m insane for even thinking such madness.
Maya shook her head and tried to clear its cloudiness. She needed her intellect, expertise, and every ounce of people skills to navigate the web Walters had woven with linen, crystal, white candles, and a comb!

“Sam! You look…different.”

Sam gave the hint of a smile. “It’s been said that I clean up nicely.”

“I didn’t mean—”

“I understand your statement was a compliment and take it as such.”

Sam’s clipped British accent topped off the night’s formality. Maya almost felt she should have one herself and as it were, found herself standing as if she were a contestant on Miss America: left foot positioned slightly in front of the right one, toe pointed outward, neck straight, chin tilted. All she needed was a crown. She felt the nerves coming. She could use that glass of wine.

“My statement was a compliment. You look nice, Sam.”

“And may I say you look stunning?” Sam replied, his velvety eyes taking slow inventory of Maya’s ensemble. “Yes, simply stunning,” he repeated. He turned to take the two glasses of sparkling wine the butler had brought out on a silver tray.

“May I interest you in a glass of Armand de Brignac?”

“Sounds fancy,” Maya said, taking the glass he offered. “What is it?”

“A bubbly blend of Pinot Noir, Pinot Meunier, and Chardonnay.” Sam continued to gaze at Maya as he held up his glass. “Things got off to a rather bumpy start this afternoon,” he began. “So let’s toast to us, and new beginnings,” he said.

“To new beginnings,” Maya repeated as they clinked glasses. She had no idea what “us” had to do with it.

Another stranger Maya had never seen, a chef, brought out two soup bowls and a basket of warm rolls.

“Shall we?” Sam asked. He placed his hand near the small of Maya’s bare back. An involuntary shiver went through her.

“Cold?” Sam asked, although the night was balmy.

“Hardly,” Maya replied, her tone sarcastic but her face smiling.

Sam gave her a knowing smile and Maya immediately knew he had misconstrued her words. He thought she was hot for him? She was not! Was she?

Maya was thankful for the few moments of quiet while eating the soup. It was delicious: a chicken consommé with fresh vegetables and hints of lemon running through each spoonful. The rolls were flecked with rosemary and thyme, a perfect complement to the soup’s contents. On the way over, Maya had been starving. Now she could barely eat.

“It must be nice to have a chef,” she said.

“He’s not full-time,” Sam countered. “He’s my on-call chef, for special occasions.”

“Oh.”

They continued to eat in silence. After a few more sips of the sparkling bubbly, Maya’s appetite thankfully kicked in and she finished a good portion of the soup.

Sean studied Maya covertly as she ate her soup. She looked even more beautiful this evening than she had this afternoon, if that were possible. He’d stepped up his efforts to have the deal he was working on finalized, and end his investigations with Zeke and Joseph. He’d met his match in Maya and couldn’t hide his true self from her much longer. But tonight he was Sam, not Sean, and as such needed to ask questions common to people who’d recently met. “Tell me about yourself, Maya. I know a few things, that you’ve been with Zeke for about five years, and that you graduated with honors from USC. But aside from that, I don’t know much. Since we’re going to be working together, closely, I’d like to get to know you.”

Maya’s mind raced quickly. What should she tell, what should she leave out? True, she was enjoying this Sam Walters more than she’d ever enjoyed the one she left this afternoon but not enough to trust him with too much information. “What specifically would you like to know?”

“Whatever you’d like to tell me.”

Maya gave a brief rundown of growing up in south central Los Angeles all the while dreaming to get out, of high school and college years filled with sports and debate tournaments, and about a onetime stint at acting from a friend’s prompting. She didn’t mention Trish’s name, and she didn’t talk about Stretch. She figured the less he knew about her family, the better. Let him think she was an only child; maybe he’d trust her faster if he felt she didn’t have a slew of close friends and family to go back and run off at the mouth to.

Sam listened quietly and with seeming interest. “And how did you end up at B&A?” he asked, when she’d finished.

“I’d interned there my senior year in college. That’s when I first met Zeke and expressed my interest in working there. He said I didn’t have enough experience but to come back in a few years. I worked a few administrative and marketing jobs before spending three years with an Internet marketing company. But ever so often, I’d check in with B&A, see if they had any openings. Four and a half years ago they did, an entry-level clerical position for less pay but more benefits than I had where I was. I jumped at the chance, worked hard, and now here I am.”

“About to become one of their top-producing Realtors?”

“How did you guess?” Maya said, smiling. He didn’t need to know she intended to use what she learned at B&A growing a business of her own. “And now you. Everyone is wondering who Sam Walters is
really
.”

“What you see is what you get,” Sam said, with a straight face. The irony was the distance that statement was from the truth.

As the second and third courses were served, arugula salad followed by perfectly baked halibut served with herbed rice and homemade sour cream, Maya learned about Sam Walters: his childhood in various parts of Europe, and how he cut his real estate teeth in South Africa, a wide-open market for Blacks once apartheid fell.

Even though it was hidden by disguise, Sean enjoyed sharing a bit more of himself with Maya. While some of what he shared was fabricated, much of what he said was true. That his varied business interests and talents were all coming together in this assignment was a coupe he couldn’t have orchestrated if he tried.

Maya noticed that Sam also avoided much talk of his personal life. She decided to pry a bit. “I’m amazed there is no Mrs. Walters,” she said. “All of this success and no one to share it with?”

“Not yet,” Sam countered smoothly, his eyes meeting hers over the rim of his water glass.

Maya raised her eyebrow in question, but remained silent, her eyes once again drawn to his slender, strong fingers.

“It’s hard to maintain a relationship in my line of work,” Sam continued. “It takes a strong, confident, self-assured woman. My job calls for a great deal of travel, often for long periods of time. It isn’t easy for someone to be happy with a continually absent partner for long.”

“Why can’t she travel with you?”

You could
, is what Sean thought. “It would be difficult,” is what Sam said.

The chef served dessert, homemade vanilla ice cream topped with a blueberry crumble and served in a large martini glass: uncomplicated elegance.

Maya closed her eyes as she took a bite. It was delicious.

Sean watched as Maya’s tongue darted out of her mouth to catch the drop of ice cream that had escaped it. He’d remembered blueberries were her favorite fruit; she’d gone on and on about it when they had a similar dessert in Beverly Hills.

Maya swallowed the bite and opened her eyes, glazed over in confectionary ecstasy. “Sam, this is delicious.”

“I thought you’d enjoy it.”

“Really?”

Sean, momentarily distracted by Maya’s sheer enjoyment of her dessert, even as he thought to make her his, had caused him to drop his guard. He almost forgot it was Sam, not Sean, she was talking to, and Sam had no idea how much she loved blueberries.