Long As You Know Who You Belong To (2 page)

 I sighed out loud just thinking about it. The
only good thing that came out of it was Nakami’s fine ass. Baby
girl was fire, and she knew it. I’d heard about ol’ girl though;
heard that attitude was something fierce and that she was as lethal
as snake venom. But it was all good. I had nine inches of get right
that I knew would put that ass in place. I walked out of her office
trying to talk my dick out of walking back in there and bending her
ass over that desk.

Thankfully, my phone rung and averted my
attention. “Little bro. What did I do to deserve this phone
call?”

 “Man, please tell me that it ain’t true. Please
tell me you ain’t out here in LA?”

 “So much for the welcome wagon, huh my nigga?”
I half joked.

 “C’mon, Grey!  Why you couldn’t stay your
ass in Detroit?” He sounded pissed, and that made me irritated.

 “Nigga, are you serious? You should be popping
a bottle, putting me up on one of them model bitches you roll with,
and showing me around town…not whining into my damn phone! Fuck
wrong with you?”

 “You know what the fuck is wrong with me. I’m
out here trying to leave that ghetto shit in the past, and you come
out here to my city dragging it with you!”

 Let me explain something about my brother. This
ain’t how it always was between us. Me and Kimani used to be so
tight that people thought we were fraternal twins. We ran the halls
of school as well as the streets together, and you rarely saw one
without the other. But after Kimani’s girlfriend, Ginae, got killed
during a shootout with a rival drug family, Kimani turned bitch and
dipped from the city. He moved to California a day after her
funeral without saying two fucking words to me, and he never looked
back. Now his modeling ass thought he was the shit because his dick
print was posted on billboards and in magazines. Fuck outta here.
He was still “Mani from Highland Park” to me.

 “Aye, you the one calling me. Not the other way
around,” I told him. “I left you out of it.”

 “I don’t need this right now. I got my agent
trying to line up acting gigs and…”

 “Oh, so you an old Christian Keyes, Morris
Chestnut, and Michael Ealy looking ass nigga now?” I burst out
laughing just imagining his ass trying to act.

 “Laugh if you want to, but at least I’m
legit.”

 “So am I, fool,” I boasted.

 “What? Fuck you talm’bout?”

 “I’m opening a club. In Hollywood. Next week
actually. And I got a bad bitch throwing the grand opening party. I
got celebrities coming out, and Big Sean’s DJ, Mo Beatz, is djing
that shit, bro.”

 Silence was all I heard on the phone. My
brother wasn’t stupid.  He knew that being legit was a
necessity but that hustling was where my heart was and that, even
though I might not be doing it at the moment, it wouldn’t be much
longer before I found a way to get my hands into something
illegal.

 “Is that right?” he finally replied.

 “Yeah, man. So if your ol’ Hollywood ass ain’t
got nothing to do next week, come through the spot.”

 “Look, man. I got an image now. I can’t be
caught up in no bullshit.”

 “Ok, so when some bullshit comes up, I’ll keep
you out of it. Just come parlay with your big brother, man.
Shit.”

I heard Kimani sigh loudly through the phone before
he spoke again. “Aight, man. I’ll be through there.”

 “Bet.”

I ended the call and hopped into my pearl white 2014
Tesla Model S and tossed my phone into the passenger seat. Today
hadn’t been all that bad. The straight and narrow shit was cool for
the time being, but my hands were itching to get into some trouble.
To hell with that shit my brother was talking.

 “Where are the rest of the bird of paradise
flowers we ordered?” I surprised myself with the moderate volume
yell that came out of my mouth. I guess the Xanax was really
working.

 “They’re in the back. I’m going to grab them
right now.” Tristan scurried past me before I could get another
word out.

 It was the grand opening night of South Beach,
and all hands were on deck. I was dressed in a comfy Helmut Lang
jumpsuit, and I was wearing gold and snakeskin Isabel Marant
sneaker wedges. My wet, curly hair had been haphazardly thrown into
a top knot. I was not above jumping in and dripping a little sweat
in order for my reputation as the ultimate event planner to remain
intact. And in this case, everything needed to be exceptional
because I was hell bent on impressing Grey. I went to make sure
that the alcohol had been situated at the bar the way that I
specified and was stopped by a mail courier.

 “Ms. Yukimura?”

 “Yes, what is it?” I asked curtly.

 “I have a package for you. Please sign
here.”

 The courier extended his clipboard and handed
me a pen. Draped over his shoulder was a large garment bag from
Nordstrom. I signed quickly, and the courier handed me the
garment bag as well as a shopping bag. He smiled and went on his
merry way, leaving me super confused. Attached to the garment bag
was a card. Curious, I snatched it off and laid the other items on
top of the bar.

 
Work ends now. I know that this place is
going to look just how I envisioned it. So take your pretty ass to
9641 Sunset Boulevard and unwind. You’re my date tonight.

-Grey

 I couldn’t contain my smile. I really thought I
was going to have to put in work to get his ass, but clearly I’d
done something right in the two weeks I’d known Grey. We’d worked
closely on getting everything ready for the grand opening, but he
had made sure that we remained professional. But now, not only was
he staking his claim, but he was also showering me with gifts, and
I hadn’t even given him a taste of the good stuff yet.  I
looked around at the club and decided that I couldn’t leave right
away. Even though I’d managed to snag Grey for the night, I knew he
wasn’t the type whose attention and interest was easy to maintain.
This party still needed to go off without a hitch. 

 An hour later, I walked out of the club and
drove my custom painted, plum colored Porsche Boxster GTS to the
Beverly Hills Hotel as the card instructed. When I arrived, the
desk clerk let me know that I was booked in the Presidential
Bungalow Suite. This nigga had really gone out his way! As soon as
I approached the door to my suite, I remembered I was at this hotel
without my essentials: my wand curler, my Carol’s Daughter hair
products, my extensive make-up collection, and my Jo Malone Red
Roses Body Wash. I used my key and entered the room anyway,
figuring I would set my things down and run back to my loft. Two
seconds after I closed the door, there was a knock. 

 I opened it and in barged a heavy set woman
with a large silver case and a rolling suit case, a tall slender
model-like man with a super beat face, and a fumbling mess of a
young girl looking as though she was going to fall over from the
weight of the things she was carrying in her hands. 

 “Excuse the fuck outta me? Who the hell are
ya’ll, and why are you in my suite?” I stopped them in the hallway
before they could get any further. 

 “Uh-uh, boo. TyTy don’t do attitudes. I came up
in here to beat a face, not beat some ass, but I will not hesitate
to throw dem hands, honey,” the man said. 

 “Do what you gotta do, but first you gon’ tell
me what you doing up in my suite!” I wasn’t going to let
up. 

 “I’m Princess.” Princess extended her hand to
me and I looked at that shit like it was drenched in Ebola. She
continued.  “That’s Tyrell, or TyTy as he likes to be called.
And that’s Lola, our assistant.” 

 “Again, the fuck are ya’ll doing in my suite?”
I didn’t know if these muthafuckas were deaf or dumb, but they
still hadn’t answered the question that I had now asked three
times. 

 “See, I told you this bitch was nuttier than
trail mix. Let me spell this out for you since you can’t put two
and two together.” TyTy clasped his hands together all extra
feminine like. “The man that bought that shit and paid for your
room called us in to hook you up for this boogie ass party you
about to attend, ok?”

 He pointed to the girl who’d introduced herself
as Princess. “She’s got your hair, I’ve got your make-up, and Lola
got er’thang else.” He rolled his eyes.

 I looked at him and then at Princess, and my
resolve softened a bit. “Well, that’s all you had to
say.” 

 “Lord Jesus, give me strength. I don’t need to
catch a case today,” TyTy mumbled.

 I rolled my eyes. I was impressed with Grey’s
gesture, but he didn’t have to hire this gay ghetto bird. Man or
not, I would shoot a hot one right into his perfectly contoured
face with the quickness. I pushed back thoughts of slumping his
soft ass as I headed towards the door. 

 “I gotta run for a second and get my personal
items from home. I guess ya’ll can set up, and I’ll be
back.” 

 The girl I now knew as Lola stepped from
behind TyTy. 

 “Mr. Summers told me to handle anything that
you need. I have his black card, so I can run out and get you
anything that you may be missing.” She set down the load of things
in her hand and then handed me another shopping bag that was
hanging from her shoulder. “Mr. Summers already purchased
toiletries, a few fragrances, intimates, and an outfit for you to
wear home tomorrow.”

 See, this man was too much. I was a rich bitch
by birth, so the price tag on gifts weren’t what was I was elated
about. It was the fact that he’d gone out of his way to make sure
that I was taken care of. That blew me away. I’d dated around a
little bit, but no man had ever spoiled me like this, except for my
father. Here Grey was doing this for me after a two-week long work
relationship. If this nigga was trying to make me fall in love,
he’d got a bitch. For real, for real.

 A nigga was swagging tonight. I was the boss so
it was only right that I looked like THAT nigga. Dressed in a pair
of black J Brand jeans, a black John Varvatos button down shirt, a
burgundy velvet blazer courtesy of Topman and a pair of black Prada
loafers, I looked like money. The gold Movado watch, five carat
diamonds in my ears and the black and white silk pocket square were
just something light for the haters. Although I was a street nigga,
my style game was impeccable. That was the one thing my brother and
I still had in common.  More than pleased with my look, I
headed out the door. Because I had been laying low for a while, I
decided tonight was the night to go all out. I hopped into the
rented Porsche 918 Spyder and made my way to the Beverly Hills
hotel to pick up Nakami. 

 I pulled up to the Beverly Hills Hotel and
Bungalows and stepped out to hand my keys to the valet. My intent
was to go inside and grab Nakami, but before I could give the car
to the valet attendant, she came strutting out the door.

 
Fuck. Me. 

 This woman was the epitome of beauty. Dressed
in a white wrap dress with a real low v that made it impossible for
her to wear a bra and neon green Giuseppe sandals, my dick got
rock at the sight of her. Her toasted almond skin looked as if
she’d spent all day on somebody’s beach, and her super thick frame
filled out every inch of the dress I’d picked out. Her curly hair
was piled up on top of her head with curly strands falling down in
random places.

Her smirk pulled me out of my haze.  “You
look incredible,
Mrs. Summers
.” 

She laughed at me prematurely calling her my wife.
“Oh, so you tell fortunes as a side hustle?” 

“Nah, I just know my future when I see it.” 

Nakami blushed. “You’re too much. I really appreciate
everything you did for me today. I’m impressed that you were able
to nail my style. This is definitely something I would’ve picked
for myself.” 

I walked around the car and opened the door for her
and allowed her to get in the car. Then I walked to the other side
and hopped into the driver’s seat. 

 “I’m a fashion nigga,” I told her. “I like to
dress, and I know what I want to see my woman in.” 

 “Oh, your woman, huh? Look at you claiming me,
and you don’t even know if I’m available.” 

 “If you ain’t, fuck that nigga. He lost his
woman as soon as I walked in your office.” 

 Nakami tried to hide her smile, but she was
struggling. “Mr. Summers, you just don’t know what you’re getting
yourself into.” 

 I oozed out of the Porsche and slinked onto the
red carpet that was just outside of the club, feeling like I was
high on something foreign. Grey had this aura that was contagious,
and being in his presence made me feel like I was untouchable. I’d
planned to walk the carpet alone but Grey made his way to my side,
grabbing my hand and smiling for the cameras. I couldn’t help the
heat I felt rising in my body as he stood close to me. I wanted to
say fuck this party, take him back to the suite, and fuck him a
million ways to Sunday. But I’d worked hard on this event and was
anxious to experience the final product. 

 Grey and I finished posing for the cameras,
took the elevator up to the rooftop where the club was located, and
walked inside South Beach. Even over the loud music, I could hear
Grey’s jaw hit the floor. I had really outdone myself. You felt the
undeniable presence of Miami’s infamous South Beach as soon as you
entered. Each booth that lined the walls was made to look like a
cabana, with large, plush, white beds and white ottoman poofs.
Colorful curtains outlined each booth, and flat screen TV’s adorned
both sides of each booth. The entire club was drenched in exotic
flowers.  All three bars were outfitted with Wet Willies
frozen drink machines, along with every type of liquor you could
imagine. My favorite part was the sand that led to the manmade
beach, which was actually just a borderless infinity pool that
extended to the outdoor patio. The cool blue water and white sand
that led to the gorgeous view of the LA skyline made you feel like
you had just been transported to the exotic location.
Outside on the patio, there were more bed cabanas and large
pillowy lounge chairs decorated with colorful throw
pillows.