Smooth Operator (3 page)

But Quinton had also become one of Lyfe’s closest friends. He accepted him without question when Lyfe became a part of the company. Quinton never snickered behind his back, never passed judgment, and he always seemed to understand that although Lyfe’s higher education came from the streets, Lyfe was
intelligent and capable of the career that everyone else had questioned.

Lyfe arched his eyebrows and a thousand creases ran across his forehead. “I’m mad as hell.”

“Why?” Quinton sipped his Ketel One martini, lifting his eyes over his drink. “We need to go run up on somebody or somethin’?”

“Nah.” Lyfe shook his head. “No shit like that.”

“So, what’s the problem?”

Lyfe squinted and his lips melted into a frown. “Did you know I was going to the New York office for a month?”

“Nah.” Quinton sipped again. “Why are you going to the New York office?”

“To bring in new clients, secure bigger deals, and to assure our existing clients that although the Dow and the NASDAQ may be south, there is no need to worry because, as the board says, we are wealth builders.” Lyfe shook his head. “I don’t believe I just said that shit.”

“And verbatim too.” Quinton laughed. “That shit’s been floating around the office like a Bible quote. But anyway, what’s the problem with you going to New York? It’s a new office.”

“It’s been operating for three years.”

“Yeah, and upper management has yet to go and spend an adequate amount of time—”

“That’s why we hired Thomas to run the office.”

“Yeah, and his ass quit.”

“He didn’t quit.” Lyfe smirked. “Payton fired him.”

“Yeah, true. She did, but he also complained all the goddamn time. Said it was too much responsibility. And no one else besides you is qualified enough or trusted enough to go out to New York, handle business, and bring their asses back home without some type of catastrophe happening.”

“Man, please. Bullshit. Robertson could’ve gone, Dave, Patricia, a number of people.”

“You know you sound like a li’l bitch, right?” Quinton laughed.

Lyfe paused. “Don’t make me whup yo’ ass.”

“Nah, seriously, I really don’t see what the problem is.”

“First off, the decision was made without my knowledge and finalized without my consent.”

“Oh, so that’s it.” Quinton sipped his drink. “Your ego was fucked with. Understandable. But that’s why I restrict Dominique to staying home.”

“What did you just say?” Dominique walked over and placed her arms around Quinton’s waist. “You restrict me to what?” She looked him in his eyes. “I’m listening.” She smiled.

“You know I’m joking, baby.” Quinton kissed her on the forehead.

“You better be,” she said, pushing her shoulder-length hair behind her ears.

Quinton looked back to Lyfe. “Chill, it’ll be fine.”

“Excuse me.” Payton came from behind Lyfe and grabbed his hand. “Honey, I want you to meet someone.” She waved two couples, one white and one Asian, over toward them.

Still fuming, Lyfe thought about leaving, but Quinton’s words made him question how bad it would look for him if he did.

Once the couples were standing before them, Payton made the introductions. “Lyfe, Quinton, Dominique, this is Mr. and Mrs. Raymond Cunningham and Mr. and Mrs. John Chin, and they are—”

“The CEO and Financial Vice President of the Public Employees Pension and Deferred Compensation Fund of New York State,” Lyfe said with confidence. “I’m pleased that you all accepted the invitation.”

“How could we resist?” Raymond smiled. “Especially since you sent us two sets of first class tickets and arranged hotel suites for the weekend. Our wives wouldn’t allow us to refuse.”

John Chin joined in, “Because if we did they would’ve been upset forever.”

“After all,” Mrs. Chin interjected, “hell knows no fury like a woman scorned.”

All the women laughed and the men nodded in agreement.

Mrs. Cunningham looked toward Dominique. “Your dress is absolutely stunning.”

“Yours as well,” Dominique returned her compliment. “I do hope that while you’re here you’ll get to explore Los Angeles.”

“We were hoping the same,” John Chin said as he looked toward Lyfe. “And while we’re here we’d like to arrange a business meeting.”

“Well,”—Payton batted her extended lashes—“we aim to please.”

“We certainly do,” Lyfe assured them. “But I tell you what, like my wife says, this isn’t a board meeting, it’s New Year’s Eve, so we want you all to party and have a wonderful time. Besides, you’re here with your wives, so take the next few days and enjoy the City of Angels. I’m due in New York in two weeks and at that time we can discuss business, but until then let’s enjoy.”

Everyone agreed and after a few moments of light chatter, the New Year’s countdown began. “Five, four, three, two, one! Happy New Year!” Everyone lifted champagne-filled flutes in the air for a toast and cheered. White and silver balloons and streamers fell from the ceiling, scattered over everyone, and drifted toward the floor like snow.

The jazz orchestra began playing a swinging tune and the dance floor quickly filled. In an effort not to draw unneeded attention to them, Lyfe wrapped his arms around Payton’s waist and began to move slowly with her. Payton slid her arms around his neck and whispered to him, “Lyfe, I really don’t want you to be upset with me. I’m sending you to New York because you’re good at what you do. And, honestly, I hated to be so hard on you, but there are times when you seem to forget where you came from.”

Immediately, Lyfe stopped dancing and looked down into
Payton’s face. “I’m sick of you speaking to me like you have lost your damn mind.”

“Well, honey, the next time—”

“The next time, I’ma sling your ass across the room.” He released her from his embrace, walked out of the double doors, and onto the elevator.

“Lyfe—” Payton called as she walked swiftly behind him, only to be halted by the elevator doors closing in her face.

Lyfe was so pissed that when the elevator opened and he stepped off into the underground parking lot, where his kettle-black Range Rover was, he didn’t notice Payton breathing heavily and leaning against the hood until she reached for him.

Lyfe jumped and once he realized it was Payton he stared at her; her heavy sighs revealed that she’d run down six flights of stairs in stilettos to beat him here.

“I can’t let you leave,” she said as she placed her arms around his waist and began kissing him on his neck.

He pushed her away. “If you don’t get the hell away from me. I’m done with you and your bullshit. You know how hard it is to be with you? It’s like you wanna be the fuckin’ man. If I didn’t know any better I would think you had a fuckin’ dick and shit.” He laughed in disbelief. “Yo’, if you know like I know, homie, you’ll get out my fuckin’ face.” He reached for the door handle and Payton placed her hand over his.

“Wait.” She sighed. “Lyfe, honey, I’m sorry.” She cupped his chin. “You know I love you.”

“Payton—”

“And I know I need to change …” She wrapped her arms around his neck and locked her fingers. “And I will … I am … willing to change.” She lightly kissed his Adam’s apple.

Silence.

“Please say something.”

More silence.

“I’m sorry, baby,” she said, unbuttoning his starched white shirt and running her tongue through his smooth chest hairs; sliding her apologies over his colossal pecs. “Please forgive me,” Payton said as her tongue led a wet trail down the center of his eight-pack to his right nipple, where she felt his heart thunder against her lips.

The cool breeze cut across their skin like razor blades, as the echoing of car engines, the slamming of car doors, and the lingering laughter of people in the distance turned Payton on even more.

For a fleeting moment she thought about how her company was ringing in 2010 a few flights above, and how embarrassed she would be if anyone saw her … but the risk of getting caught, and the challenge of soothing her man’s bruised feelings while getting her erotic jollies off in public forced the freak in her to take over.

Payton unzipped Lyfe’s tuxedo pants with her teeth and he grabbed her hair and yanked her head back. She looked into his eyes and said, “Let me do this.”

She worked her tongue in between the sash of his boxers and pulled out his treasure with her mouth. She could feel his grip on her hair loosen as she rubbed the light glimmer of precum glistening on the tip across her lips like gloss. “I need you to forgive me …,” she whispered repeatedly as she licked the bulging veins and ridges.

Payton eased Lyfe’s shaft from her mouth and sucked only the tip. This was a new trick and before Lyfe could wonder where she learned it from he was pouring rain between her full lips.

Payton swallowed and just when she thought he was going to leave her on her knees, wondering if their marriage had hit its bottom, he lifted her from the ground and roughly bent her over the hood of his SUV.

There were voices in the distance that became clearer with
each passing moment; but right now—at this moment—Lyfe didn’t give a damn because he was still pissed, stressed, and confused about what to do with this beautiful bitch.

He ripped her panties off and spread her ass cheeks, ran his hard dick between them, and rammed his member through her wet and pasty pussy lips. He stroked her fiercely, taking no shorts, and showing no remorse. “Your fuckin’ ass.” He gritted his teeth as he yanked her head back. “Better learn how to act.” He slapped one side of her ass and then the other, forcing her to scream out his name. “Lyfe!” she yelled, and he whipped her around toward him.

“Shut … the … fuck … up,” he said in a low, even, and sinister voice as he entered her again. “I get,” he said with every hard stroke, “so fuckin’ sick of you.” Lyfe pushed the tips of his fingers into Payton’s neck, the tips of each digit almost piercing her skin. His dick grew harder with each struggling gasp that she took.

Car engines and voices continued to sing in the background as Payton felt as if she were floating above her body. This was a high that most people only spoke about, but were too worried about the possibility of death to experience.

Payton wanted to scream and tell Lyfe to choke her harder as he pounded her pussy with unspeakable force, but she couldn’t—all her attempts were clouded by the small sips of air her body could take. Payton knew she was due to pass out at any moment and all she could do was sink her nails into Lyfe’s back and listen to him as he said, “The next time you talk shit like that to me, I’ma whup your fuckin’ ass. I’m not the fuckin’ one—”

Lyfe stopped himself midsentence, because their bodies were having their own conversation and it was taking precedence over the words coming from his mouth. It had only been a few seconds, but the relief he received from wrapping his football player hands around the base of her neck made him feel renewed,
and refreshed, as if he’d done his civic duty and made her understand that
she
was not the man.

Payton’s cream overflowed and poured out in an arctic blast of putty that tangled into Lyfe’s pubic hairs while his cum lined her collapsed walls.

Once Lyfe released his grip on Payton her shoulders slumped, and for a brief moment, as the distant voices were now upon them, Lyfe thought Payton was dead. He looked into her face and whispered, “Payton.”

She opened her eyes slowly and smiled.

“Is everything okay?” floated from behind them.

Lyfe knew it was Quinton so he did his best to quickly fix his pants.

“Yes, everything is fine.” Payton’s voice was slightly groggy as Lyfe extended his hand and helped her slide off the hood of the SUV. She steadied herself on the ground and began to smooth the wrinkles out of her dress. “I was just a little light-headed.” She slyly kicked her panties lying below the driver’s-side door out of sight.

“Light-headed.” Quinton said, suspiciously, “Really?”

“Yes.”

“Well, there are a few people upstairs looking for you two.” He looked Payton over. “A few bigwigs and potential clients.”

“Okay.” Payton caught a glance of her disheveled reflection in the neighboring car’s window. “I’ll be right there.”

“I’ll meet you upstairs,” Quinton said, turning around and walking away.

Payton turned to Lyfe, once Quinton was out of sight. “Are you coming?”

He didn’t respond and instead he slid into his Range, started the ignition, and left her standing there.

“I
t’s a pity you already have a wife
.” Tanya Stephens’s, “A Pity,” floated from Arri’s CD player, as she eased the blunt loaded with purple haze between her MAC-covered lips and flicked her Bic to light it. She leaned against the moist windowpane in her bedroom and spoke into the air, “Happy New Year.” She paused and took the pain that crept into her chest and released it with a hard toke of marijuana.

She felt slightly dizzy, being she hadn’t smoked a blunt in over a year, but tonight, especially tonight—at the dawning of a new year—she needed this. She needed to escape the ache of her life teetering on the edge and hanging on to old and ridiculous shit. She needed a new start, and the coolness of the purple haze lifted the weight off her shoulders and made her believe that anything was possible.

Arri took another toke and smiled as she remembered what it felt like to live without a care in the world and how it felt to be back to herself, Arrielle Askew, a Brooklyn mami with Trinidadian roots. An Island girl, who was scared to love, because she’d lost too many times to count …

New Year’s Eve, 2005. Sweat poured from Arri’s brow as she wined on Ian’s middle and he cupped her breasts and massaged
her nipples with palms full of rose petals. They were in the tub, making love, splashing water over the sides and onto the floor. Ian ran his hands from Arri’s nipples down to her thighs.

The water splashed against his shaft, some of it hitting him in the chin, as Arri squeezed her sticky walls over him. “You know I’m addicted.”

Arri paused. “To what?”

“You.” Ian wrapped his lips around Arri’s chocolate nipples as she cupped water in her hands and cascaded it over his head and into his dreads. The water ran over his face, over his lips, and onto her nipples, where his soft, sensual tugs sent her to the moon and left her there. “Tell me you love me,” Ian whispered.