A Pleasing Temptation. Deborah Mello Fletcher
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