Smoke and Mirrors (9 page)

“Well.” Her brow shot up. “You suspected right. It’s a ho house.”

“Damn it!” He slammed his fist onto the arm of the chair. “I
knew
something wasn’t right. I didn’t see any of that shit when I went to look at the property before I bought it. I made sure of it. I didn’t see any women walking around until I’d signed the papers and went back over to check on construction. Who is it?”

She smirked and covered her mouth, then looked away as if it was simply too ridiculous to say.

“Stop playing games and tell me.” He wasn’t in the mood for this silly shit.

“It’s a woman. Her name is Paris Raven. She is a madam.”

He slumped in his seat and ran his hand over his forehead, feeling a great migraine coming on. He closed his eyes.

I don’t believe this shit.

Not only did he have competition now, but the competition had a damn vagina. He couldn’t handle this the way he would a man. No, madams were the worst—a different breed! Most of them were Fem-Nazis, ruthless bitches pretending to not be in heat. Women who acted like they had king-sized dicks, and could give it as well as receive it. He hated dealing with them in
any
capacity. They always threw their weight around, trying pitifully to demonstrate that they could go toe to toe with a man. He’d heard of Paris Raven, but had never officially laid eyes on her. Depending on how he played it, this would either be easy as pie, or his worst nightmare come true. He kicked himself once again for making such a foolhardy mistake. Upon seeing the damn property, his dick got hard—the possibilities had seemed endless…and now, so were the potential complications. He was getting sloppy.

“Fuck!” He tossed the remote control on the table in front of him. His immaculate home was now filled with filthy, soiled energy as his thoughts jumped about.

“I’m sorry, baby. Had I known where you were looking to purchase, I could have told you that she’s over there, checked it out for you first. Regardless, It’ll be okay, Smoke,” Felicia said reassuringly. “She doesn’t have
anything
on you, baby, and besides, that bitch better mind her business.”

“It’s not smart to have two McDonalds across the street from each other, Felicia.” He looked at her wearily, as if this shit was elementary and she simply wasn’t getting it. “It doesn’t matter if the employees mind their business or not; people will have to choose, and that will split the profits. I’ve bought the shit now…” He threw up his hands and rolled his eyes. “Well, I’ll see what I can arrange. I’ll have to figure this shit out as soon as possible.”

“You will, Smoke, you always do…” She flirted with him, smiling garishly as she snaked her limber fingers into his pants.

“Mmmmmm! Yeeees, Baby! There’s that big white snake I’ve been looking for! Big ass cock! Yeeeeessssss!”

Her touch felt like nothing. This was also becoming a growing concern. Sex with the ladies just didn’t do it for him anymore. Something wasn’t right, something was missing, and it had become a strain, a great effort, to even do what he used to enjoy first thing in the morning…a nice, hard fuck. Felicia was onto him with her suspicions, no matter how in denial he was about the situation. In the midst of this new state of mind, and a damn brothel located right across the street from the new apartment building he’d procured, he was the one about to get it good if he didn’t set a plan in motion, and fast…

*

Paris Raven stood
at the entranceway of One West Bank on north La Brea. Her sleeveless, lacey black blouse blew ever so slightly in the refreshing breeze. It had been so humid as of late, this slight cold front proved a breath of fresh air. She adjusted her dark sunglasses, tugged a little at the hem of her fitted black skirt and ran a hand smoothly over her straight hair, pulled taut into a high, glossy bun. After a moment squinting up at the sun, she placed the bank receipts inside her clutch as she waited for her limousine. Second after second passed, until she found herself cursing under her breath.

“Where the hell is Art?” She crossed her ankles and leaned up against the brick wall, feeling a bit like a vagabond. Growing wearier, she attempted to step back inside the place, get in some air conditioning and shade, and ring her driver once again. When she yanked open the heavy bank door to return inside, her gaze fell on something she wasn’t the least bit prepared for. There stood a tall, handsome son of a bitch with the most unusual shade of blue eyes she’d ever seen in her entire life. Worse yet, his gaze was penetrating, as if he had X-ray vision and could see right down to her lacy pale pink and black polka dot thong. The big bastard was blocking her way, her view and her ability to speak. His aquamarine eyes shined and shimmered like freshly rolled tides from the ocean, and the smirk he sported she found unnerving and sexy all at the same damn time.

“Excuse me,” she uttered, finally finding her vocal chords as they began to clumsily dance around one another.

“My apologies,” he rasped.

His. Damn. Voice.

Deep, baritone, yet sensitive and suave all at once… His dark hair was brushed away from his face, showcasing high cheekbones and a jawline she could cut a damn diamond wide open with.

He held the door further open for her, and she promptly entered, refusing to look back. It had been a long time since a man had made her do a double take, pause, lose her damn voice, swoon and trip over words unspoken. Besides, men were her business. She saw them every day,
all
day, and was rather bored with their existence in the world. Well, this man did awe her.

So what? Life goes on.

She made her way to a comfortable chair and had a seat before pulling her phone out of her purse to find out what hole Art had fallen into. Unfortunately, a shadow soon loomed over her, blocking her light, and making her pulse elevate ever so slightly.

“May I help you?” she asked without looking up, toying with her phone and jonesing for a strong ass drink in the worst way…

“I was hoping I could help
you
, actually.” At that, she took a gander at the fellow, slowly lifting her gaze.

He smiled and slid big hands into his pockets. Even his teeth were fucking perfect. There was no doubt he’d had some professional work done. People simply weren’t born that way. She liked the bastard’s sincere smile, it suited him. Yet she knew his damn kind; matter of fact, it clicked at that moment who this fucker was.

Oh shit…it’s THAT son of a bitch! It has to be!

Though she’d never seen him in person, she’d heard enough about him. Although her libido should have dropped at the realization, it actually intensified a bit, sickening her so.

“What do you want?” she snapped, clearing her throat in a nasty way, hoping it would disgust him to the point that he’d move on to other terrain to travel, explore and hassle.

“I’d like to ask you out to dinner.” He clasped his hands over his crotch and rocked ever so slightly on his heels. Such an air of quiet confidence—she’d never seen a man carry himself that way and actually mean it, as if he believed his own bullshit. Oddly enough, when he ‘performed’, it didn’t come off as an act. He felt grittily authentic, but of course, he
would
. He’d had plenty of practice. She placed her phone on her lap and removed a skinny cigarette from its sleek, hot pink container trimmed in leopard print. She rarely smoked, but would occasionally break out one during a stressful situation…and her damn underarms began to itch as sweat collected. He made her nervous as hell, and she hated the man for it.

What the hell does he want? Just go away, please!

She gripped the cigarette case. Her name was etched in gold,
real
gold, across the shiny cover. He looked down at it and nodded.

“So your name is Paris.”

“What gave it away?” She casually picked her phone back up and called Art, without waiting for an answer.

“Well, Paris is a location, but I—”

“Art! Where the hell are you?!” she hissed between gritted teeth. “Traffic? It’s not even rush hour. You could have at
least
called to let me know you’d be running late. How long do you think it will be? What do you
mean
you don’t know?”

“I can take you home.”

The tall tree stood there rock solid, rooted under the material of his dark charcoal suit, not flinching or phased by her behavior, tone and demeanor. She quickly looked away from him, refusing to see him as an option.

“No. That won’t be necessary…” she dismissed. “Uh, Art, please get here as soon as possible. I’ll be waiting outside.” She disconnected the call and abruptly got to her feet, ready to make her grand exit, but she moved a tad too fast, causing her heel to turn slightly inward after taking a few awkward steps. She swayed a bit, legs wobbling like a newborn fawn, but through it all, she didn’t miss the amused expression on his angular face.

“Watch it there…would hate for a beauty like you to fall and break her ankle.” He slicked his index finger across his chin as he stared at her shoes, seemingly admiring them. “Then I’d have to pick you up and carry you out of here. But of course, that would be just fine by me.”

She whisked past him, tired of the game. She squinted as she walked back out into the sunlight, holding her arm over her eyes as if she were a vampire thrust into an early morning death. She could feel his damn glare on her. That bastard was staring at her ass. She didn’t dare turn around to confirm; instead she inwardly prayed for Art to make like the wind and afford her an extraordinary getaway.

“I’d like to introduce myself.” He corralled around her, standing so close, she took in his masculine scent. He extended his hand, waiting for her to shake it, but she looked away, only causing him to lightly laugh. “My name is Smoke.”

“I
know
who you are.” She forced a yawn, wanting him to see just how sick and tired she was of him already, and they’d only just begun.

“Oh, do you?” He remained calm as his thick, dark brow lifted and he slowly lowered his arm like a robot whose battery had just drained dry. “Who am I, Ms. Raven?” He smiled pleasantly, like a child in anticipation of a spoonful of honey.

“You’re a damn pimp. Now if you don’t mind—”

“No, actually I
do
mind,” he said a bit roughly, the syllables folding up at the edges, though he still appeared at ease. “You see, I’ve been coming around here, doing business, and I just bought an apartment building nearby.” He pointed up the way. “I understand that you own one not too far from mine.”

She swallowed a lump of coal.

How the hell does he know this and what the hell does it matter?!

“Smoke, what do you want?” She rolled her eyes and crossed her arms impatiently. “Please get to it so we can get this over with.”

“Since we will be neighbors, I thought we should get to know one another.” He flashed that damn smile again. She couldn’t help but glare at his teeth.

Yes. Very nice choppers…

She had a ‘thing’ for nice teeth.

“And, just for the record, I take offense to you using the tone you did with me a little while ago,” he said smoothly.

“Tone?” She gave him the ‘up and down’ stare paired with a, ‘mothafucka please’ and ‘bitch, I wish you would!’ all rolled into one neat, little package as she brusquely turned away. “I owe you
nothing
except a warning to get the hell away from me and I highly suggest you get back to your poorly ran stable…no doubt a bunch of damn inflated Malibu Barbies and hoodrats!” She shooed him away.

All he did was drop his head and laugh, look nonchalantly out into traffic, then back in her direction.

“The tone I’m referring to, Paris Raven, is the one you employed when you called me a pimp, as if you yourself are exempt from the title just because you’re a woman. That’s rather insincere, isn’t it?”

She kept a straight face and looked towards the street, angrily tapping her foot.

Art…if you don’t bring yo’ ass!!!

“Now, we have a situation. We can handle this like adults or turn it into some Wild Wild West shit.” His smile grew larger. “I’m not about territory lines, but I need to ensure that we have an understanding that you won’t interfere with my work, and I won’t interfere with yours. We sell the same product and we need to maintain a healthy competition. No underhandedness or dirty deeds… That means, no using your girls to talk to my girls, try to woo them or find out confidential information. I want no communication at all between them, do you understand me?”

Paris craned her neck in his direction as if she were the child from the Exorcist, spewed pea green soup sold separately. A short pause later, she started to cackle.

“You have
absolutely
been robbed of your brain, Casper, or lost your tiny piece of a mind. Call the police and report that motherfucker stolen! Let me tell you something, Mr. Smoke,” she squinted her eyes and pointed her finger at his face, determined to tear off a piece of his narrow ass and make him eat that shit for dinner. “I will
not
agree to such things. You and these funky ass lowlife pimps can speak of all this street cred bullshit and bump hands, chests, dicks and heads on it, but I absolutely refuse. I run my business how I see fit and I am successful at what I do, so I
refuse
to alter it for
anyone
, especially a man named Smoke who thinks he can come to me, as a black woman, and boss my ass around. In case you didn’t get the memo, we’re off the plantation now!”