Games Divas Play (A Diva Mystery Novel) (20 page)

I changed into some denim cutoff shorts and a white tank top, and put my long hair up into a ponytail to get comfortable for a few hours. Walking over to the coffee table in the living room, I pulled a bottle of red wine out of the huge gift basket stuffed with fruits, cheese, crackers, and cookies that
Black Enterprise
had sent to my suite. I poured myself a glass and went out onto the balcony to enjoy the view. As I leaned my hip up against the railing and took a sip of wine, I could see a red Lamborghini pull up to the valet stand. I wondered if it was Chris Rock or Charlie Sheen, both of whom I had scoped out in the dimly lit lobby earlier as they were taking meetings. As I leaned over the rail to get a closer look at who was getting out of the car, I made a mental note to invite him to the party as well. The driver, a very tall black man dressed in jeans and a white-and-black-striped button-down shirt, got out of the car and took off his sunglasses. It was Kareem. Good, at least his ass wa
s on time.

Now, I’m never the type of chick to get shook. Ever. But given that I hadn’t spoken with Marcus in two weeks and Miki’s comments about delivering him for the show, this meeting tonight with Kareem was even more important. We had to get things ironed out tonight. I don’t know what kind of game he thought he was playing, but I wasn’t about to be the one that got burned. We both had too much skin in the game to walk
away now.

“Come on in,” I said, opening the door to my suite a few minutes later. Kareem smiled, but I wanted to smack the grin right off his face. He followed me down the hallway into the living room area of the suite, and I was sure he was enjoying the view of my denim shorts barely skimming the bottom of my golden bro
wn cheeks.

Without speaking or asking, he poured himself a drink from the bottle of wine that I had just opened. As Marcus’s cousin and agent, Kareem Davis certainly made the most out of his role, riding on Marcus’s coattails and pretending to be the loyal, hardworking agent all these years. It had served
him well.

I held out my empty wineglass to him so that he could pour me a refill as well. Kareem licked his full lips as his hooded gaze traveled up my smooth bare legs, took in the frayed denim strings from my shorts skimming across the tops of my toned thighs, and went up to my juicy breasts straining against the tight fabric of my thin tank top. I knew he could tell I wasn’t wearing a bra and that excited him. Whatever. He knew it went without saying that he could look at this all he wanted, but there ain’t nothing on this menu for him tonight. This brown sugar kitty kat belongs to hi
s boy now.

Before I sat down, I walked over to close the French doors leading into the bedroom. No need to give him any ideas. That definitely wasn’t jumping of
f tonight.

“Have a seat, Kareem,” I said, motioning to the beige sofa as I walked over to sit opposite him in one of the brown arm chairs, my long toned legs dangling over
the side.

“So you wanted this meeting, Laila. What’s so urgent? What’s on your mind?” Kareem asked as he looked down at his oversize chrome Rolex watch with the diamond face and then downed the contents of the wineglass in one gulp. Classless
as always.

“You know what’s on my mind. Marcus. Why hasn’t he been returning my messages or made plans to get together?”
I snapped.

“Well, in case you haven’t read in every newspaper in the country or every website, his wife—you do remember that he has a wife, right? Well, Mrs. King was attacked, so you’ll have to excuse Marcus if he can’t attend to your every little need r
ight now.”

“Don’t get cute, Kareem. We both know that Marcus is in love with me and wants a divorce. Just like we planned. And while I’ll certainly admit it isn’t the optimal time to leave his wife right at this moment, once he cuts the strings, the world will accept his decision. Vanessa King will fade into the background where she belongs. He’s too big of a star for the world to turn its bac
k on him.”

“Oh really,” Kareem drawled, his voice dripping wit
h sarcasm.

“Marcus’s personal life is his own. Marcus can do what he wants, and you know it’s in both of our best interests for him to l
eave her.”

“What I know is that you need to calm the hell down and fall back for a minute. Let the rumors of your affair and Vanessa’s attack die down in the press. And we certainly don’t need it coming up this week at
All-Star.”

I hated when he said her name, and that’s probably why he said it, just to mess with me. Forget Vanessa King. One way or another, she was going to be out of the picture. I reached for the bottle of wine and poured myself anot
her glass.

“In case you’ve forgotten, I have my show’s premiere party this weekend, and I need Marcus to make an appearance. My fans and my sponsors,
DivaDish
and Moët, are expecting a big splash.” Making our debut as a couple on the red carpet would make the paparazzi go wild and cement our relationship in the eyes of the public. Sure it would be a little messy, but we could ride it out. As long as we had each other, nothing else
mattered.

“Wait a minute,” Kareem said, leaning forward with a raised eyebrow. “Did you just say that
DivaDish
is sponsoring your premie
re party?”

“Yes, I did,” I huffed. “Along with Moët. Why? Is there a
problem?”

Kareem collapsed back against the sofa cushions and looked up at th
e ceiling.

“You’re just so messy, and you don’t even know it. You really are a dumb bird. The editor in chief of
DivaDish
, Nia Bullock, is Vanessa King’s bes
t friend!”

While that certainly wasn’t news I was aware of or expecting to hear, I was sure that Miki had that relationship unde
r control.

“Look, Glam Network VP Miki Woods is running this thing from start to finish, so there’s no way Nia is going to cross her and lose her damn job. Miki is not going to let Nia mess with her money or her
ratings.”

“Are you crazy?” Kareem asked as he laughed derisively and then took another sip of his wine. “No, seriously, are you out of your mind? You must be bat-shit crazy if you think Marcus is coming to your little premiere party. For God’s sake, you psycho, he and his wife, Vanessa, are hosting their annual Midnight Charity Gala after the All-Star game. There’s absolutely no way he can go to your party Friday night and then show up with his wife on his arm the next night in front of media from around the world, the Gladiators’ front office, and our corporate sponsors. That would be career suicide and would make the LeBron James ESPN announcement debacle look like a hiccup. You have to be
patient.”

“Patient? I’ve been more than patient with this bullshit. But All-Star weekend is my official coming-out party, and I need my man on my red carpet. This is no
t a game.”

As Kareem became more frustrated and animated, I kept my voice low and calm. He had much more to lose t
han I did.

“Kareem, darling, a deal was made,” I said as I shrugged my shoulders. “A very serious and lucrative deal on several fronts, I might add, and I certainly don’t need to tell you that if things don’t work out, the consequences could be qu
ite dire.”

“We’re going to play this my way,” Kareem snapped. “Don’t get ahead of yourself, Laila. I control Marcus. I’m the reason he’s not contacting you right now, and until I say it’s all clear, he won’t.” He poured himself another glass of wine, finishing off t
he bottle.

“And don’t think I won’t call Glam Network and get your little show shut down,” he said, regaining his composure and smirking at me. “All I have to do is threaten to sue on Marcus’s behalf, and your reality TV career
is over.”

I chuckled. Kareem had made the terrible mistake of threatening to mess with my money—
and
my man. He thought he was in control, but thanks to my boy Darryl, he was about to learn I held the cards. The tide had turned, and this punk didn’t eve
n know it.

“Well, it would certainly be a shame if my friends and I were to let Marcus find out the truth behind the car accident so many years ago,” I said as I cocked my chin at Kareem, letting him know two could play at that game but only one could win. “I bet he’d be looking at you in an entirely different way if he knew what really happened that night, now wou
ldn’t he?”

Checkma
te,
bitch
.

Suddenly Kareem sprang up from the couch like a panther, and before I knew it, he had grabbed my arm and jerked me up from the chair. He pulled me roughly up against his body, my toes dangling over the carpet. His eyes were dark with anger as his face came down close to mine, his hot breath flashing in my face as he spoke with a low, dangerous tone I’d never hea
rd before.

“Let me make myself clear, you trick-ass bitch. You better watch your mouth and watch your step. Your pussy ain’t good enough to get you out of the mess you’re headed toward. Trust me, I know.” He laughed crudely and shoved me back down into
the chair.

He leaned in over me, his large powerful arms on either side of the chair blocking
my escape.

“Although I wouldn’t mind tasting it one m
ore time.”

He leaned in, laughing with lust in his eyes as he began to snake his lips and slithery wet tongue along my neck while moaning. When one of his arms reached to cup my breasts, I forced myself not to recoil and pretended I was enjoying his rough touch as I leaned into
his hand.

“Oh yes, baby,” I moaned as I opened my legs and planted my feet flat against
the floor.

“You know you want big daddy to put that long stroke on you. Ain’t that right, girl?” Kareem said when he saw me part my thighs. “Say you want it, Laila.” Kareem’s breath quickened, and when he let go of the chair with his other arm to push down the thin straps on my tank top and his mouth began to move hungrily down to my erect nipples, I knew I had him right where I w
anted him.

I grabbed his thickening manhood with both my hands and squeezed and twisted as hard as I could, just like my self-defense coordinator had shown in the class I took three years ago. I couldn’t believe I remembered what to do. And it had worked! Kareem howled and jerked back hard, landing on his back on the carpeted floor with a loud thud. The people in the room below must have thought it was an earthquake. Kareem cupped his bruised manhood while he rolled around on
the floor.

“You fucking bitch . . . ,” he groaned. I pushed strands of hair back off my face that had worked their way loose from my ponytail during our struggle and then got up from my chair, pulled the straps of my tank top back up, and stood
over him.

“Silly rabbit, haven’t you ever heard no means no, muthafucka?” I said as I stepped over his body and took pleasure in the image of him writhing in pain. “Excuse me, but I need to get ready for my next meeting. Let your
self out.”

Kareem struggled to catch his breath and leaned on the coffee table to try to get back up onto
his feet.

“Oh, and don’t forget to tell my man that I look forward to seeing him at my party Friday night. I miss him,” I said as I smirked at Kareem who was now standing but still holding himself and wincing in the li
ving room.

I then turned and opened the doors leading into the bedroom and locked them securely behind me. While I doubted Kareem would be stupid enough to try me again, I’d rather be safe than sorry. Walking into the spacious marble and glass bathroom to turn on the shower, I began to peel off my clothes and drop them onto the floor as the steam from the shower filled the gl
ass stall.

Clearly, tonight’s events had confirmed that once Marcus and I were married, I’d quickly need to figure out a way to get him to make some changes. Kareem had stepped out of line tonight; he obviously didn’t know how to play his position. He’d played off Marcus’s loyalty and sympathy for too long. And once Marcus knew the truth, even he would agree it was time for a
n upgrade.

CHAPTER 16

Nia

I
was on fire for
his touch.

Terrence’s large hands snaked along my aching body, teasing me. I arched up off my couch to meet his hungry lips with mine as we picked up where we had left off. We couldn’t stay away from each other. When he had shown up unannounced, I knew there was no use fighting what was b
etween us.

His warm velvety tongue slipped between my swollen lips, stroking and probing. I wrapped my arms around him and began to rake my nails down his broad muscled back to the waistband of his jeans. He pushed his pelvis into mine, slowly winding his hips into
me deeply.

“You taste so good,” he whispered huskily in my ear as his tongue traced the outline of my ear and then flicked lightly at my earlobes. I arched my neck to give him more access. His hands reached down to the waistband of my jeans, and he pulled out my blouse and then began to unbutton it slowly. My full breasts, aching for his electric touch, strained against the pink demi-cut bra. He looked down and unclipped the delicate pearl enclosure in the front a
nd moaned.

“You’re so beautiful, Nia,” he said as his dark head dipped down to encircle one of my puckered cocoa-brown nipples with his mouth. His hot breath followed by his wet mouth drove me crazy. I grabbed at his head and moved his juicy lips over to my other quivering mound. He lovingly licked at my other nipple and bit at it, causing me to mo
an deeply.

“Oh, is that what you want?” he asked, teasing me with his nibbles back and forth between m
y breasts.

“Yes,” I said breathlessly. His hungry mouth moved back t
o my lips.

“Are you sure you want this?” he asked. He looked into my eyes, daring me to say no as one of his hands slipped down betwee
n my legs.

All I could do was moan in affirmation as I felt my body respond to his touch, warm wetness creeping into my sil
k panties.

“Nia. Nia. Nia . . .”
I heard the deep voice ringing in my ears, and suddenly someone was knocking on
the door.

I opened my eyes to answer and was startled to see MJ seated next to me, knocking on the hair dryer pushed down low ove
r my head.

“Uh, boo, what in the Northwest hell were you dreaming about?” he asked, laughing as he cut off the hot dryer I had fallen asleep under on the top floor of Walter’s Salon and Spa. I sheepishly looked around the popular Upper East Side pampering palace and was relieved to see that the two other women seated under dryers in the little alcove were too engrossed in their iPads and hadn’t heard me over the sound of their own dryers. The rest of the salon was buzzing with the whir of blow-dryers and the chatter of clients gossiping while getting their hair relaxed, braided, colored, blown out, or a new weave sewn by some of the best stylists in the city. Old-school R&B was piped into the loftlike space that had exposed brick walls and bleach-blond wood floors. I looked down at the delicate gold Piaget watch on my wrist and saw I had been asleep for about twenty-fiv
e minutes.

“That must have been some dream, honey. Damn, drool and everything. Wipe your mouth.” MJ handed me
a tissue.

I wiped at the corners of my mouth and shook my he
ad at him.

“What are you even doing here?” I ducked out from under the dryer and pushed the round metal hood over to the side. Reaching up to undo some of the black wrapping papers stretched around my head, I ran my fingers around the front and back of my head, praying that my hair was fi
nally dry.

“I came to give you your phone, which you left at the office when you ran out for your hair appointment,” MJ said as he handed me my white iPhone. “You’re welco
me, diva.”

“Thanks, MJ,” I said, playfully punching his arm. “Did I miss any important calls?” I said as I began to scroll through the
messages.

“Terrence has been blowing up your phone like every fifteen minutes if that’s what you’re asking,” MJ said as he crossed his legs and flicked a speck of invisible dust off the black pants he had paired with a striped Comme des Garçons T-shirt and Levi’s black fitted den
im jacket.

“Really?” I saw on the phone’s screen that I had indeed missed five calls from Terrence but that he hadn’t left a message. I punched in his number to call him back, but got his voice mail and told him to hi
t me back.

“Yes, really,” MJ said as he smirked at me. “So what’s up with you guys?” I gathered my navy patent leather Dior handbag and headed over to Walter’s chair. MJ trailed me and continued to talk and type on his B
lackBerry.

“All dry?” Walter asked as I slipped into his black leather chair. He ran his fingers through my short black cut and then turned to plug in the flat iron and two curling irons he would need to d
o my hair.

“Yes, I think we’re done.” Hoping to cut MJ off from pursuing his line of questioning in mixed company, I gave MJ the evil eye, like the one my mother used to give me in church when she would look down from her perch in the choir and see me cutting up in the pews
. No luck.

“Good. We know we’ve got to get this hair right so you can fly out to Phoenix tomorrow for All-Star,” Walter said as he sprayed a cloud of sheen spray o
n my head.

“I know that’s right,” MJ said, leaning up against the wall. “She can’t be hanging out with me, lookin
g busted.”

“Chile, please,” I said, taking my hand from under the cape and flicking it in his direction. “You already know I’m going to be looking better than you. Ain’t that right,
Walter?”

Walter just laughed, knowing he didn’t want any part of this d
iscussion.

“Whatever, I’m sure you’ll do your best. So back to my question. What’s up with you and
Terrence?”

“What do you mean?
” I asked.

“Don’t play innocent with me. I know ya better than anyone besides maybe your momma. You got that goofy look on your face when I told you he was blowing up yo
ur phone.”

“I wasn’t making
any face.”

“Yeah, right. Like I said, I
know you.”

“You know we’re working on this
thing
together,” I said, emphasizing the word
thing
so that he wouldn’t use any names in this salon with all these b
usybodies.

“Well, I think you’re just as interested in Terrence as you are with figuring out this
thing
,” MJ said with equal
emphasis.

“What we had is over. He’s engaged a
fter all.”

“He may be engaged, but he ain’t married. Remember that scene in the movie
Brown Sugar
when Queen Latifah and Sanaa Lathan were sitting at the wedding, watching Taye Diggs about to marry Nicole Ari Parker, and Queen was poking Sanaa and telling her to do something and said, ‘She’s about to marry y
our man’?”

“Uh, yeah,” I said, unsure where this little black cinema flashback
was going.

“Well,
this
queen is trying to tell you to do something before someone else marries
your man!”

“I can’t even deal with you right now. I need to concentrate on holding my head straight so Walter can hook up my hair.” Just then my phone rang. As I took it out from underneath the nylon cape, MJ leaned in to see w
ho it was.

“Ha!” he said, laughing as I flipped him the bird and then answered Terren
ce’s call.

“Hey,” I said, trying to talk low so that MJ couldn’t overhear our con
versation.

“Hi, where have you been? I’ve been trying to reach you all day.” Terrence’s deep voice sent a warm feeling dow
n my back.

“I’m at the hair salon, and I left my phone at the office, but MJ just brought
it to me.”

“Oh, well look. Where are you? I’ll come pick you up. I’ve tracked down Carlo’s mom in Harlem. Maybe she can give us some clues as to why her son was
murdered.”

I gave him the address to the salon and then ended
the call.

“Coming to pick you up, huh?” MJ said, nodding at me with a knowing look i
n his eye.

“Yes, it’s just about that thing we’re working on
together.”

“Uh-huh. It’s about that thing, all right. That thing. That thing. That thiiiinnngggg.” MJ’s version of Lauryn Hill’s old hit song tr
ailed off.

I made a mental note to find a new
assistant.

Terrence and I headed up the West Side Highway to Harlem in another
unmarked police car. He’d clearly taken what was available as the trash-strewn car was less than immaculate. Discarded fast-food bags littered the floor along with gum wrappers and old newspapers. And the bundle of Christmas tree air fresheners tied to the rearview mirror didn’t help mask the car’s odor of sweat and stale c
igarettes.

“Thanks for sparing no expense on the ride,” I remarked as I tried the button on the door handle to lower the window for some fresh air. Of course it w
as broken.

“What are you talking about?” Terrence said, laughing as he hit the dashboard with the palm of his hand. “This is one of New York’s finest undercover vehicles. Do you know how many bad guys I took down in a car just like this back in
the day?”

“Maybe it should stay back in the day.” I chuckled, crinkling my no
se at him.

“Best thing I could grab on short notice,” he said. “As you can see, a brother was in cou
rt today.”

I hadn’t wanted to mention it, but he did look really good today in a dark gray wool suit, navy-blue pinstriped shirt, and midnight-blue silk tie knotted at his neck. He looked just as fine as he had in my dream at the hair salon, but I didn’t dare tell him tha
t, either.

“I forgot to tell you I’m heading to All-Star weekend tomorrow, too,” Terrence said, changing the subject as he loosened his tie and tossed it onto the seat b
etween us.

“Oh, really. Why?” I said, hoping my nonchalant tone hid my sudden excitement at this surpri
sing news.

“Vivica is modeling in some annual National Basketball Wives Association charity luncheon on Saturday afternoon, and they gave her a couple of tickets to all the events, so I thought I’d tag along. I’ve never been to an All-S
tar game.”

“Me neither,” I said brightly, trying to mask my disappointment that his fiancée would be attending. What else did I expect? Did I think he was going to go to be with me? “So, hey, when are you and Vivica getting
married?”

“August fourteen, at the Ritz-Carlton on Gran
d Cayman.”

“Oh, that will be nice. Grand Cayman is b
eautiful.”

“You’ve be
en there?”

“Oh, yeah, my ex-boyfriend Eric and I went there once for vacation.” The lie slipped out before I could even st
op myself.

“Cool. Vivica picked the place. You know, my mom was tripping at first ’cause she wanted to have it uptown and watch her baby get married at Ab
yssinian.”

“Yes, I know Brenda Joyce wasn’t too happy to hear about no Cayman Islands,” I said, laughing at the thought of Ms. Brenda hearing
the news.

“She got over it, though, and she’s got a plane ticket and everything, so it should be pre
tty nice.”

An awkward silence filled the car. It felt weird to be talking about his wedding when we were about to make love in my apartment just a
week ago.

“So, hey uh, while I’m out there, I also want to follow up on that dead-Phoenix-dancer case,” Terrence said. I was thankful he changed the subject back to something with which we were both more co
mfortable.

“Why?” I asked, turning in my seat to look at him as he steered the car along Amsterd
am Avenue.

“I don’t know. But I’m wondering if that isn’t somehow connected to everything else we’re looking into. I don’t think it’s a coincidence that the Kings started receiving those threatening e-mails and text messages after that cheerleader was found
murdered.”

“Maybe you’re right,” I said. I didn’t tell him that I was working on my own cheerleader leads. I had contacted my ex, Eric, and asked him for a favor. We hadn’t spoken since our breakup last year, so I hadn’t been sure what to expect when I called. Eric was happy to hear from me, and we managed to even shoot the shit amicably for a few minutes before I got to the point of my call. I sent him all the text messages and e-mails Vanessa had received and asked if he and some of his hacker buddies could figure out where the threats were coming from. Luckily, I didn’t have to mention anything about the hundreds of dollars in
wasted face cream he’d jacked off into to get him to do me this solid. He said he was happy to do it and would get back to me within forty-ei
ght hours.