The Marriage Auction 2, Part 1

Episode 1

Episode 1

Lying is for Losers

NAOMI

“Men are dogs.” I whispered to myself as I looked at my most recent text message. Every last godforsaken one of them. I ground down on my molars as the muscle in my jaw worked overtime to help cool my jets. I stared down at my cell phone, reviewing Jamal’s last infuriating, but not altogether unsurprising, text.

From: Jamal Watson

Sorry, last weekend was fun, but I’m not looking for anything serious right now. You’re a beautiful woman. You deserve better. If you want to hook up again when you’re in town, hit me up.

I pressed my lips so tightly together you’d think I’d just sucked on a lemon wedge. The nerve of this man. Led me on to believe he was into me. All the way up until I gave him the honey pot, then poof! Gone. He got what he wanted from me. And now I was just the next in what was likely a long line of women he’d fucked and then ditched with a single text.

You deserve better.

Wasn’t that the damn truth? Not that I needed a player to tell me that fact. I wasn’t one of those simpering women who needed a man to tell her that she was beautiful in order to believe it. I knew I had a pretty face and a killer body because I worked hard to keep fit, and the good Lord above graced me with stellar genetics. I was also rich. The kind of wealth 99% of the population would never reach. I’d not only been born into generational wealth, but I’d made money on my own. One couldn’t say I was self-made, as my family absolutely fed me from a silver spoon and provided me with a trust fund I tapped right into once I graduated from Princeton. Still, I was successful in my own right.

There weren’t a lot of women in the precious gems business. My company purchased the finest quality gems from all over the world. My team then evaluated, tested, cut, shaped, and provided certificates of authenticity with all the appropriate metrics for all of our jewels. Our best clients were retailers such as Harry Winston, Cartier, Tiffany’s, Van Cleef & Arpels, Piaget and more. Though my passion lay in designing one-of-a-kind pieces. Those took me months to make and went for obscene amounts at private auction.

None of the men I dated online had any idea who I was or what I was worth. This was intentional because I had hoped to find real, true love. Unlike my parents whose marriage had been arranged. The top one percenters of the world loved to pair like with like. Money with money. Very few in my circles had a love match. My father believed me wedding a man from the upper crust of society, handpicked to continue the upward trajectory of our generational earnings, was absolutely necessary.

I disagreed. Thus the entire reason I was in Las Vegas in the first place.

To choose a husband.

I tossed my cell phone onto the bar and made eye contact with the bartender just as a man smoothly approached to take the only seat available, the one next to me.

“Were you saving this seat for someone?” His voice was low and deep, reminiscent of my mother’s favorite actor, Mr. Morgan Freeman—the man, the legend.

I glanced up, readying a polite half smile when the scents of leather and spice hit my nose. My gaze settled on the striking, chiseled face of a startlingly handsome Black man. I opened my mouth and then clamped it shut, forgetting what he’d asked after taking in the grandeur of his good looks. He was at least six foot three with the build of a football player. Exactly the type of man I needed. One who would not only look exceptional on my arm, but strong enough to protect me from people who might want to hurt me. In my line of business, having a lover who could be both was ideal.

The man smiled wide, his bright, perfectly white teeth on full display as he gestured to the seat. “May I?”

“Oh, uh absolutely. I’m sorry. You…looked familiar for a second.” Fat lie. He looked like no man I knew because I would remember someone that handsome. He turned the barstool to the side and wedged his massive frame between me and the seat.

I inhaled deeply, letting his magnificent scent fill my lungs and settle my rapidly beating heart. I put my hand to my chest and cleared my throat. I was positively dying of thirst at the sight of such a gorgeous creature.

The bartender approached. “What can I get you two?” he asked me and my accidental companion.

“Oh, no!” I shook my head. “He’s not…” I moved to correct the bartender.

“I’ll have an IPA.” The man spoke in a sultry timbre that wove deep into my chest like a purr. “Whatever you recommend. And the lady?” His full lips twitched as he leaned a tad closer, quirking his head to the side in what I took to be a challenge.

“I’ll have a vodka martini, shaken, two olives,” I rattled off my favorite cocktail.

The bartender nodded and left to make our drinks. I turned to the side, putting my legs on full display as I crossed them not-so-subtly. My legs were my favorite feature. They were long, toned, and shined to perfection.

The man’s dark gaze dipped to my limbs as if on autopilot, and I watched, satisfied, as he slowly, almost sensually, licked his bottom lip and sucked that bit of flesh back into his mouth. He put a fist up to cover the move and promptly looked away, but I’d caught him in the act of checking me out. I’d crafted the moment. I’d have been salty all night if he’d been too gentlemanly. I liked a man who was chivalrous but also had passion and intrigue in his bag of tricks.

“You didn’t have to pretend we’re together,” I announced.

“Not gonna lie, I saw you from across the room while you were checking your phone. You seemed upset, and my momma always taught me that a kind word or a good deed goes a long way. I figured maybe you could use something to make you smile. A free drink never hurt anyone.” He grinned.

“Too true. Thank you. I’m Naomi Shaw.” I put my hand out in greeting.

“Memphis Taylor.” He took my hand, and like a grizzly bear holding the hand of a child, his swallowed up mine. “That’s a mighty paw you’ve got there,” I teased.

He chuckled, warm and deep, the sound causing butterflies to flutter their silky wings inside my stomach.

The bartender approached as a quiet hum settled over us.

“Thank you…for the drink,” I whispered, suddenly feeling shy, which was the exact opposite of my normal, overly confident approach to most things, including overtures from the opposite sex.

“You’re welcome.” Memphis lifted his glass. “To smiling, every day,” he said with his pearly whites clearly visible, proving he practiced what he preached. I stared at his beautiful, kind, angular face. I’d thought he was handsome before, but when he smiled—breathtaking.

“To smiling.” I couldn’t help but grin myself.

“Aw, there’s what I was hoping for. A beautiful smile to go with a stunning woman.” He clinked his beer glass lightly to the edge of my martini.

“Flattery will get you everywhere .” I sipped the vodka slowly, allowing the tang from the olives and the burn from the alcohol to wash over my tastebuds before I swallowed.

“Is that right?” He chuckled. “I’ll have to remember that.”

I said nothing, preferring to be mysterious rather than give anything more away. I wasn’t here to meet a man. Not in the conventional sense. Besides, only seconds prior to Memphis approaching, I’d been kicked to the curb by a man I’d genuinely thought had promise for more.

He took a large pull from his beer and gave a hearty, “Aaaahhhh, I sure needed that.”

“Long day?” I asked.

“Flew in from Atlanta today after helping my folks clear the yard, readying it for winter.”

“Clear the yard?” I had no idea what he was talking about.

“You know, the yard. Weeding, mowing, pruning, cutting all the foliage back for the upcoming change in the seasons.”

“Ah, I see.” I lied again. I knew nothing about landscaping. My family had a team of people who took care of the grounds at each of our houses. I didn’t even know who took care of mine, leaving the details of such needs to my property managers, of which I had ten. One for each of my personal properties.

“My mother loves to garden. Grows veggies during the spring and summer, on top of keeping an immaculate rose garden.” He held up a finger and pulled his phone out of an inner pocket in his sportscoat. “Hold up, I’ll show you.”

While he scanned his phone I took in his attire. He was well dressed and looked spectacular in light gray slacks paired with a baby blue dress shirt that was opened at his collar. His neck was muscular and thick, meeting his shoulders in a way that celebrated his built physique. The man worked out. And based on the way his shirt stretched across his broad chest, he not only worked out, he trained . Perhaps daily, like I did.

It sure would have been nice to work out with someone other than my personal trainer. To have a big, hunky guy like Memphis spotting me while I did bench presses, bending down to steal a kiss as a reward.

“See!” His warm voice burst my romantic bubble as he pressed his phone into my hand.

Suddenly, I was looking at a lush rose garden.

“ Dayum . Your mother is gifted.” I complimented.

His pretty-boy smile went supernova. “Agreed. She’s the shit,” he added.

“Ah, are you a momma’s boy?” I teased and flicked from page to page on his phone, viewing one incredible rose after another in all varying shades of the rainbow. The last image however happened to be one of Memphis and a statuesque woman dressed to kill in cocktail attire. He was wearing a fine suit and she a slinky black dress with a slit straight up to the hip. They stood cheek to cheek, looking like the perfect couple.

Now, I knew I was no slouch in the beauty department, and had had my fair share of compliments by both men and women, but his companion was in the leagues of the famed Ms. Riri aka Rihanna, aka one of the world’s most beautiful women. At least in my not-so-humble opinion.

“Damn straight, and proud of it.” Memphis reached for his phone, and I handed it back to him, the reminder of the woman he was clearly so comfortable with simmering at the forefront of my mind.

“Nothing wrong with a man who respects and loves his mother,” I agreed.

“What about you? When I approached you seemed as though you’d just received bad news. Care to talk about it? Sometimes it helps getting things off your chest.”

“By confiding in a stranger?” I could feel my eyebrows rising toward my hairline.

He shrugged and took another pull from his beer. “Sure, why not. What do you have to lose?”

Well, I supposed nothing, now that I had an inkling he was spoken for.

“I was just blown off by a man who I believed I felt a spark with.” I pressed my lips together, holding back the snarl I wanted to express at Jamal’s obvious immaturity.

“No!” His eyes widened. “You?” He scoffed as though he couldn’t believe it.

“Yes, sir.” I ran my finger around the rim of my martini as I remembered that men sucked.

“I don’t know. I find it hard to believe that any man would let someone like you slip through their fingers.” His gaze was heated when he not-so-nonchalantly took in my body from my spiked Louboutins, up my shiny legs, past my Versace cocktail dress to the cleavage I boldly displayed. He lingered there for a solid ten seconds before he roamed to end at my face. “There is no world in which a smart man would let a queen like you go.”

“Is that right?” I playfully asked, thinking maybe the Rhianna look-alike was not his woman. Maybe she was a family member.

“If it was me…not a chance.” He lifted his hand and wiped along his bottom lip in that sexy way men did that I personally felt as a physical throb between my thighs.

My heart started to beat harder, and my temperature rose as arousal swirled in the air around us.

“Mmm-hmmm,” I hummed, grabbing at the four-carat diamond that hung between my breasts. I often wore a gem I worked with prior to deciding what to create. I found it connected me more fully to the stone, readying my muse for whatever design I’d eventually come up with.

Memphis’s gaze set on the stone. “Your, uh, ex buy you that?” He lifted his chin, and I dropped the length of the necklace back to fall between my breasts.

“Because I’m not capable of buying it for myself?” I countered.

He shook his head so fast I worried he’d give himself whiplash before he held up his hands in apology. “Sorry, my bad. I saw the ice around your neck and assumed a man gave it to you.”

“It’s all right. Not everyone lives by the edict of the great Beyonce’ Knowles.”

He frowned. “Her edict?” He sounded confused.

“Who runs the world?” I sang lightly.

“Girls.” He laughed out loud, and I shivered at the sensual sound. Damn this man had a strong effect on me.

“So, what has you braving Sin City?” I asked, steering the conversation to something more present. I surely didn’t want to think about why I was in Las Vegas. I still hadn’t made up my mind if I was going to go through with it or not.

He looked down and away. Red flags popped up and started waving in my direction. Usually when a man couldn’t keep eye contact with me that meant I was about to be lied to. My heart sank. And I’d had such high hopes.

Memphis inhaled a full breath and let it out slowly as though he were thinking about how he wanted to respond. That was new. “Honestly?” he confirmed, as if I wanted to be told a lie.

I cocked an eyebrow and took another slow taste of my drink. “Would be nice for a change.”

“Do men normally lie to you?” he quipped, a non-answer if I’d ever heard one.

“Honestly?” I repeated his question and batted my fake eyelashes with intention. “Yes. You’d be surprised how often men lie.”

And cheat.

And steal.

And do a whole host of unseemly things that I wasn’t about to share with a stranger I’d met in a hotel bar at a casino a good friend of mine owned.

“Lying is for losers,” he stated with such disdain that I actually believed him.

Maybe my radar was off and he was actually the first solid, honest man I’d met in a long time.

“Then be the change you want to see in the world, Memphis.” I challenged with a smirk. “Tell me why you’re in Las Vegas.”

He pressed those beautiful lips together in a way that made me imagine him pressing them to mine. Until he laid out his truth in black and white.

“I’m here to meet the woman I plan to marry.”