Chapter 5
FIVE
I rolled over, silencing the alarm on my nightstand. The blackout shades filtered the sunlight from the condo. Aside from the internal lights from electronics, I was in total darkness. I patted around the bed, searching for my cell.
Sunday was rest day.
Business didn’t get handled. Calls went unanswered.
The cell was on Do Not Disturb until Monday at eight sharp.
Saturday had offered me nothing more than restlessness, leading me into the wee hours of today.
I didn’t close my eyes until five this morning.
Sleeping the day away wasn’t an option. I needed to burn some stress and calories in the gym.
10:01a
The screen was littered with notifications. One after the other, I swiped through them, face pinched and stomach in knots. An incoming call made everything vanish. All that was left was a choice I didn’t want to make at the moment.
Red or green button.
Answer or decline.
My mother’s name crossed the screen. Movement was beyond me. I was paralyzed with uncertainty.
Once the line rung out, the new notification appeared.
Missed call.
Pain ran up my spine. My thumb hovered over the screen as I contemplated returning a call I’d never missed. Not until today.
“Fuck.”
I tapped the screen, bypassing the message to open the text from Matte. It was followed by messages from Cameron, Julius, and Sarah in our group thread. As the phone rested in my palm, more messages filed in.
And then the phone rang again.
And again.
And again.
Matte.
Cameron.
Sarah.
One after the other, the calls flooded in. I ignored them one by one. Before I heard anyone’s voice from the office, I needed to educate myself on what was happening. I scanned the messages for the source.
The header from the first link made it apparent.
Mayor Hopeful Buying More Than the Voter’s Loyalty.
My skin grew tighter as my body expanded with despair.
Could the Mayoral Candidate, Ishmael Grayson, Be in the Center of a Prostitution Ring?
Ishmael Grayson Using Campaign Money to Fund Unshakeable Habits?
Mayoral Candidate, Ishmael Grayson, Picks Up Prostitute.
The headlines filled the screen.
Bold.
Big.
Lie after lie.
And there she was. In the midst of my shit. Remorse pumped through my veins as I stared at the image of Royce.
Head high.
Chest out.
Spine straightened.
A fucking force to be reckoned with.
I leaned my head leftward until my neck popped. My eyelids found each other, consuming me with darkness. I inhaled deeply.
And there she was. In the midst of my madness. Joy exuded from her frame as she stared at the images of us.
Lips pulled backward.
Teeth on full display.
Shoulders curled inward.
Chest caved.
Admiration and disbelief tiptoeing around the business persona she had coated her desires in from the moment she stepped into The M.
The black socks on my feet caught the dust the robotic cleaning tool that was a gift from my realtor after closing hadn’t. I scanned my contacts, settling on the one I yearned to connect with most. If it wasn’t Royce’s voice on the line, I didn’t care to hear anybody’s.
I didn’t only need her to handle this.
I needed her to handle me.
My head was in an uproar.
So was my heart.
The first ring sounded off like explosives in my ear. The second ring caused a tightening in my chest. The third ring forced me to halt in the middle of my condo. The fourth disabled me.
“The caller you–”
I ended the call and retried the line.
Five rings.
“The call–”
I couldn’t remember a moment in life I’d tried anyone a second time. Neither did I remember a time when my call went unanswered. There wasn’t anyone in my life who didn’t value my existence and vice versa. The missed call from my mother was the first in history and it would be the last.
Another text vibrated my cell. I dismissed it, regretting the decision almost instantly. It wasn’t Sarah or Matte or Cameron or anyone from my team.
It was her.
I opened the nearly empty thread and fixed my eyes on her message.
You’re late to the party, Mr. Grayson.
I didn’t respond. Instead, I exited and pressed her contact from the call log. This time, a regular call wouldn’t suffice.
“Hello, Ishmael.”
Her body was dripping with sweat. Her dark, perfectly even skin shined from the moisture. And those fucking lips. I’d imagined them wrapped around my dick too many times for them to still be unbruised and on her pretty face. Untouched.
Disbelief silenced me. Royce was resting against a wooden bench with her eyes closed. Contentment consumed her.
“Ishmael–”
Her comfort disturbed me in ways I wasn’t ready to admit. My world was going up in flames and she was in the sauna, sprawled out like a piece of meat on the grill during a summer cookout.
Unbothered.
Unphased.
Not worried about a fucking thing.
I ended the call. Waiting for Matte to send another text or try my line again was absurd, suddenly. I hit her contact and waited for her to pick up. It wasn’t long before she was on the line, sighing with relief.
“Mr. Grayson… the images… the imag–”
“Matte–”
“Yes?”
“I’m aware.”
“What– what should we do here?”
“It’s Sunday. You rest.”
“We’re all at the office, waiting for you–”
“I won’t be there, Matte, neither should you all be there. Sunday is rest day. Nothing has changed.”
“But, Mr. Grayson.”
“It’s being handled,” I assured her, ending the call.
I didn’t have answers for the team. For the first time in history, I wasn’t sure what the next step was or if it would suffice. I knew that Royce had promised me the seat and somehow, I believed her.
The red dot on my cell was idle. Unmoving. My target was immobile and I doubted that would change any time soon.
Stay put.
I flipped on the lights throughout my condo as I stalked my closet. Once inside, I was dressed in under two minutes. I had no time to waste and rest could wait.
I made it out of my home and into my car without incident.
My GPS called out one turn after the other, leading me to the newest spot on the city’s rave list. According to the voters, it was a must everyone visited.
Truthfully, not everyone had the budget to visit.
Upon arrival, I knew that you’d need at least a band to touch their marble floors.
“Good evening, Mr. Grayson. Welcome to Hydro-Oasis. How are you today?”
The entire city knowing my name and face was something I was still getting accustomed to. If I could run a faceless race, then I would’ve. My actions would speak for me. They always had.
While most preferred visibility, it wasn’t on my list of priorities. I’d much rather be felt than seen. Valued than viewed.
“Unfortunately, the entire complex is res–”
“Nancy, his pass is under the keyboard,” the older gentleman informed us both.
“Thanks, Harold.”
Confusion plagued me. Still, I remained silent, allowing Nancy to take heed, because the complex being reserved didn’t have shit to do with me. I would be inside whether it was her that granted me access or not.
“Here’s that pass, Mr. Grayson. You’ll wear this around your wrist until you end your time here. This bracelet will give you access to every pod in our facility, including special services and VIP soaks.”
I laid my arm on the counter, allowing Nancy to strap the cloth bracelet around my wrist. There was a large piece of metal wrapped in plastic in the center. As she fitted it to the circumference of my arm, my eyes were on Harold.
Sensing my inquisitive gaze, he looked up from the stack of papers in his hand. Towels piled on the counter. A robe rested in my hand after the bracelet was secured.
“Here are your towels and a new pair of slippers just in case you choose to wear them. Your rob–” Nancy explained.
“Where is she?”
Harold froze. I observed as he contemplated his next set of words. He’d chosen wisely. After a brief pause, he released the breath he’d been holding.
“Ending her soak.”
I didn’t respond. I waited for more. He’d given me her location. I wanted her destination. If she was ending one service then it meant she was headed to another.
“Headed to the massage pods,” he continued after a few seconds.
I left both towels, slippers, and robe on the counter and headed toward the double doors. On the other side, a digital board displayed a map of the entire spa. I zeroed in on the pods marked with a massage graphic and a large M.
One left.
Two rights.
The breezeway.
Another right.
One left.
I locked the directions in my cerebral cortex and followed them to a science. Still, they didn’t result in Royce. I stood in front of ten doors, all labeled with a number. Slow, calming sounds played on the speakers. They contradicted everything I felt at the moment.
“Can I help you, sir?”
“No,” I responded, continuing through the parlor.
Nancy’s spill about the entire spa being reserved quickly resurfaced. I twisted the knob of the first room.
Empty.
The second room.
Empty.
The third room.
Empty.
Growing impatient, I twisted the knob and entered the fourth room.
My heart settled in my chest. The music that had little to no effect suddenly began to transport me to another place.
There.
Royce was stretched out on a velvety-soft bed with her arms flattened beside her. I folded my arms across my chest, admiring the Glock her right hand was wrapped around. She was magical.
Far beyond belief.
Implausible.
Mind-blowing.
Without a doubt in my mind, I knew she wouldn’t hesitate to fire her weapon. And, neither was there a doubt in my mind that she didn’t shoot for shits. Royce would certainly shoot to kill. That Glock wasn’t an accessory. It was a warning.
A towel covered her from her neck down to her thighs. Her face was hidden, buried in the head rest that formed a circle. Beside her was an empty bed.
She was irresistible. Magnetic. Alluring. And, I was fully engaged without the ability to control myself. Royce felt too much like mine. I felt too much like hers.