He's Just A Friend (6 page)

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Authors: Mary B. Morrison

BOOK: He's Just A Friend
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On her way to the rest room, Fancy smiled, resenting SaVoy because her father spoiled her and Fancy had often heard him tell SaVoy, “I love you.” Fancy longed for the day, any day, that she would hear Caroline speak those three words to her.
CHAPTER 6
F
ancy scurried about her apartment trying to remember where she'd placed her ruby earring. Damn, she'd only removed it for a moment when she answered the phone.
Okay Fancy, backtrack. You were in your office on the computer when Adam phoned to confirm he'd be here at midnight, and then you raced to the bed. You sat on the love seat in the bedroom, and then lay across the bed. No, you shut down the computer, then went back and lay across the bed.
Thank goodness Fancy had found her earring next to her laptop.
Fastening her red leather swing coat, Fancy casually walked outside. A tall muscular Latino man stood next to a spotless Town Car sucking on a cigarette so hard that his lips caved into his mouth. Then he flicked the butt into the bushes and opened the rear door.
Fancy threw up her hand and yelled, “Hey! What are you doing? Trying to burn down my place!”
“Good evening, Ms. Taylor. You look lovely,” he politely responded, waiting for her to settle into the backseat.
“Gracious! It's colder in here than it is outside!” Fancy complained, squirming on the cold leather seat. She was still pissed about the cigarette but refused to mention it to his inconsiderate ass again.
“I've been instructed to drop you off at the restaurant. Mr. Van Lee would like to have an early dinner,” the driver said as he adjusted the digital thermostat from sixty to seventy degrees.
“What restaurant?” Fancy asked, smiling.
The driver remained silent. He must have had selective hearing.
Whatever. “Sure, that's fine.” Getting angry with the driver wasn't worth her time or energy. If Fancy didn't adjust her mood before she saw Byron, her face would become grimaced and make her look as though she were mad. That was definitely why whatever-his-name-was was a driver. Yeah, every day he probably calculated the number of days left before his retirement and where he'd have to work after he retired so he could continue living his low budget lifestyle.
Fancy grinned, then closed her eyes, trying to recall how Byron looked. Hopefully, he was as handsome as she remembered the night they met. What if she'd had too much to drink that night and Byron was ugly? Well, at least he had money and one of the most seductive voices she'd heard over the telephone. Fancy glanced in the driver's rearview mirror and smiled at herself. The weekly facial she received from De La Peau Day Spa on Park Boulevard kept her dark skin radiant.
An early dinner with Byron was fine but a late night out wasn't happening. Not tonight. Fancy tried keeping her mind occupied with anything except the fact that after her date with Byron she had to service her main sponsor. She'd have to make it home no later than eleven to prepare for Adam. Her rent was due Monday and the nosy landlady loved having a legitimate reason to eavesdrop outside Fancy's door. Working for Harry's property management firm was a benefit because prior to receiving Harry's signature, Fancy reviewed all of the late and eviction notices so she knew her legal rights as a tenant.
The driver picked up his cellular, pressed one button, and said, “Mr. Van Lee. We're right out front.”
No way. The same place they'd met. She'd always wanted to dine at the Ritz Carlton's dining room. While shopping in the nearby area, she'd seen limousines line up outside the hotel. Fancy's smile grew wider and wider.
Byron greeted her at the entrance with white roses wrapped in cellophane. “Hey, you. You look marvelous. I hope you don't mind the detour. I'm famished.” Byron's lips pressed against her cheek. Fancy's Chai-colored glossy lips puckered in the air.
“Not at all. I could stand to eat a little something myself,” Fancy lied because she hadn't told Byron she didn't eat after six o'clock. Drinking unsweetened prune juice before noon and after six was how Fancy kept her system clean, her metabolism high, and her body fat low. Alcohol was her weakness, so if she drank the night before she had to work out an extra hour the next morning to burn off the extra calories.
“What? What are smiling about?” Byron asked, smiling back at her.
“You are even more handsome than I remembered. Thanks for the flowers.”
The maître d' paraded by each table swiftly perusing each one. He seated them at a round linen-covered table with two high-backed old-fashioned chairs. “Your server will be with you shortly, Mr. Van Lee.”
By the time the maître d' turned, a waiter dressed in a black tuxedo had arrived at their table. “Would you like the usual, Mr. Van Lee?”
Fancy frowned. That was rude. Why didn't he ask her first?
Byron looked at her and said, “Is everything okay? You look worried.”
Raising her eyebrows to release the tension Fancy said, “No, I'm fine. I was just wondering where I'd seen a replica of the painting in the lobby before. That's all.”
“The usual is fine,” Byron replied. The waiter placed white linen napkins across their laps, then raced off.
The usual. Hum,
Fancy thought, looking at Byron's diamond cufflinks. Obviously he'd recently had a facial, too. When Fancy visited her hair stylist, Raeshelle, at Top Notch, she noticed more men came in for services than women—in-grown hair treatments, facials, and manicures. Byron's thick eyebrows were no longer connected. Gazing at the back of his hairy hands, Fancy wondered if Byron had a hairy chest and thighs.
“You look beautiful,” Byron said
Fancy certainly hoped so. She'd taken the day off. Had a massage. Manicure. Pedicure. And she'd had her weave tightened, all sponsored by Steven.
“So what did you do today besides miss me,” Fancy crooned.
Byron tugged at his tie and stretched his neck. “Miss you? You must have me confused—”
“Come closer. Let me do that for you.” Gently, Fancy placed her hand underneath his tie and loosened the knot until he exhaled. Then she unfastened his top button.
“Nice touch,” Byron said, holding and kissing the back of her hand. “So tell me about Fancy. What type of work do you do? Are you in school? What are your hobbies?”
Fancy never disclosed more information than she received. He didn't need to know her life history but Fancy needed to know his. “I work here in the Financial District. I'm not in school but I'm always learning.” Fancy smiled. “Oh, yeah. And I enjoy physical and mental challenges. How's that?”
Byron smiled while shaking his head.
Before he could ask another question, Fancy asked, “So, how about you? Are you married?”
“Actually, I'm happily single. Thirty going on thirty-one.
Never
married. Would love to have two kids, a boy and a girl, but I hardly have time for myself.” His roaming brown eyes traveled from Fancy's face down to her cleavage and back to her luscious lips. Then he added, “And so far I like what I see, Ms. Taylor.”
While Byron slowly traced the lifeline inside her palm with his manicured fingers, a different waiter in the same style tuxedo placed small salads before them.
“I always order roughage. I hope you don't mind.” Byron immediately started eating the mixed leafy greens.
“Not at all.” Hopefully Byron wasn't a control fanatic. One thing Fancy did not like was an inconsiderate man.
“So tonight I need you to greet my guests with a smile,” he mumbled while chewing. “And charm them into making large donations. No man can resist your beauty. I know I can't.” Byron swallowed, sipped his wine, then smiled.
She guessed that meant her breasts because that's exactly where his eyes were focused, again. “What exactly are these donations for?”
Munching on the freshly baked bread he said, “Lobbyist.”
“Lobbyist?” Fancy reached for her half-full wineglass.
“Absolutely. Every major organization needs people willing to support their cause. I happen to own a company that dumps toxic waste. We have to have a place to dump
and
we need prior government approval. Unfortunately, there are activists who oppose every site we propose so my company pays lobbyists to represent us on Capitol Hill. Got it?”
“That's interesting. Yeah, I do get it.” If lobbyists received all-expenses paid trips to D.C., Fancy wanted to represent Byron's company. Hopefully, being his wife wouldn't be a conflict of interest. Fancy didn't think Byron noticed or cared that she hadn't touched her food. She chose to sip on the merlot instead since she'd be sharpening her skills, pippin' rich men all night.
“So how's a woman like myself to benefit from such an ordeal?”
“Five percent,” Byron said, right before swishing a gulp of wine inside his mouth.
Fancy felt her eyebrow raise a notch. “Of what?” she casually asked.
Byron swallowed, then said, “Everything
you
collect.”
Shit, Adam could fuck himself tonight.
“After the checks clear, my accountant will send you a check. Usually within ten business days.”
Damn, her rent was due in two days. Fancy didn't want to sound desperate so she chilled until it was time to head to the fund-raiser. Adam was off and back on her schedule in less than sixty seconds.
They finished eating, then rode less than a mile to another hotel. Byron educated Fancy on how to approach each potential donor.
“If he's shorter than you, the three-three rule applies. Compliment him three times in the first three minutes, then stop. Do not shake his hand. Now, if he's taller than you, shake his hand. Hold it for six seconds, then cover the top of his hand with your left hand and hold it there for nine seconds. That's the six-nine rule. Always get the pledge commitment within five minutes. Anyone who stalls longer than five minutes is only interested in you and the only thing he'll commit to if you keep talking is a date. Regardless if he's interested in contributing or not, fill out the form for him, then ask him to pledge an amount and sign the card. Always get the signature. A pledge is no good without a signature. If he keeps talking and never looks at the card, tell him you'll be back and move on. Got it?”
Fancy's smile widened. “Yeah. I've got it.”
Fancy propositioned one guy so well he offered to take her to China. She wasn't interested in seeing China but she did take his business card. In fact, she collected quite a few cards. The next guy she met was taller.
“Hi, I'm Fancy Taylor.” Fancy extended her hand. “And you are?”
He had the sexiest half smile Fancy had witnessed all night. “If you don't know who I am, you'd better ask somebody.”
With locks covering the back of his neck, Fancy doubted he was anyone worth knowing.
A pale-complexioned female with hair flowing almost to her butt shook Fancy's hand and said, “Don't pay him any attention. He's always that way.” Then she handed Fancy a check for seventy-five grand. The man started scanning the room when the woman who had just handed Fancy the check tapped him on the shoulder. “This is Darius Jones and my name is Ashlee Anderson.”
Fancy looked at her and smiled, trying not to choke. Couldn't be. That couldn't possibly be him. Fancy quickly responded to Darius, “Excuse me. Do you have a card?”
He looked down at Fancy and replied, “I'm highly visible but hardly accessible. I don't even carry ID.”
Darius walked over to Byron and a small group of men. The other men damn near bowed to Darius, greeting him with wide smiles, handshakes, and pats on the back. Ashlee gave a sort of toot-a-loo grin and walked over to a group of women who started kissing up to her.
Damn, his ass was arrogant and fine. Fancy's heart raced faster than her thoughts, wondering how she could get him to notice her the way she wanted him to. Fancy was amazed and perplexed at the same time. “Thanks for your generous contribution,” she whispered.
Was that woman his wife? She wasn't wearing a ring.
Fancy walked over to a different group of men and listened to them ramble on about politics. Across the room she watched Darius closely, studying his confident mannerisms.
Byron eased beside her and whispered in Fancy's ear, “Don't even think about using those numbers. You're mine.”
Fancy smiled as her heart throbbed, not for Byron, but she was no man's fool. Fancy always had backup. If Byron didn't screw up like all the rest, he had nothing to worry about. Except, Darius. Fancy decided at that moment, she would meet Mr. Jones again under more favorable circumstances.
At the end of the night, Fancy couldn't believe she'd collected almost five hundred thousand dollars. That meant she had earned nearly twenty-five thousand dollars in one night. Damn. A few gigs a year like that one and Adam, Tony, and Steven could fuck each other.
“You did well,” Byron said. “So well, I want to take you to my place and celebrate.”
“I'd love to but not tonight.”

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