Lies Lovers Tell (3 page)

Sean, now dressed as Sam Walters, eyed himself critically in the mirror. His fro, though looking a little dated, looked like his real hair. The beard and mustache were perfect for lessening the impact of his Cupid lips and hiding the cleft in his chin. The gray highlights added years to his age, as did the paunch he wore under a large sports shirt. His khaki pants were just a tad too short, revealing white crew socks that he wore with sandals. One thing was for sure, Sam Walters would never win any
GQ
awards. But he wouldn’t unduly stand out in a crowd either, and that was just as he wanted.

Sean left his bedroom and walked into the kitchen. The clock on the wall told him it was about time for the maid to arrive. He was a bit irked that the first one had left so abruptly. She’d been quiet, quick, and efficient, just like he liked his help. She’d also seemed to be the kind who would have absolutely no interest in him or his business whatsoever. He heard her speak exclusively in Spanish, except for the few words she spoke to him. At least it was the part-time housekeeper and not Cecilia, the head housekeeper. He considered whether he even needed two housekeepers. But as was often the case, the new one probably had mouths to feed.

Maya paused before stepping up to the doorbell and ringing it. Afterward, she stepped back and turned around, taking in the ocean view before her, masking her nervousness with deep, conscious breaths. When she heard the door open, she turned back around.

They both stared at each other for a moment. To Maya, Sam Walters was even more unattractive in person than he was in the picture. She wasn’t expecting someone so old and, well, raggedy. Sean, on the other hand, had assumed that the new maid would be Hispanic, as the others were. The thought that the maid might be Black hadn’t occurred to him. Sean took in the uncombed, unkempt wig, the big, wrinkled shirt, the oversized sweatpants, the cheap tennis shoes and hid a frown.
Lord, does she have to look like a maid just because she’s working as one?
Her glasses were so thick Sean honestly wondered what, if anything, she could see out of them. Sean recovered first.

“You’re Martha.”

“Uh, yeah, sah.” Maya had decided to adopt a simple, pseudo countrified accent and avoid looking directly at Mr. Walters as much as possible. Hopefully, especially for her assignment, he’d be gone most of the time she was in the home.

“I’m Sam Walters.”

Sean stepped back and opened the door without speaking; her sign to enter. She did so and immediately noted the home’s understated elegance. As much as Maya dabbled in interior design, she was sorely tempted to touch several of the home’s accessories, sure she knew at least one of the designers or artists. She refrained.
Maybe one day when he’s gone
…Maya gave herself a mental shake. This wasn’t a pleasure visit, this was business. She would do well to keep this in mind.

Sean had walked over to the dining room table and picked up a piece of paper. He handed it to Martha. It was the same list of household duties she’d received verbally from Maria. “They explain this to you?” Sean asked.

“Yeah, sah,” Maya replied, taking the paper.

“Any questions?” Obviously Sam was a man of few words, Maya thought.

“Uh, no, sah.”

“As you probably know, Cecilia is the head housekeeper. Normally she’d be here but she had a doctor’s appointment.”

Maya simply nodded.

Sean could see the woman was nervous. Surely this wasn’t her first job. He couldn’t see a company sending a novice to his upscale neighborhood. As long as she did her work and did it well, it wasn’t his concern. Still, something about the woman made him want to put her at ease. “Cecilia is an excellent housekeeper. She’ll train you well and be able to address any concerns.”

Maya stole a quick glance at Sam over the rims of her eyeglasses. She could barely see anything when looking through them. “Thank ya.”

Sean stood there for another second or two, watching Martha. He couldn’t put his finger on it but something about her was prickling the investigator in him. Maybe it was her pathetic demeanor, or the way she talked, barely above a whisper, as if every word were a dollar she didn’t want to spend. And she looked so insecure, so nervous. Then he got angry. She probably was in her twenties, even though her outdated wig and thick glasses made her appear older. And here she was throwing her life away cleaning someone else’s kitchen. Was this really the best she could do in life? Was this really as high as she aspired? And why did he care? It wasn’t like Sean to get soft, ever. He really needed to take a vacation.

“Cecilia will be here at two. She’ll give you more details on your duties. For now, you can start in the kitchen. I’ll be in my office,” he said, turning to walk toward a set of closed double doors. He stopped abruptly and added, “The only room in the house that is strictly off-limits.”

Maya watched as Sam walked, or a better word might be waddled, to his office. When he shut the door, she let out the breath she didn’t know she’d been holding. So she was in; she was the new, official part-time cleaning woman at Sam Walters’s home. And as sure as she knew that, she knew that whatever Sam had that could help Zeke was probably in that off-limits office he’d just entered. Maya had always liked a challenge. Before it was over, Maya was going to turn that office inside out. If there was something hidden there or anywhere in this house that would help her confirm that this man was really who he said he was, Maya, as Martha, would find it.

Maya headed to the kitchen. She was glad to be alone. Although the insecure bit was part of her act, she actually was nervous. She’d always been the serious one in the group, the no-nonsense businesswoman. If she’d thought it once, she’d thought it a hundred times…she needed Trish!

Maya placed her purse on the table and looked around the kitchen. Her first job would be easy; there were only a few breakfast dishes in the sink. Obviously Sam ate light; though one couldn’t tell to look at him. Maya searched the cabinets, finding dishes up top and cleaning supplies beneath the sink. There was a huge, stocked pantry off to one side of a kitchen that boasted stainless steel appliances and granite countertops. The upscale environment didn’t surprise Maya; in fact, with the large portfolio she and Zeke had reviewed, she was surprised he lived even this modestly.
Interesting.
For some reason, this fact felt like information that should be tucked away for future reference. Maya unconsciously reached for her BlackBerry to make a note, then remembered she’d left at home the gadget that was as much a part of her as her right hand, in her
other
purse, the Prada she’d voluntarily traded for a beat-up Wal-Mart reject from Goodwill.

Maya sighed, rolled up her sleeves, reached for the rubber gloves and dishwashing liquid she’d seen under the sink, and started working. “C’mon, Martha,” she whispered, with a sarcastic emphasis on her pseudo-name. “Time to earn your eighty-a-year salary.”

When Cecilia walked into the kitchen two hours later, she found Maya in the pantry organizing the cans, boxes, and bottles. Maya was extremely organized and old habits died hard. She’d cleaned the kitchen from top to bottom, and was now acting like an organizing fool.

“Oh my, Martha, you do good job. My name is Cecilia.”

“Thank you,” Maya said naturally, forgetting her accent.
Oh, shoot! You’re Martha, stupid, Martha!
Maya turned back to the stack of cans and continued arranging them. Of course she was being paranoid; Cecilia barely noticed her answer. It was a wake-up call, though.
I’ve got to be careful.

“I show you house,” Cecilia said. “Finish this later, okay?”

Maya simply nodded and followed Cecilia out of the kitchen.

The first thing Maya noted was how impersonal the house appeared. Granted, Mr. Walters had moved to town only recently, but most times one could note some type of personal effect, even if it was minimal. But there were no photos or mementos lying around, no personal effects of any kind. She thought this would change when they reached the master suite. It did not. The furnishings were expensive, yet sparse. Aside from the clothes in his closet—which with the exception of a couple of suits were just like the ones he now wore—and a few pieces of jewelry on his dresser, the room could have been in any hotel.

As they were leaving, Maya noticed another closet, next to the master bath. Without thinking or hesitating, she went to open it. It was locked.

“Oh no, Mr. Walters only,” Cecilia said. “We no go in there.”

“Oh, uh, ’scuse me,” Maya said softly.
Hmm, what’s behind door number two?

The rest of the tour was uneventful and when they finished, it was in the laundry room. A couple of loads of clothes had been sorted and were ready for washing. This and replacing the linens on Mr. Walters’s bed were to complete her work for the day. As Maya poured detergent into the machine and began to fill it, there was only one thing on her mind: how in the world she was going to survive this boring madness two days a week. She missed the razzamatazz world of B&A already.

Downstairs, Sean had relaxed his facade behind the comforts of a locked office door. The Afro wig was perched over an unused lamp, and while the fake paunch was still strapped on, Sean was shirtless. He had pretty much finished the minor computer research he’d scheduled for the day, and so far, had come up empty. His clients, the Rosenthal Group, had leveled charges of bribery, coercion, and blackmail, among others, against the man he was investigating. When he’d countered that those were some pretty strong accusations to make against someone, they’d agreed, but hadn’t flinched. That combined with the steep fee they were paying him was more than enough motivation for him to keep digging until he found the proof his clients needed to bring their adversary down. For Sean it wasn’t a matter of if, but when. If there was any truth to the unsavory allegations about Zeke Brennan and his empire, Sean, as Sam, would find it.

But for now, Sean was just waiting for Martha to leave so he could follow suit. So far she’d seemed harmless but Sean kept his eye on everyone. Another week or two and he’d feel safe in leaving the house with her in it. He reached for the brochure in front of him and perused the suite he’d just rented. Not knowing how long this assignment would last, he knew it was important for him to be able to unwind without fear of blowing his cover. So he’d rented a hotel suite about twenty-five minutes from the house, and was ready to take full advantage of it. He wanted to lose the paunch, the wig and mustache, and hit a gym.

Tomorrow, he needed to be relaxed; so tonight he would work out the tension that had built up over the past few days. Every meeting he’d scheduled was crucial: the first, with the Rosenthal Group, second, lunch with his long-time friend Neil, who had deep connections to Los Angeles’ political and social infrastructure, and the third and final meeting of the day, with Zeke Brennan.

The Fourth of July was here and just in time. Maya needed this holiday weekend. Two weeks had passed since she’d started being Martha part-time, and she was about to climb the walls. Playing maid was the most boring job she’d ever tackled in her life. So far there had been absolutely nothing of note to be discovered in the house and with the exception of a couple of magazines, nothing remotely personal belonging to Mr. Walters. And she’d been painfully reminded how much she hated housework. When Cecilia had assigned her to the master bathroom, complete with scrub brush and shower squeegee, she’d almost quit on the spot.

That’s why she was so thankful for tonight, Magic Johnson’s Benefit Fourth of July party. Trish had managed to get two VIP tickets to this exclusive event and had proven what a true friend she was by inviting Maya, instead of new boyfriend Tony, as her guest. Considering she’d barely spoken to Trish the past two weeks, much less seen her, Maya would have totally understood if Trish had given her new man the generous gift.

Maya was ready to get loose; let her hair down. She might have been bored, but she was still stressed. She’d finally gotten comfortable with her Martha persona, complete with the unsure demeanor and simple accent, but she was more than ready to step back into her place at B&A. Word had it that Jade was trying to make Maya’s reduced office presence a permanent one, and even though Maya was still in the office a couple of days a week, that was hardly enough to satisfy her thirst for power and prestige. Maya’s work was her life. The past couple of weeks had sorely proved she had very little going on in her world without it.

Maya pulled up to Trish’s apartment in her newly washed silver Beemer. That’s another thing she’d missed on the days she became Martha, her own vehicle. After enduring a two-block walk to the bus stop and then two buses to get to Playa Del Rey, she had a whole new respect for bus riders, drivers, and the things they endured: foul language, foul body odor, dirty seats, and often homeless and demented Angelenos. The bus ride, however, was a necessary ruse. She couldn’t afford to be seen driving a luxury car, and riding public transportation helped her get into character. After this experience, she would never look at a bus stop the same way.

“C’mon in, I’m almost ready,” Trish said loudly, over the loud sounds of Beyoncé’s voice coming from the stereo. “I’m getting in the mood! It’s time to get our party on!”

Maya laughed as she joined Trish in a dance around the living room. Trish was always good for a laugh and fun times; things Maya had had far too few of the past two weeks.

“You are looking hot! Is that new?”

Maya shook her head as she stopped dancing and did a model’s turn. “You like it?”

“Girl, the way that dress fits, your ‘a’ might get some tonight.”

“My ‘a’ could use some.” Maya laughed as Trish went to finish dressing. She and Trish had adopted this abbreviated form of cursing years ago when Trish had babysat her pick-up-everything-you-say two-year-old niece for a couple of months. The habit stuck and now the only cursing both she and Trish did was the implied word’s first letter.
Yes, my “a” could use a big, hard “d.”

Thinking of her love life, and the nonexistent possibilities of said life, almost caused Maya to lose her good mood. Perhaps that’s why she worked so hard and so much, so she wouldn’t have to think about being lonely. Maya didn’t know why she always seemed to be in a catch-22: The men who were attracted to her she didn’t like, and the men she liked weren’t attracted to her. It had been that way since college and after walking in on her last boyfriend making out with her neighbor, she decided to shift all of her desires into becoming successful and rich.

But she had to admit, lately she had been thinking of how nice it would be to have someone in her life, to have someone to come home to. Especially these last two weeks when she’d hardly talked to Trish. If not for Trish, Stretch, who she talked to almost every day, and coworkers, her phone would rarely ring. And then there was “Mr. ATM,” as she’d named the handsome stranger who for some reason wouldn’t leave her thoughts. Every now and then his image would drift up into her mind and she’d imagined all kinds of things that could happen with the body that had so perfectly filled out a pair of jeans.

Stretch limos and town cars lined the walk leading up to Marina Del Rey’s Ritz-Carlton Hotel. Beautiful people of all shapes, sizes, and colors added to the glamour. Trish and Maya felt right at home among them as they entered the hotel: Trish in her KLS shirred mini, and Maya in an equally short brickred Angali Kumar. The silky fabric teased her naked skin with every step, a lacy black thong and bra set being her only other clothing. With Maya spending most of her days in button-up suits or, as Martha, Goodwill castoffs, this extravagance felt good. She felt fine and foxy; ready to unleash the wild animal side of her that had been tame for too long.

They entered the crush of the ballroom and were instantly swept up into the party mood. Almost immediately, Trish saw someone she knew and left Maya to say hello. Trish knew some of everybody in L.A. and Maya was well aware she’d probably seen the last of her until it was time to go. That was fine, Maya was right at home in this environment. She decided to go to the bar for a cool glass of sparkling water, but before she could get there, she was accosted.

“My, my, my, my, you sure look good tonight,” the handsome man said, blocking her path with his buff body and a dazzling smile.

“Thank you,” Maya responded. She started to walk around him, believing if she didn’t she might not be responsible for her actions. The man looked good enough to eat right there!

“Uh, could I get this dance?” he said, stepping in front of her once more and placing a hand gently on her arm.

The hand could have been an iron, that’s how hot it made Maya. Now she really needed something cold, like a shower. “I was on my way to the bar,” Maya said, realizing she wasn’t going to be able to make a quick escape.

“Then allow me to join you for a drink.”

Maya looked up into eyes the color of dark chocolate, framed by long, thick lashes. Her mouth watered. Remembering the “lonely single” thoughts she’d had only hours ago, Maya decided to try and relax, enjoy herself. Hadn’t she and Trish agreed that Maya needed to get some? Not that Maya would do that tonight; she was a lady after all. There’d be no one-night stands with someone she’d just met, someone who was almost melting her like wax with his sexy eyes, lush lips, and a cleft that made…wait!
That’s it!
Maya thought, eyeing the handsome stranger more carefully.
This is Mr. ATM!
Maya became even more flustered, remembering the late-night erotic fantasies she’d constructed at this stranger’s expense. Maya swallowed hard, and tried to discreetly find where her “cool” went.

They reached the bar and Maya, who rarely drank, decided she needed something to calm her nerves. She asked the bartender for something light, and he suggested a wine spritzer. Mr. ATM ordered a beer.

“My name is Sean,” he said, after he’d placed his order. “And what is yours…besides lovely?”

Maya sipped her drink to delay an answer. What if this man worked in the Brennan Building or knew any of her associates? Maya fiercely guarded her privacy, always mindful of her professional reputation. But she didn’t want to think about work tonight, she wanted to have fun, and forget about Martha.
That’s it. I’ll adopt another persona, just for tonight.

An inebriated woman sidled up to Sean and interrupted them with a tired “don’t I know you” line, giving Maya another precious second or two to think about whether or not she really wanted to be a clandestine girl gone wild.

Another look at Sean and she decided she did. Maya usually walked the straight and narrow, honest to a fault. But since she’d be adopting a persona, she’d be acting, not lying, wouldn’t she? And even though she’d only seen him in the lobby that one time, if he worked anywhere near the B&A offices it was probably best he not know her real name. That way what happened at the Ritz could stay at the Ritz…even though she was
not
going to sleep with this man. Well, maybe not sleep with but lie next to…

“I apologize for that,” Sean said once the stranger left. “Now, where were we? Ah yes, your name.”

“It’s, uh, Macy,” she said, when Sean turned back to her, the name coming to her because she’d listened to Macy Gray en route to Trish’s.

Sean nodded, drinking her in. He thought Macy beautiful, from her simple, short hairstyle that emphasized her almond-shaped eyes, to her pert nose, rosy mouth, long, slender neck, and equally slender body. He guessed her to be about five foot four or five, but with the four-inch spikes she was wearing, she almost reached his nose. There was something oddly familiar about her, but he quickly dismissed any chance of having met her. He wouldn’t have forgotten a woman like this.

Sean realized he was staring and tried to think of something else witty to say. He had to admit his gaming skills were sorely lacking. Work kept any thoughts of a serious relationship at bay. With the constant travel, secrecy, and sometimes life-threatening situations, he knew it would take a special woman to handle his lifestyle. There were a couple of casual relationships, women with whom he’d obtained a mutual understanding that nothing existed between them beyond good conversation, great sex, and an occasional vacation. The latest, a woman in London named Tangier, was getting a bit tricky; for the first time in their two years together she’d mentioned taking the relationship to another level. He looked at Macy again.
Maybe
…No, he had a feeling that this one was anything but a casual lay.

“You’re beautiful,” he said finally.

“Wow,” Maya replied. “Beautiful and lovely. Careful, or your flattery might go to my head.”

Something was going to Sean’s head also, but not the one he was talking with. He tried to get his act together and ran to safe ground—work. “So, Macy, are you here representing your company tonight?”

The last thing Maya wanted to be reminded of was her dual occupations. “No, and work is the last thing I want to talk about. Tonight, I just want to have a good time.”

“I hear that,” Sean answered. “Let’s do that, then, let’s have a good time.”

Just then a rumble went through the crowd as Magic Johnson and his wife, Cookie, took the stage. After sustained applause, Magic gave a brief speech about the various AIDS foundations and other beneficiaries of the night’s event. He thanked everyone for coming, for being beautiful and generous, and then began the part of the evening everyone had been waiting for, the musical guests.

First on was jazz guitarist Paul Jackson, who gave the crowd a simple yet stunning guitar feast. Next came the legendary Stevie Wonder, who rocked the ballroom for a solid thirty minutes. In between acts, Sean and Maya chitchatted and got to know each other better. She even gave him her phone number, which he wrote down on a piece of paper. As an afterthought, he decided to give her his too. By the time Beyoncé hit the stage, they were talking like old friends and flirting like new lovers.

Beyoncé was dazzling to watch, but in time she encouraged everyone to get crazy on the dance floor. It was the perfect suggestion and Sean and Maya bobbed and weaved their way to a spot near the front of the stage. The music was thunderous, the atmosphere electric, and Maya was thrilled with how the night was turning out. Here she was at a banging party, listening to one of her favorite artists, and dancing with, literally, the man of her dreams. Thinking that, she remembered she hadn’t brought up their initial encounter. Just as well, she decided. She hadn’t been on her best behavior that day. And since she’d just recently cut her formerly shoulder-length hair into a fashionably chic pixie, he probably wouldn’t remember her anyway. Something about the fact that this man was new to her, and to the city as he’d mentioned in their conversation, gave her an unusual freedom to let her pixie’d hair down. Normally she was all about appearances. After all, Zeke Brennan’s reach was far and wide, and she never knew who was watching and what might get back to whom. But tonight, she felt uninhibited, free. And it felt good.

Sean needed to thank Neil for telling him about tonight’s gala. And to think, he had almost passed on the invite. When working on a case, he normally kept a low profile. But since he was costumed during the day anyway, and set up at another location, he felt he could be incog-Negro at a big event like this. He rarely made it to the West Coast, and although his was a pretty big network, he felt fairly certain he wouldn’t run into anyone he knew, especially anyone he didn’t want to see. It wasn’t until he arrived at the party, and especially after he’d met Macy, that he realized how much he’d needed to chill, leave the work behind for a short while. And boy, was he glad he did!

Sean’s eyes lowered to slits as he watched the chocolate confection in front of him move her body to the beat. A fine sheen of sweat showed on Maya’s neck and arms, giving her an ethereal glow. Her body moved with sexy abandon. Sean’s manhood stirred as his eyes roamed Maya’s body the way his hands longed to do.

Beyoncé broke into another fast-paced song, her hit “Naughty Girls.” It was one of Maya’s favorites. She threw up her hands, gave Sean a wide smile, and immediately became a prototype of the song’s lyrics. She came close to Sean, cupping his clean-shaven cheek before running her hand down his chest, waist, and thigh.
Feeling sexy, feeling n-a-s-t-y
…Maya turned around, rubbing her booty against Sean, grabbing his hips from behind and thrusting back against him. Her kitty began to throb in the excitement of her abandon. Maya had never in her life acted in such an uninhibited manner; she knew after tonight, she probably never would again.

Sean squeezed Maya’s hips, moving them in rhythm with her dancing. His rod was throbbing now, aching to be inside her. Maya turned and put her arms around Sean’s neck. Before either of them knew it, they were deep inside each other’s mouths, tongues swirling, hands exploring, fireworks going off on the dance floor.