Lies Lovers Tell (6 page)

Maya peeked around the corner and saw Cecilia humming while busily polishing silver in the dining room. She headed toward the staircase.

“You want something?” Cecilia called out.

Maya jumped. Did the woman have eyes in the back of her head? “No, I was just…I’m just…headed upstairs to the master bedroom, to clean master.” Maya walked into the dining room while stumbling all over her words. She was having no problem portraying the insecure, mousy maid at all! And why was she sounding like Cecilia and talking in broken English?

Cecilia must have wondered as well. She turned slowly and looked at her. “You all right, Martha?” she asked.

Maya bowed her head. “Fine, Cecilia. A little tired, though, and worried about my, uh, cousin. She’s sick.”

“What’s the matter with her?”

Oh Lord, what’s the matter with this nonexistent cousin?
For as much of it as she’d been doing lately, Maya really didn’t lie well. The old saying was true: what a tangled web we weave when first we practice to deceive. One lie necessitated another, and she worked hard to remain the spider and not become the fly. Just a little while longer, she thought before responding. And then truth could reign again. “She’s, uh, pregnant.”
Yeah, yeah, that’s it.

Cecilia gave a knowing nod and resumed shining the silver. “We do good work no matter how we feel,” she said, wiping briskly. “Your cousin be fine. Having babies…natural to feel bad sometimes.”

“Uh-huh.” Maya rushed to get away from this line of lies.

Cecilia turned around abruptly. “You have babies, Martha, yes?”

“Uh, no.”

Cecilia frowned. “Why not?”

“No boyfriend.”

“Why not? You pretty girl.”

Maya said nothing.

“Mr. Walters here on business,” Cecilia said, the sudden change of subject rivaling the change in her demeanor. “You here to work only, you try nothing with Mr. Walters.” Cecilia wagged her forefinger from side to side for emphasis.

“What!” Maya answered in her regular voice. Cecilia had shocked the Martha out of her.

Cecilia’s eyes widened, then narrowed.

“Uh, I mean, I don’t do that,” Maya said, lowering her voice and scrunching her shoulders in an attempted quick recovery of her servile demeanor.

Cecilia cocked her head to the side.

“What I mean is”—Maya’s voice was now almost a whisper—“I keep my body, uh, you know, for husband.” The image of her lavishing mad love on Sean’s manhood the night before rushed into her mind and almost made her guffaw.

“Ah, a virgin. Good girl.”

“Thank you.”
Thank you?
But it was the only thing she could think of to say. Hysterical laughter bubbled up inside her and she escaped up the stairs, swallowing giggles.

I can’t wait to tell Trish
—but no, she couldn’t tell Trish, couldn’t tell anybody about the crazy episode she’d just experienced. Somehow it didn’t seem the thing to share with Zeke. But Sean? She could just imagine his laughing at her, mock sympathy for her predicament in his eyes. She wanted so much to share this with Sean, to share everything with him….

Maya stopped at the linen closet to get fresh sheets and towels.
Getting ready to clean up an already clean room
, she thought sarcastically. It looked like the bed hadn’t been slept in at all, but her orders were to change the sheets every day, no exceptions. Her mind reeled. Cecilia thought she might be interested in Sam Walters? Was she crazy, or had she just lost her mind? Maya’s humor turned to anger as she replayed the conversation in her mind.
Is that the perception? That every poor, working woman is trying to snag a rich man?
The more she thought about it, the more Maya realized that maybe it was more than perception; maybe it was fact. Who in a dire situation wouldn’t want a knight in shining armor to come sweep her off her feet and out of the hood? Maya’s mind went instantly to Sean: fine, fit, and financially sound—a fact made obvious by his extended stay at the Ritz-Carlton. Sean’s exclusive lifestyle definitely added to his appeal. Maya’s anger dissipated a bit and she saw “Martha” through Cecilia’s eyes. If circumstances were different, maybe Martha would make a play for the sloppy yet well-off real estate Brit.

But there was no more time for daydreaming; Maya was on a mission. Her talk with Zeke had inspired her to accomplish what she came here for: to unearth proof that Sam Walters was who he said he was, or the imposter that Zeke believed. That the gig was going to soon be up regardless, and that Jade’s attempts to usurp her executive position had so far failed, were further motivation. It would be a feather in her corporate cap if she could help Zeke expand his California real estate kingdom, maybe uncover something about B&A’s main competition, something about why the Rosenthal Group’s portfolio was in Sam’s briefcase. Thankfully Sam Walters hadn’t been around much in the past week, so snooping around his impersonal palace was easier. Cecilia had lightened up also, finally satisfied that Martha could tuck a sheet corner, fluff a pillow, clean the kitchen, and run a vacuum. At least this was what Maya deduced by the fact she was no longer being subjected to what felt like the white glove test.

Maya finished changing the sheets, but instead of going into the bathroom, she stepped inside the master’s massive walk-in closet. She stopped just inside the doors, hands on hips, and looked around. The contents were basically the same as the last time she’d looked there. A few suits: navies, browns, blacks, dress shirts, polo shirts, casual slacks, shoes, and various pieces of underwear neatly folded on the closet’s shelves. Martha turned slowly in the center of the closet, willing herself to see something, anything out of the ordinary.

She started at the back of the closet and searched the pockets of each garment. Nothing. Next she took the step ladder from the closet’s corner and checked the top shelves, which contained shoes in see-through containers. She opened each container and looked in each shoe. Why she did that was anybody’s guess but people hid strange things in strange places.

Maya closed the closet doors and headed for the master bath, picking up the fresh clean towels to replace the dirty ones along the way. Inside the massive room that boasted a Jacuzzi tub, steam and water showers, and a separate vanity area, Maya once again paused and looked around with her best detective eye. As with the bed, the bathroom looked untouched, the towels hanging as pristinely as they had the day before. Clearly, Sam Walters had spent the night elsewhere.

“Interesting,” Maya said as she slowly made her way around the bathroom area. She idly touched the few, generic toiletries, ran her hand along the dry marble basin.
Waddling Walters with a woman?
Maya smiled, trying to imagine the geeky, conservative stuffed-shirt Brit getting his swerve on. But she’d never thought of it before, of Sam Walters seeing someone while here on business. Maybe this was a noteworthy development—Sam Walters, supposedly new on the scene in Los Angeles, having personal, romantic ties.

Maya replaced the towels and methodically wiped down the basin. All the while her mind raced.
Who would someone like Sam Walters be involved with? Where would he meet her?
Maya’s heartbeat quickened with the intuitive knowledge that she was onto something. But what?

Maya heard Cecilia coming up the stairs and realized she’d probably taken too long to make a bed and change out towels in an already pristine room. She grabbed the old linens and headed toward the door. Just as she was about to exit, a slip of paper caught her eye. She grabbed it quickly, just as Cecilia rounded the hall.

“I’m ready to wash these,” Martha said, deftly sliding the paper into her pants pocket. Cecilia simply nodded and continued down the hall to one of three guest bedrooms.

Maya quickly finished the washing and within the hour was headed toward the bus stop. She couldn’t wait to lose Martha. Her head itched under the hot, tight wig cap, her eyes hurt from looking through lens as thick as cola bottles, and her back hurt from trying to scrunch down the fiery spirit that was Maya Jamison into the insecure entity named Martha Jones. Maya rubbed her neck to ease the tension there, praying the bus wouldn’t be late. The faster and farther she got from Pacific Avenue and Sam’s Playa Del Rey home, the more she could relax.

As soon as Maya got seated on the Metro 115, she whipped off the thick glasses, opening and closing her eyes in an attempt to regain clear vision.
I really need to quit wearing these things
, she thought as her vision stabilized. Even though she tried as much as possible not to actually look through them, it wasn’t always possible. Maya didn’t want to damage her twenty-twenty vision behind this charade.

She plugged in her iPod, pulled out the BlackBerry she finally felt safe enough to carry with her to Sam’s house, and settled in for the twenty minutes that was part one of her bus trip. Although she checked her e-mail partly to ward off detractors, she didn’t really need to. It was amazing how differently she was treated in her housekeeper getup. Maya wasn’t vain, but she was used to getting her share of looks and flirts. But aside from a toothless, homeless man and an overeager dog trying to turn her leg into a humping post at the bus stop, Maya hadn’t received so much as a head nod. She was a bit surprised that it mattered, but had to admit, it did. Even homely housekeepers needed love.

Nearing her stop, Maya placed her BlackBerry in her purse and stood up. She placed her hand in her pocket and felt the paper she’d forgotten about. The tension she’d rubbed away earlier returned with a vengeance when she looked down on the paper and saw the last thing she expected to find written there…her phone number.

Maya was so rattled she missed her stop and had to walk back a block to catch her connection. When it arrived, it was a jam-packed bus. Just as well. Maya wasn’t in the frame of mind to resume checking e-mails on her BlackBerry; especially since one of them had been from Ester, reporting on yet another of Jade’s undermining schemes. Maya had something for Jade’s “a” later, but there was another level of madness she needed to deal with now. Sam Walters with her phone number scrawled on a piece of paper? What was that about?

Maya pondered the Sam Walters question all evening, ignoring calls from people who usually always got through: Trish and Stretch. But when Sean called and she let him also go to voice mail, she knew this Martha Jones mess was eating up too much of her life. She had to make a breakthrough quickly and take back her life.

“This charade game is getting ready to be over,” she announced resolutely to Lucky. Lucky’s ears perked up, his eyes fixed on Maya. “First,” Maya continued, buoyed by her attentive audience, “I’ve got one more week of housecleaning, and I’ve got to make it count. If I can help uncover some unsavory plot against Zeke, led by a role-playing Sam Walters, I can ride that wave right into my own company, and gladly give Jade what she’s trying so hard to steal.”

Maya got up from the couch and continued, walking back and forth in her living room. “No, on second thought, I need to handle Jade. She’s proven in no uncertain terms that she can’t be trusted, trying to move into my office and I’m not even gone yet.”

Lucky found something more interesting to focus on at that point: fly, gnat, Maya wasn’t sure what. But two swipes of the paw and he was off the couch and down the hall, off to capture what he obviously thought belonged to him.

There’s one more thing
, Maya thought, as she plopped down on the couch and hugged a throw pillow to her stomach. She had to come clean with Sean; tell him she was Maya, not Macy, and the reason why she lied. She reasoned that would be easier to do once she’d shed the Martha persona and was back into Maya full-time.

This three-persona lifestyle had taken its toll. She was getting ready to kick Martha and Macy to the curb, and roll up on Sean as Maya and Maya only. It was the woman she really was and prayed that for Sean…it would be all the woman he needed.

In the meantime, there was something Maya needed. An answer for why Sam Walters had her phone number.

“Just be careful,” Neil cautioned Sean. “These guys never give something for nothing. If they offer any information of value, they’re going to want something in return.”

“Nothing in life is free, man,” Sean responded. He was well aware of how the game worked; and aside from a tidy sum of “greasing the pipe” money, he had a tidbit of information he felt the men he was meeting with could use.

Neil continued. “Campbell worked for Zeke for years and his partner knows L.A. politics like the back of his hand. I think you’ll move your little project along tonight, my friend.”

Sean looked at his watch. It was getting close to the time for his dinner meeting. “All right, Neil, let me get moving.”

“Sure thing, man, take it easy.”

“Hey, if it comes to me easy, I’ll take it that way. Thanks for the connect, man.”

A little over an hour later Sean, now Sam Walters, sat in a corner booth of the dimly lit restaurant, able to scope out the entire establishment without being seen. He cautiously nursed a Manhattan and mindlessly twirled the cherry garnish. Without thought, Sean had morphed into a slightly awkward, good ole Black guy who easily blended into the woodwork. His undercover persona was the exact opposite of the real Sean Wynn, who if he’d walked in as himself would already have been accosted by at least two of the three tables full of women surrounding him. Even with paunch, mustache, and beard, he’d received a wink from a forty-something strawberry blonde.

Sam politely waved away the waitress who came over to refresh his drink. He doubted he’d even finish the barely touched Manhattan in front of him. Sean was a very light drinker, but he’d learned over the years that having a drink around gave off a casual, just-one-of-the-boys air. Businessmen he met tended to lighten up with a drink in their hands. They usually ended up drinking much more than he, but with his jovial, self-effacing personality, the imbibers never noticed.

He hoped the men he was waiting to meet would drink themselves into a state loose enough to provide the investigative break he was looking for. He’d been in L.A. a month, and while he’d talked patience to Joseph Rosenthal, he was ready for this case to be over. This wasn’t how he usually felt about his work; he usually loved his work, the challenge, the thrill. But something had happened to him, and her name was Macy. Having her in his life suddenly made the million or so he stood to make on this job seem less important. He wanted to hang out with her, spend time with her. He wanted to let her in on his life, on who he really was. Yes, he’d told her he was an investigator but she had no idea about his double identity as Sam Walters. He knew he could never tell her that, not only because of the confidentiality clause in his contract but more importantly, for her own safety. He wanted to share everything of who he was with this woman who’d occupied his mind from the moment she walked toward him in a hot red dress.

He’d have to do that later. Two men, obviously the ones for whom he waited, stepped into the restaurant. One looked to be in his forties, striking but not handsome, clean-cut, businesslike.
He must be the politician
, Sean thought, as he watched the hostess point him out to the duo. The second man was older than the first, balding and portly but still with a commanding presence. Sean correctly guessed this was Phillip Campbell, the man who’d worked with Zeke Brennan for years.

Sean stood with hand outstretched as the men approached. After introductions and small talk, Sean got down to business, confirming what the men had heard, that he was itching to buy some huge chunks of real estate.

“Well, your timing is perfect,” Phillip assured him. “Me and my partners are looking for a fourth and final investor to try and break the stranglehold that Zeke Brennan has on the L.A. market.”

“Join the crowd,” Sean said. “I hear the Rosenthal Group is trying to do the same thing.”

“True, but they don’t know what I know,” Phillip said.

“Nor I,” the ex-politician, Mark Dobbs, chimed in.

“And what’s that, gentlemen?” Sean asked casually. “Wait, first, let me buy you guys a drink.”

Two hours and a couple hundred dollars’ worth of drinks and dinner later, Sean pounded the treadmill of his hotel’s gym. He’d decided not to call Macy after his meeting; he needed the night to digest the information he’d uncovered and to strategize his next move. The information he received was even better than expected, and added a new and lucrative dimension to what he wanted to achieve in L.A. Getting there successfully, though; that’s what Sean had to figure out. Exercise helped him clear his head and think.

Mark Dobbs had confirmed what Sean suspected: Zeke had political insiders in his back pocket, from the mayor’s office on down. Thing was, the system had been in place for so long, and involved so many people from so many sectors of the city, it would take a virtual army of attorneys and investigators to successfully unravel the layers of cover-ups. Even lawyers who’d normally go after a corruption case like this had been paid off. That’s what Zeke did. He convinced the best of the best, those who started as opponents, to join his team. Then he made it worth their financial while to do so. At least that’s what everyone in the world of real estate suspected. So far, Brennan & Associates had been too savvy to leave any type of trail that offered concrete proof. The speculation was rampant, the belief absolute. The validity of some sort of corruption was in the numbers. How could one architectural firm legitimately outbid so many other companies, year after year? And, as many suspected, even be the blind partner in dozens of other deals throughout the state?

This was information Sean had expected. What he hadn’t expected was to find out that five years ago, Joseph Rosenthal had barely missed being indicted on money laundering charges involving dummy corporations and offshore bank accounts. There was also a shady Mafia connection and at least one murder that pointed, at least indirectly, to the Rosenthal Group. Sean remembered his last meeting with Joseph, the barely concealed rage and the obvious contempt Joseph held for Zeke Brennan. At the time Sean attributed it to simple business rivalry, albeit for billions. But was it more?

Sean pondered this question as he stepped from the gym’s sauna into the shower, and even as he returned to his room and ordered room service. He’d mostly picked at his meal with Mark and Phillip, preferring to keep his attention squarely on what they said. The workout had stirred up his appetite. He’d just begun to enjoy a chef’s salad and baked potato when his phone rang.

“Hey, you,” he said, pleased that Macy had called him. So far, he’d usually been the initiator.

“Hey back. You busy?”

“Not too, for you,” Sean replied. “That’s if you don’t mind a little salad munching in your ear while we talk.”

“You’re just now having dinner? A bit late, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, long day at work. But productive, though. What about you?”

“The same,” Maya said, thinking about the things Martha had uncovered at Sam’s house.

“Tell me about it,” Sean said, digging into his salad.

“Not much to tell,” Maya answered. “The usual secretarial stuff, but my boss is, uh, getting ready for a big meeting.” She hoped he wouldn’t ask for details.

“What type of company did you say you worked for?”

Maya needed to change this line of questioning. “Always the investigator,” she answered, putting some sexy into her voice. “Well, Mr. Wynn, I have something I’d like for you to investigate.”

“Oh, really?” Sean’s appetite quickly went from his mouth to his manhood.

“Yes, really,” Maya answered, lying back on her bed and idly rubbing her nana. “Do you think you’re
up
for a job like this?”

“Oh yes, I’m definitely up for the job.” Sean shifted in his chair, giving his quickly engorging shaft room to grow.

“Then tell me…how would you go about conducting this investigation?”

“First,” Sean said, “I’d have to invite the subject of the investigation over to my hotel room. I’m very private, and very thorough. My research would have to be done behind closed doors.”

“Okay, so I’d have to come over.”

“Uh-huh.”

“And then?”

“The first thing I’d have to do is conduct a strip search.”

“You mean…take my clothes off?” Maya asked innocently.

“Oh yes, Ms. Macy Williams. I’d have to determine there was nothing…um…up your sleeve.”

“Oh…so you’d just take off my blouse.”

“No.” Sean’s voice went deeper. “I’d have to check everywhere.”

“Is that so?”

“That’s so.”

“Okay, then what?”

“Now, now, not so fast. Let’s get those clothes off you first.”

Maya squirmed on her bed, trying to douse the fire starting between her legs. “Okay, go ahead.”

“We’d start with those sexy sandals you always wear. I’d take them off and give you a quick foot massage. Your feet are so pretty, I’d also have to suck those toes.”

“That’s allowed. Massaging and sucking? Are you sure this wouldn’t jeopardize your investigator/client relationship?”

“My darling, the way I massage and suck would ensure the
continuation
of my relationship!”

Maya laughed, enjoying the conversation. “Oh, really?”

“I don’t want to sound vain but yes, I think so. And then, only if my client had no objections, I’d continue the massage from her feet to her calves…thighs…but wait. My client would probably want to become more comfortable at this point, so I’d carefully remove whatever clothing she wore, pants, skirt, dress, whatever.”

Sean waited for a response but, hearing none, continued.

“I’d take off her underwear later and if she was wearing thong panties, I might not take them off at all but instead, use them to help enhance my, um, investigation.”

Maya moaned audibly, remembering how Sean had used the string of her thong to double the stimulation that first his fingers and later his shaft provided.

Sean chuckled softly. “And then…I’d continue the massage, kneading my client’s soft, lush buttocks and firm breasts, rubbing the tension from her shoulders, relaxing the muscles in her back. Are you wet for me, Macy?”

“Uh-huh.”

Sean pulled his hard penis from what had become a very confining pair of briefs. He rubbed himself casually as he continued. “And then I’d continue the massage, but instead of hands, I’d use my tongue.” Sean heard a click on the other end. “Macy? Macy?”

Maya looked at her phone and saw it had disconnected. She’d placed the receiver under her ear and had begun to use both hands on her body. She’d disconnected from him accidentally.

Sean waited for a moment.
Did Macy just hang up on me?
A knowing smile came to his lips. His manhood hardened more as he imagined her pleasuring herself. He began to do the same when his phone rang.

“Are you ready for my tongue?” he murmured in a low, husky voice. He wasn’t worried about clients as this was his personal cell phone number.

There was a moment of silence before a voice answered, “I’m always ready for your tongue, Sean Wynn.”

Oh, damn! Tangier!
Sean bolted upright and his hard-on went soft at the same time. “Tangier, hello.”

“Hmm. So that question wasn’t meant for me, I take it?”

“I’m sorry I haven’t called you. I’ve been busy.” Sean immediately regretted the ill-timed comment.

“So I gather,” Tangier replied smoothly. “I know the things you can do with that wonderful tongue of yours. She’s a lucky woman.”

“I’ve been busy with work,” Sean replied in a clipped tone. “As for what I said when I answered—”

“I’m a big girl and we’re not married,” Tangier interrupted. “You don’t have to lie about your sex life. You’re a healthy, hearty, virile male. And L.A. is full of beautiful women. It’s only natural you’d find a
temporary
friend while you’re there. As long as she stays there when you come home, all is well. And you’re using protection, right?”

Sean didn’t like the possessive sound of Tangier’s statement or her misperceived right to check into how he conducted his sexual affairs, but chose to let it slide. “How are you?”

“Missing you,” Tangier replied, wisely following Sean’s obvious desire to change the subject. “How’s work going?”

“Slow, but I’m making progress.”

“How long do you think you’ll be gone?”

“I don’t know.”

“Sounds like it could be a long time.”

“Maybe.”

“I want to come see you, Sean.”

“No, Tangier.”

“Just like that, no room for discussion?”

“No. You know I don’t mix business with pleasure.”

“So doing things with your tongue is part of your investigation?”

Sean’s phone beeped. Macy. “Look, Tangier, I’ve got to go.”

“So do I,” Tangier replied brusquely. She hung up without a good-bye.

Sean looked at his caller ID this time before clicking over. “What took you so long to call back?” he asked.

“I was…you got me all hot, Sean. I had to finish what you started.”

“I would have been happy to do that.”

“It wasn’t planned. The phone disconnected and I, well…”

“No worries, my mocha nymph. Why don’t I come over and, uh, tuck you in?”

“I’d love that, but I’ve got a busy day tomorrow.”

“Are you sure? I won’t stay long.”

“Tempting offer, but not tonight. Maybe we can get away for the weekend. Have you visited San Diego?”

Sean and Maya made plans for the weekend and then bade each other good night. Thanks to Tangier, Sean no longer needed to take a cold shower. No, what he needed, he thought as the first wave of sleep overtook him, was a good weekend dose of Macy. Sometimes his most brilliant ideas came when he was away from the grind of investigating. He would take the weekend to step back from all he’d learned, a process that would help him start fresh with a game plan Monday morning. His game plan for making Macy a permanent part of the Wynn enterprise was already in operation.

Sean was on Maya’s mind as she went to sleep as well.
This weekend
, she thought as her eyelids became heavy.
This weekend I come clean and tell Sean who I really am
. The timing felt right; Maya felt he would understand. After all, none of the lies had been harmful, nothing that affected their relationship directly.
And then after I tell him about Maya, and once the investigation wraps, I’ll tell him about Martha as well.