Luxe (21 page)

Why is he so fine and why is he smelling this good?
she thought, knowing that he was her weakness. He was dressed in Armani jeans and a V-neck Ralph Lauren fitted T-shirt, but even when he was casual, he commanded the room. He suffered from the fine-nigga syndrome. He could literally do no wrong.

“There's my lil' mama,” he said, admiring her in her natural state. “I almost didn't recognize you last night.”

She smiled and closed the space between them. She stood between his legs as his hands instinctively wrapped around her waist and rested on her behind while his head lay on her stomach.

“What's up with the Benz? The expensive clothes? You rob a bank while you were M.I.A.?” he asked as he stroked her hair.

“No, I just came upon some money,” she lied. “I applied for a loan and decided to buy a few things, that's all.”

He looked at her skeptically but didn't push.

“I can pay you back for all of the things you bought me,” she said.

“You're good. Keep it for a rainy day,” he replied. “Tell me you can stay all day here with me,” he said.

“Of course I can,” she replied, not thinking twice about any of the classes she would be missing.

He untied the robe and kissed her stomach. Goose bumps formed when he removed his lips. Her body was slowly becoming his. “What's with you, Bleu? You've got school. What I tell you about a nigga that wants to distract you from that?” he asked sternly but softly as his kisses went lower.

“Hmm,” she moaned as her river began to flow. “It's just a few classes. It's no big deal.”

“It's a big deal,” he stressed. “I don't care who it is … including me. You put that first. I know L.A. seems like the big-city life … the pace … the lights … the people … it's exciting, but don't lose you. I'm kind of digging you. You would be doing yourself a disservice if you switched up too much,” he said.

As he schooled her, his lips came closer to her pleasure until finally he hit his mark. He wasn't big on putting his mouth on a woman, especially the type that Bleu so desperately wanted to become, but with her it was different. He had a thing for this young woman and he loved the way her scent lingered on him all day; despite the shower he routinely took after sex, the hint of sweetness followed him. It was like she had him spellbound. Iman wasn't a stranger to pussy or to women thirsting after him. With money and power came an assortment of women at his disposal. All races, all ages, all flavors, they wanted him … but he wanted her. A part of him wanted to keep this thing with Bleu to himself. He wanted to cherish it, keep it private so that the streets couldn't corrupt it. Bleu was a good girl. He didn't want to be the reason she turned bad, but being with him, she would eventually see the bad side of things. He wanted her to be far removed, which was why he always brought her to Calabasas instead of the condo he had in the city. There were parts of his life that she couldn't be exposed too just yet.

“Oh my … Iman,” she whispered. His name on her lips. His mouth on her body. Her heart unknowingly in his hands. It was all so right, and as he brought her to the peak she trembled.

She pushed him back onto the bed, eager for more, but he resisted. He flipped her over, taking control as he planted a kiss on her forehead. “Go to class, ma,” he said sternly. The buzzing of his phone against his hip caused him to rise off of her and almost instantly the mood changed in the room. She caught a glimpse of his phone.
Tan
. It was the beautiful one again. Bleu was starting to wonder who this girl was. Apparently she called frequently, and although Bleu knew that it was too early for her to question him about it, she still couldn't help but feel jealous. He sent the call to voice mail before refocusing back on Bleu. “I've got a little business to take care of anyway. I'll check for you later, a'ight? I've got to go, but you can take your time and leave when you're ready. The cleaning lady is here, so don't worry about locking up behind you.”

She sat up, nodded, and watched as he left the room, suddenly in a hurry. She bit her bottom lip as confusion plagued her.
Who is Tan? And why did he rush out after she called?

*   *   *

“Ms. Montclair, a moment of your time if you will?” Professor Davis said as the students filed out of her lecture hall. Bleu had missed half the class thanks to the morning traffic from Iman's Calabasas palace, but it was better than missing class altogether. She gathered her things and approached the wooden desk anxiously. She hated these one-on-one sessions. They were never good, and she took a deep breath to prepare herself for whatever curveball her instructor was about to throw her way.

“Let me be frank with you, Bleu,” Professor Davis said without looking up. She never seemed to look Bleu in the eye when they spoke. It was as if the professor didn't even think Bleu was worth wasting a moment of her time on. She busied herself with papers that sat atop of her desk. An assignment that Bleu had forgotten to do.
Is that what this is about?
Bleu wondered. “When I first learned that you would be a part of this class I looked forward to teaching you. The guidance office lobbied on your behalf for you to start extremely late and I pulled your file personally to find out what the fuss was all about. I've been highly disappointed, to say the least,” she said.

Bleu shifted uncomfortably but remained silent as Professor Davis continued. “You barely show up for class and when you do, you don't participate; you're distracted.… I accepted you under the terms that you would make up the work that you missed. I've yet to receive the back assignments and you have missed a few of the current ones as well. Do you want this, Ms. Montclair?”

Bleu felt sick to her stomach as she listened to how much she had dropped the ball. “I've wanted to come here since I was a kid,” she admitted.

“Well, you're about to blow it,” Professor Davis said. “You're a smart girl, but UCLA isn't a cakewalk and right now you're failing every class. You have exactly two weeks until the semester ends. If you don't make up your work for not only this class but the rest of them too, you'll lose your scholarship. You need to maintain a B average to stay here. You need to screw your head on straight or you'll be out of here. Am I clear?”

“Crystal,” Bleu responded. She rushed out of the class and practically ran back to her dorm room. Tears clouded her vision as she thought of all the work she had neglected to do. Yes, she was hustling, but she was hustling so that she could maintain herself in college. It was all for the greater good … to help her achieve the ultimate goal. She had lost sight of that and now her entire dream was in jeopardy.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” she mumbled as she burst into her dorm room.

China came out of the bathroom, wrapped in a short housecoat while a bath towel was twisted around her wet hair. “Hey, chick,” she greeted Bleu, blasé as she removed the towel, shaking out her dark tresses. “What's wrong with you?”

“I fucked up,” Bleu replied. “If I don't keep my grades up, they will kick me out of the university. This is my dream. This drug thing is just a hustle. I don't want to do this forever. If I get kicked out, I lose everything.” The last thing Bleu wanted was to retreat back to Michigan with her tail tucked between her legs. She had nothing to go home to. This was it. It was all or nothing. Somehow she had forgotten that. She had gotten so sucked in by the lavish life, by Iman, by the excitement of the hustle, that she had let school fall to the wayside. “I'm in trouble.”

China waved her hand and replied, “That ain't nothing.”

Bleu frowned and shot back, “Bitch, it's everything! What are you talking about?”

Bleu wouldn't be surprised if China was eager to see her lose her place at the university. Although they were cool, Bleu could sense a slight tension between them. They were more like frenemies, or associates. Bleu didn't extend the word “friend” easily and she had never been blind to sneak disses or ill intent. It was Aysha whom Bleu rocked out with. Her friendship with Aysha was heavy and genuine, but there was low-key hate running through China's blood. She and Bleu kept it friendly, but underneath it all there was a bit of discord between the two. Aysha was their common denominator, and now that Bleu had taken to the game like a duck to water, she sensed that China felt a type of way about her sudden come up. One run had gotten Bleu praise that China hadn't yet received, planting a mustard seed of jealousy.

“Like I said, it's nothing. Don't worry about it. I've got something for you that will get you through finals and help you catch up,” China said. She walked over to her desk and opened the drawer. She pulled out an unlabeled pill bottle and tossed it to Bleu. “It's Adderall,” China said. “It'll get you through the next few weeks. You'll fly through that homework with no problems, trust me.”

Bleu hesitantly took the bottle. “You take these?”

“This is UCLA. The curriculum here is hard as hell. Half the kids here pop pills to get by. You would be surprised,” China admitted. “Try it. If you don't like it you can give them back, or if you need something a little bit stronger, let me know. No biggie.”

Bleu closed her fist around the bottle reluctantly. She wasn't in the position to turn down anything that would help her get back on track. “Thanks.”

*   *   *

Iman didn't want to be the bad guy, but he was, and as he put his key into the door of his L.A. high-rise, he felt conflicted. His gut tightened as the smell of Chanel perfume filled the air. It was her signature scent, and over the years his reaction to it had gone from sugar to shit. He had loved her once upon a time. When they were young he thought she would be the love of his life, but puppy love had quickly expired. By the time he realized he wanted out, they were married, with a kid on the way. He had been trapped, but her family connections had secured him a lucrative place within the Mexican Cartel. His entire empire depended on his relationship with her.

“Finally decided to come home?” Tan's voice was like ice as she looked at him through the reflection of the vanity mirror, where she was seated. She brushed her long dark, hair with precision as she cut her dark eyes at him.

She was beautiful. A Mexican
mami
with a sharp tongue but even sharper curves, every man's fantasy except the man she called her own. There had been many women outside of their marriage, but hell, there had been side niggas too. Men weren't the only creatures who liked to have their cake and eat it too … the problem was her cake was stale. She was blatantly aware that Iman had lost interest. She could always sense when a new chick was in his ear, but what Tan didn't know was that this time Iman's heart was involved.

“We need to talk,” he said as he stood in the doorway to the plush bedroom. White on white decorated the space.

“So talk,” she replied.

“I'm moving out,” he replied honestly. “We both know this thing between me and you has been done for a long time.”

Tan turned around and peered at him through the slits of her menacing glare. She had known him long enough to read him like a book. “You've met someone?”

“This isn't about a bitch,” he replied as he swept over his face with his hand, suddenly feeling as if he were choking. “This is about you. You walk around this bitch miserable, ma. The love ain't there no more. You just want me because of who I am, not how you feel for me. You know I'd never beat you, Tan. If you think I'ma leave you dry, don't worry. I'll bless your accounts with enough to take care of you for life.”

Tan laughed lightly, as if she had heard a joke. “It's because of me that you have the money you have. You think my account depends on you to maintain seven figures. This is about you and whatever bitch…”—Tan paused, throwing the insult with emphasis—“has you thinking the grass is greener on her side. The grass is greener where you water it, Iman.”

“Is it worth watering, Tan? If you tell me this is real for you and that you love me like you used to, I'll drop everything. Is the girl who went against everything and everyone for me still in there? If she is, I'll leave the game, I'll leave the women alone, and it'll be me and you. It'll be like old times. But you just got to say one thing to me, ma. Tell me you love me and that's it's us against the world,” he said. His voice was even because he had no hope. He knew that she was with him out of convenience. Her silence resounded loudly, wounding him slightly, but his face was unmoved. “Exactly,” he finished. He turned to walk away, but her voice halted him.

“There have been bitches before. What's so special about this one? Keep the whore out of sight. She's a side bitch, so keep her in her place. You will grow bored with her just like all the others,” Tan said, unbothered as she stood from her seat, the Chinese silk robe she wore hanging from her shoulders like a regal gown.

She was such a fucking lady … a boss by birthright. She was the daughter of Lisbon Sandoza, the head of one of Tijuana's most dangerous and powerful drug cartels. It was her connections, her lineage, her blood, that made Iman so powerful and untouchable. When they were fifteen years old they had fallen in love. It was young and hot. Like Romeo and Juliet their forbidden love was unstoppable. When her father caught wind of the intense teenaged affair, he up and moved his family back to Mexico, leaving L.A. behind and with it the troublesome boy who had his daughter's heart. Iman wasn't pure-blood. He was mixed. Black and Mexican-born, he wasn't the ideal match for the Mexican princess. He was a mutt and Sandoza had no desire to accept Iman into the fold. When Tan took an entire bottle of sleeping pills to punish her father for moving her away, Sandoza realized that he would rather have a daughter who loved Iman than no daughter alive to love anyone at all. He moved Iman to Mexico and brought him into the operations of the cartel. It wasn't until he was twenty-one years old did Iman move back to L.A. When he did he came with a street army that the city had never seen, and he took over the drug trade, crowning himself king. Tan and Iman married a year later, and they were supposed to live a thug-life version of happily ever after until tragedy struck. Seven months into her pregnancy, their unborn child died in the womb and Tan was forced to deliver a dead baby into the world. She had not been the same since; their love hadn't been the same since. Of course, they tried again and again, but repeatedly she miscarried. Her womb was ruined and it had turned the once-sweet young girl into a coldhearted wife. Now, three years later, they were both drowning in unhappiness. In fact, Iman had become numb. Numb to pain, numb to joy, numb to emotion … until he met Bleu … she made his heart flutter, and although he had promised her there was nobody else for her to worry about, he knew it was untrue. Tan wasn't competition; she was the fucking judge, jury, and executioner. He had to end his marriage before Bleu caught wind and before his wife felt threatened enough to try to destroy her.