Red Hot Liar (9781617738654) (2 page)

S
elah Dominion stood in front of her floor-to-ceiling mirror dressed in a six-hundred-dollar bra and matching thong, along with an elegant garter set that had been hand-crafted in white lace. Bending over, she stuck her feet into her thigh-high stockings and then carefully pulled them up over her firm thighs. Pausing right below her crotch, she attached the edges of the stockings to the dangling garters and then stood back to scrutinize her firm, damn-near forty-eight-year-old body.

Not bad, not bad,
she thought, turning to peer at her back. Her ass was still damned good, and her legs were holding too. Curvy, with defined muscle tone. She turned back around. Her breasts were high and full, and even after giving birth twice, her tummy was flat and her waist was tightly cinched in a sweet V.

She spritzed a light mist of designer perfume over her body, then carefully stepped into her five-thousand-dollar custom-made Vera Wang scribble lace dress and pulled the straps up over her shoulders.

Today was going to be a very special day. This afternoon she would be opening her home and playing hostess to the beautiful Okrah Sinfree, and not only did Selah want her mansion to look perfect and inviting, she wanted to be at her personal best as well.

With the arrival of Mink LaRue in their lives there had been more drama going down in the mansion than she could shake a stick at. Between Viceroy waking up from his coma with his old gangsta from the hood personality, and Mink's DNA coming back a perfect match to Sable's, not to mention all the drama Dy-Nasty Jenkins had kicked up when she tried to con the family and shake them down for a fortune, it had been a rough couple of months.

Drama! Drama! Drama!

Selah shuddered as she remembered how that Philadelphia gold digger had tried to blackmail her into giving up two million dollars to get her long-lost engagement ring back. And even after Selah had agreed to give her the money, the slick little ghetto troll had tried to double-cross her by leaving her nasty slum toe-ring sitting on her pillow instead of coughing up the real thing!

Selah had been too damn through as she stared at that disgusting piece of moldy green metal stinking up her goddamn pillow. All the Brooklyn had come rushing up out of her, and she had rolled out to the airport and put a grown-woman Bedford-Stuyvesant beat-down on that young girl's ass!

Just the memory of whipping Dy-Nasty's ass had Selah's face flushing hot, and she took a couple of deep breaths and fanned herself with the small square of cardboard that had come in the packet with her silk stockings. She didn't know if her sudden heat storm was from reliving the memory of that beat-down, or from a menopausal hot flash, but she was sure as hell on fire!

Calm yourself
, she thought as she sought her inner peace. As a high-class socialite Selah carried herself like an elegant lady at all times. In fact, most people had never seen her when she wasn't poised and dignified, and she typically exuded sophisticated gracefulness with her every word and gesture.

And now, with her long-lost baby back in the fold, life was about to go back to normal around the mansion, and Selah for one, was looking forward to her peaceful reward.

“
Good afternoon, Ms. Sinfree
.”

Selah smiled gracefully and practiced her greeting in the mirror. But should she really call her Ms. Sinfree? Who did that? This was the south, and everyone called Okrah Okrah. Besides, she had just as much money as Okrah did. Probably even more.

“
Welcome to the Dominion Estate, Okrah. Please, make yourself at home
.”

Yes. That sounded much better. She flashed her fake smile in the mirror again and then nodded in approval. It was going to be a splendid afternoon, and Selah couldn't wait to get it started.

 

“Oooow, shit-shit-
shit!
” Viceroy winced in pain as he cradled his bloody fist in his lap. He had come to the office planning to get a little work done before heading back home to meet with Okrah Sinfree later in the afternoon, but now all that shit was a bust.

“That muthafucka!” He foamed at the mouth as he thought about the slimy tactics of Rodney Ruddman. Everybody knew Okrah would be airing live from his place today, and no doubt Ruddman had wanted to throw some shit up in his flow. “That bitch-ass muthafucka!”

“I know,” his chief contractor Bob Easton said as he dabbed his friend's bloody knuckles. “This is the damnest thing but you gotta calm down so you can think clearly, Viceroy. You've got to calm
down
.”

Viceroy had been raging like a crazy bull in his office, smashing pictures, kicking furniture, punching the walls, and full-out tossing the joint up. Bob had rushed in to pluck him from the midst of his stunned and frightened staff, and had just ushered him down the hall to a private conference room that only a handful of executives in the entire building had fingerprint access to.

And now, while Viceroy chugged gin straight out the bottle and bitched about his wife's bedroom fuck-outs, cool and steady Bob busied himself slathering antibiotic ointment on his boss's shredded knuckles and wrapping a tan-colored ace bandage around his fist as he spoke in low tones trying to still the beast that raged in Viceroy's chest.

“I swear I'ma kill that bitch, Bob,” Viceroy panted and seethed. “So help me God, her black ass is
mine
!”

Bob nodded his understanding. At seventy-two he was an old head in the game of politics and Texas oil. He'd seen wicked women and fine wine take down even the most powerful of men, but he was a shrewd businessman first and foremost, and right now he needed Viceroy to pull his shit together and keep his game tight. He didn't give a damn where Selah had been lifting her skirt or who's dick she had been blowing from her knees, as a chief contractor, political advisor, and major stockholder of Dominion Oil he couldn't have the company's CEO melting down like a love-sick pansy and jumping off a cliff in public.

“I'ma choke her
out!
” Viceroy shrieked hoarsely, clutching his bottle of white lightning to his chest. “I'ma kill her!”

Bob nodded. “Oh, you might have to kill her,” he agreed calmly, “but you can't do it on company time, and you definitely can't do it where our stockholders might get wind of it. Remember, son,” Bob said, gently taking the bottle from Viceroy's grip and setting it on a low table, “matters like these of a personal nature can be very delicate. They make our stockholders and financiers very nervous so they must be dealt with discreetly and in private.”

“Oh, I'ma do her in private,” Viceroy fumed. “I'ma drag her ass behind a Dumpster in somebody's back alley and beat her brains the fuck out!”

Bob chuckled, his sagging cheeks bright and rosy. “You'll do no such thing, Viceroy Dominion. As the richest black man in the oil business I predict you'll settle this matter with your dear wife Selah in the most respectable manner. I'm sure she has a perfectly good explanation that will satisfy all your burning questions. By this time tomorrow your little tiff will have blown over and you two lovebirds will be back in the saddle again.”

Bob reached down and hitched up the knees of his expensive gabardine slacks and then sat down next to Viceroy. He crossed his leg and lit an imported Cohiba Behike Cuban cigar, then threw his arm casually over the back of the sofa.

“While we're chatting about stockholders and business, Viceroy, there's something I've been meaning to discuss with you.”

Viceroy snatched the bottle from the table and took another swig, then looked up with his eyes flashing darkly. “Yeah, what's that?”

“Well, a couple of the fellas and I were playing the eighth hole down at the country club just the other day. We were discussing the new emission regulations and the downward trend in public opinion as it relates to the oil industry, and of course we were thinking about how we might get in on the inside so we can stop our profits from dwindling and possibly tanking completely out.”

“Is that right?”

Bob nodded. “Yes. And ironically, that's when your name came up.”

“Oh yeah?” Viceroy swigged again. “In what way?”

“In a way that influences public opinion.”

He scowled and waved his hand. “What the hell do I have to do with public opinion, Bob? That pussy playa Rodney Ruddman talked my wife outta her drawers and her engagement ring when I can't even convince Selah to sit on my fuckin' lap! How am I supposed to sway the opinions of a bunch of stiff-ass honkies?”

Bob laughed. “I hate to be the one to tell you this,” he drawled in his good-old-boy Texas twang, “but if you wanna stay rich you need those stiff-ass honkies a helluva lot more than you need that fine little wife of yours. Besides, the new drilling legislation is going to have a huge financial impact on the oil industry. That means my pockets and yours too are going to take a hit. Remember, those stiff-ass honkies vote.”

“And?”

“And there's a chairmanship position about to come open at the Texas Railroad Commission. David Cooper's illness is terminal and he's stepping down immediately.”

“From the Railroad Commission in Austin?”

“Technically yes, but there's no residency requirement so anyone can hold the office. The position oversees the regulatory council for oil, natural gas, and coal, and it guarantees the office holder the top seat on the Public Utility Commission Board and the state regulatory board too.”

Viceroy smirked. “Yeah, well too fuckin' bad for Cooper. I'll send him a box of virtual hugs.”

“Bad for Cooper, but perhaps good for us. The governor's going to appoint a temporary replacement to fill the rest of his term, and whoever gets it can run for the permanent position in the upcoming election. And that's in three and a half weeks.”

Viceroy raised an eyebrow. “And?”

“And,” Bob said, “we'd like you to put your name on the ballot and run for office.”

“
Sheeit
,” Viceroy snorted and picked up his bottle again. “You must be crazy. That old racist Rick Perry ain't gonna give me the nod for nothing big like that.”

“He already did,” Bob said calmly. “I spoke to him last night. He's willing to ink you into the slot for the next few weeks, and all you have to do is put your name on the ballot, get yourself elected, and become our inside man, Viceroy. We think you're the right person for the job. You can get in there and affect state legislation in favor of our business agenda and ensure we keep our cash flowing like oil, right into our pockets.”

“
Me
?” Viceroy laughed and shook his head. “Fool, do I need to pull down my pants so you can see what shade of black my ass is? Nah, I ain't the one. You need a white boy for that.”

“Nonsense!” Bob protested smoothly. “You've spent your entire life preparing for a role like this. You've chaired the Regional Power Committee and served on the Gas Committee too. Not to mention that you were nearly killed in an oil rig accident. You survived and spent months in a coma and endured endless rehab and you still bounced back on your feet! You're exactly the man we're looking for, Viceroy. Hell, if you ask me the state of Texas owes you one. The election's going to be tough, but the campaign will be very short. You've got a tear-jerking survival story that's perfect for these bleeding heart liberals, and we need their votes too! Besides, you're the head of the richest black family in Texas. That alone makes for a great public interest story and could help win over the hearts and minds of the specialty voting block.”

Viceroy stopped slurping from his bottle and stared at the old man like he was smoking weed.

“Do you know how much crazy shit my family is going through right now, Bob? Didn't you just see me trash my whole damn office? My wife is a fuckin' floozy! My son's banging the shit out of his own cousin, my youngest daughter can't decide if she likes nuts or cooch, I got a crazy New Yorker trying to shoot a reality show in my living room, and a big-dicked cross-dresser named Peaches is flouncing around my house in a little pink skirt!” Viceroy shook his head and swiped his hand down his face. “And if all that don't fuck you up, Okrah Sinfree and her crew are gonna be at my house filming an interview this afternoon.”

Bob counted off on his fingers. “Yes to Okrah, no to the reality show, and hell no to the queer guy. In fact, get rid of him right away!” he snapped distastefully. “It sounds like you've got a lot of cleaning up to do at home, but I believe it can be done. Truly, this is the perfect opportunity for a man like you, Viceroy. It's your time. This position is powerful and prestigious and you deserve to hold it. Who knows? It might lead to a federal appointment one day.”

Viceroy still couldn't see it. “Man, Bob, I just tore up my whole fuckin' office! I smacked the shit out of an intern and scared the hell outta good ol' Ginny. A couple of leaked emails about that and I can kiss a whole lot of lily white votes good-bye.”

“Nonsense!” Bob waved him off. “Remember, you've had a very severe head injury. Everyone expects these type of weird things to happen with you every now and then. Ginny's fine, so don't worry about her, and I'll make sure the intern gets a great job offer and a nice bonus too. All you have to do is agree to do it. Just get your household in order and say you'll run.”

“Let me get a few days to think about it.”

“We don't have a few days! The election is in three weeks. The deadline to submit your filing documents is in less than seventy-two hours.”

“Seventy-two hours?”

“That's right. We need a quick decision here. If you say yes, I can have the necessary forms filed immediately.”