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Nairobia cleared her throat. And when Pasha blinked her into view, she was staring back at her in the mirror, head tilted.
Pasha blinked. “Oh, I’m sorry. What were you saying?”
Nairobia raised a brow. “I was telling you about Lamar, my darling. How fascinating I find him.”
Pasha swallowed again. “Yes, that he is. Speaking of him, where is he?” It dawned on Pasha that she hadn’t seen or spoken to him since she’d referred him to Nairobia. She made a mental note to call him first chance she got.
“I traveled light this time,” Nairobia said. “I didn’t need my body guarded, so he has the next two days off, doing whatever fine hunks of man meat like him do.”
Pasha smiled. “Lamar’s a great guy. He’s loyal. And…”
“A delicious piece of chocolate,” Nairobia added, before allowing Pasha to finish her sentence. She lowered her voice. “Oh how I crave to taste him, to have him in my sheets.” She feigned embarrassment, placing a hand to her neck. “Oh my. How scandalous of me.”
Pasha almost choked on her spit. “Ohmygod, Nairobia! You’re a mess.” She laughed.
“No, my love. I am a woman who knows what she wants. I take what I want. I demand my own pleasure, my darling. And I deny myself nothing. And I am sure you have not either, no?” She gave Pasha a knowing glance.
Pasha smiled, but said nothing. She tilted Nairobia’s chair back, placing her head under the spigot, then began running water through her hair. “You do know,” she hedged, moving the conversation away from Lamar, “you don’t have to fly way out here just to have your hair done. My salon in Jersey is right across the water and…”
Nappy No More II was nothing like the salon and spa Pasha owned back on the East Coast. Nairobia had never stepped foot inside of that particular establishment, but she’d heard through the grapevine that that location catered to the hood trash and ghetto-fabulous, the wannabe divas and trap queens.
Pasha was a doll. And came highly regarded in the hair industry as one of the world’s top stylists. But Nairobia never would have stepped foot inside her salon if she catered to that element here, too.
Nairobia’s lashes rapidly fluttered. “Oh, no, no, my darling. As wonderful as I’m sure your other salon is, I am sure it doesn’t cater to the same clientele as the one here does.”
Pasha chuckled. “It has its moments. It’s a more eclectic mix.”
Nairobia heard the translation in her head: street trash with light coin. She pursed her lips. “And I, my darling, require a more—how do I say?—homogeneous experience. I need to be surrounded by good coins.”
Pasha laughed, applying shampoo and lathering up her hair, lightly massaging her scalp. “Point taken.” Pasha pushed a digital button on the arm of the chair, and, within seconds, the chair came alive, vibrating and pulsing.
Nairobia moaned as Pasha’s fingers tantalized her scalp. “Mmm, yes, my darling, yes…that feels good. Your fingers are delectable. This chair is orgasmic.” She closed her eyes, and moaned again. “I’ll fly to the heavens and back for such treatment, my darling.”
Pasha smiled wide. She loved catering to her wealthy clients. Loved giving them her personal touch. Hell, she’d massage their feet; maybe even lick their toes if it kept them coins coming in heavy. Nappy No More II had been open for two years now, and had already grossed nearly $5 million, thanks to the personal and attentive care paired with her highly talented styling team committed to providing one-of-a-kind service to her salon’s exclusive clientele.
Nairobia had been coming to the salon since its grand opening, and she was a loyal customer who had no problem paying top dollar to look her best. She also tipped extravagantly and had graciously referred several of her wealthy friends—including a few porn stars, her way. So Nairobia would always get the red carpet treatment.
“I aim to do whatever it takes to keep my best customers coming back,” Pasha said earnestly as she combed conditioner from her new hair care line through Nairobia’s hair, then blasted it with a cold-water rinse for several seconds.
Nairobia cooed. “And I do believe I am coming in more ways than one, my darling…mmmm…yes…I already feel my juices pooling between my thighs.”
Pasha chortled as she wrapped a towel around her head. Raised her up from the sink. Then reached for her boar-bristle paddle brush and blew-dry Nairobia’s luxurious mane.
“So how’s the new club? Is it everything you dreamed of? I’ve heard it’s fabulous.”
Nairobia’s lashes fluttered. “It’s everything, my darling. And more. Perhaps you’d like to unleash your desires and step into the world of decadence, no?”
Pasha bristled at the thought. Sure she had a freaky side. Who didn’t? But she’d rather unleash her alter ego behind closed doors, in the comfort of her own home. Still, there was no denying. She was a bit curious, but not enough to feed it.
She smiled. “Oh, no, girl. I’ll have to kindly decline. Thanks for the invitation, though. But I have a cousin back home who mentioned in confidence that she bought a membership. However, she hasn’t used it yet. Silver level, I believe.”
Mmm. She’d only have access to the first two floors. That’s what the five-thousand-dollar membership card afforded her. She’d need to dig a little deeper in her purse if she wanted more exclusive privileges. For another five grand she could upgrade. Gold level would allow her access to the first three levels. And for those able to foot the twenty-thousand-dollar bill for a Platinum level membership, they’d have full access to every level of the club, along with special invitations to special events.
Nairobia smiled. “I do hope your darling cousin comes to indulge herself soon.”
“Oh, trust. She already has. Out of her two sisters, she’s the more daring. The more sexually liberated.”
Nairobia pursed her lips. “So she isn’t afraid to unleash her freak.”
