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It was Josiah.
Lenora hiked up one eyebrow. “Do you need to take that?” She sounded annoyed that her pitch to sign on as her agent was being interrupted.
Nairobia tossed her phone back into her bag. “No, no. I’m fine. Continue.”
“Well, like I was saying. I know a darling editor over at M&M Publishing who would simply stain her undies to sink her teeth into your manuscript. I’m telling you, my darling, she’d love to have you onboard.”
Nairobia bristled. M&M Publishing had been Marcel’s wife’s publishing house before she’d…
Nairobia shook her head, and said, “Let’s be clear, darling. I already have an agent who I adore immensely. Besides, poaching contracts away from another agent is underhanded and tasteless. It’s unethical, no?” Nairobia tilted her head, and raised her brow for effect. She didn’t wait for her response. “I, my darling, would never entertain doing business with a thieving agent.”
Lenora blinked in surprise, swinging her weave. “Thieving? Poaching? Ha! I beg your pardon. I do no such thing. I’ve not climbed the ladder of success by stealing, my darling. I’ve climbed up the ladder and smashed open the ceiling of opportunity by taking what I want. I make things happen. I make careers, lovey. And I can snatch them away.” She snapped her fingers. “Just like that. My name rings bells.”
Nairobia rolled her eyes. “Lenora, darling, bell ringing or not, you’re ruthless and delusional.” She pulled out the diamond-tipped pins that held her hair into a sleek chignon, then shook it free, tossing her own mane over her shoulder. “What you’re trying to do is steal another agent’s client. Call it what you will. But, if you’re trying to pilfer another agent’s contracts, you’ll try to steal my coins. And, I, my darling, have the resources, the connections, and the coins to ruin you if you dared.” Nairobia snapped her fingers, mimicking Lenora. “Snap. Just like that. And, trust me. My bells ring louder.”
Lenora picked up her glass and took a slow sip. The corner of her mouth lifted. “Now, now, let’s play nice, Nairobia, darling. No need to get catty. There’s no reason why two successful, beautiful black women, like yourself and I, can’t—”
Nairobia laughed, cutting her off. “No, no, no. Let’s not toss skin color into the ring, Lenora, dear. And let’s not sit here and try to eat the elephant in the room. Last I heard, you’d said I wasn’t a real black woman. Whatever that meant.”
Nairobia had gotten that tidbit out of the mouth of an editor who’d sworn her to secrecy. Hearing that type of ignorance from other black women sliced under Nairobia’s skin. Granted she was half-black. But she identified with her West African ancestry openheartedly. Because of her exotic looks, she often found it oddly amusing how, at first glance, people assumed she was Moroccan or Egyptian—or from some other Middle Eastern country. It amazed and saddened her to no end that so many people did not know Egypt was a part of North Africa—and not some “other” Middle Eastern country.
She was African. And Dutch. But she lived her life as an ethnic woman. Black. And she despised other women who thought themselves the expert on what being a real black woman meant. Light-skinned or not, she had more African blood running through her veins than half the women who’d ever dared challenge her blackness.
Lenora gasped, sending her a look of horror. Then went utterly still. “I said no such thing.”
Nairobia put a hand up to stop her. “Lies. Your mouth spews nothing but the froth of half-truths. You live and breathe in lies, darling. Every time you open that big cock gobbler of yours.”
Lenora placed a hand to her chest, feigning insult. “I’m appalled.”
Nairobia gave her a look. “Don’t be, Lenora. If being a half-white and half-black woman who embraces both of her heritages doesn’t make me a real black woman, then so be it. But know this. I’m a real woman in every sense of the word. There’s nothing fake about me. No Botox, no silicone, no acrylics, no weaves, nothing. Can you say the same?”
Nairobia tilted her head. Her phone buzzed, and she ignored it.
“See now. There’s no need for hostility, dear,” Lenora said calmly. “I invited you out today so that we could break bread and, perhaps, unite as one. Now let’s get down to slicing the meat from the bone. I like you, Nairobia. Always have. You’re talented. Feisty.” She took another sip from her drink. Licked her lips. Then sipped again. “And…”
Nairobia looked over to her right and saw a few cameras flash in her direction. She was certain said photos would be all over social media in a matter of seconds. She brought her attention back in the direction of Lenora, and said, “And I have no intent on climbing in bed with a barracuda, my darling,” Nairobia added, locking her gaze on Lenora. A slow smile worked over her mouth as she reached over and placed a hand over Lenora’s. “Not unless said barracuda licked kut.” Of course Nairobia detested her. But she’d love nothing more than smearing her cunt cream all over the cougar’s stiff, cosmetically enhanced face.
Lenora’s eyes widened. “I beg your pardon? Lick what?”
“Don?
?t play coy,” Nairobia chided, swiping the tip of her tongue over her glossed lips. She squeezed Lenora’s hand. “You like wet, juicy cunt, no? Would you not like to suck my clit into your mouth?”
Lenora looked mortified as she chanced a peek over at the table to the left of them, where a handsome, middle-aged white man with sparkling blue eyes—who looked large and virile—sat with his much younger Asian companion. The couple seemed too caught up in their own conversation to care one way or the other about the goings-on at her table. Relieved, she dragged her attention back to Nairobia.
“I beg your pardon. I will not stand for this sort of talk. In public of all places.”
“Then shall we have it in private?” she asked, casting her a saucy smile. “I’ve heard of your lascivious ways, Lenora. You might have the face of a goat. But I’ve heard you have the tongue of a lizard. And rumor has it you’ve taken several young lovers—male and female—over the years, no?”
Lenora gasped. “You shut your filthy lies,” she hissed. “I will not have you slander my good name.” She gulped down her drink.
Nairobia’s lips tipped upward, satisfaction glinting in her eyes. “Lies, Lenora, darling. Lies. You want something from me. I want something from you. You want a piece of my luscious royalties. And I want you to lick my kut. My cunt swells with desire for you, Lenora, darling. Come. Let me ride your face. And drown you in my juices. I’m always so wet for you every time I see you.”
It was a lie, of course. But Nairobia loved making men and women squirm. She slid her foot out of her Manolo and eased her foot up between Lenora’s legs. “Tell me, darling. Are your panties wet for me? Does your kut cry out to be filled with my fingers?”
Lenora choked on her drink, fluid shooting out from her mouth and nostrils. She coughed and slammed a hand to her chest. Satisfaction gleamed in Nairobia’s eyes as she sat back in her seat, letting go of her hand and watching the old bat choke. Nairobia eyed her as she snatched up her linen napkin and covered her mouth and nose.
Nairobia bit back a laugh as she slipped back into her heel, then stood and opened her Judith Leiber clutch. She pulled out a shiny black embossed card that resembled that of a credit card and said, “You need a night of hot, sweaty decadence, my darling. Let me help you unclog your loins.” She tossed Lenora the card. “The climax is on me.”
