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J-Smooth turns from the window and sighs. “Man, this is fucked up. I don’t know why that bitch had to call the cops. None of this would be happening right now if Elena’s dumb ass woulda fell back. She knows how I am. She knows I wasn’t going to cut her throat or stab her. She blew shit way outta proportionate. We had an argument. Things got heated and got a little outta hand. That’s it.”
I frown. “A little? You think? Man, do you hear ya’self right now? You pulled a blade on her! Threatened to slice her throat if she tried to leave you! Then went out a slashed all four of her damn tires!” I slap the back of my hand into my opposite palm as I speak. “You get arrested and charged with a domestic violence! Not once! Twice!”
“I only slashed two tires,” he says, correcting me as if two slashed tires is better than four.
I frown, rocking back and forth in my executive chair. This dumb muhfucka. “Okay, two. Big deal. The point is, you slashed her damn tires! And now you have a restraining order slapped on you! By yet another woman! There’s something wrong with this picture, man. And the one common thread in all this shit is you. I don’t know what sort of issues you have with women or how you deal with them, but that you can’t see that you have a problem is fuckin’ disturbing. You need help to get your shit together.”
As J-Smooth makes his way back to the table, I have to fight the urge to stare at his lips and check myself for looking at him all crazy, wondering if he likes being spanked and fucked in the ass on the low.
Word in the industry is his tongue game is fire. But his dick stroke falls short, real short. Not that that shit matters to a muhfucka like me since I wouldn’t be doing shit with his dick, any-fuckin’-way; except, maybe, grabbing it or jacking it off a few times.
But, if the rumors are true, there isn’t shit these big-ass hands can do with a lil-ass short dick.
Still, short-dick or not, J-Smooth’s a sexy-ass muhfucka to look at.
Man, what the fuck is you doing? This isn’t the time to be tryna imagine what this muhfucka looks like stretched out butt-ass naked! Get ya mind outta this niggah’s drawz!
I shift back into the soft leather of my chair. Then blink away the image of stretching open J-Smooth’s mouth with my dick.
“Man, it’s all a big misunderstanding,” he says, pulling out the high-back chair next to me and taking a seat. “I can fix this, man. All I’m asking is for you to not give up on me.”
I shake my head. Then lean back in my seat and casually cross my leg. Real talk, I dig J-Smooth. And I say this. I let him know this shit isn’t personal. It’s strictly business. And until he gets his mind right and starts moving right, he’s not welcomed here.
There’s nothing else to be said. I’ve already wasted enough time on this bullshit.
I stand, straightening my silk tie. “Well, gentleman. Unless either of you have something to say worthy of more of my time, I’m done. I have an important lunch meeting, and I—”
J-Smooth scowls. “So that’s it? You just gonna dismiss me like I’m some random cat on the streets?” He pushes back in his chair, hard, standing; almost knocking the chair backward. “This is bullshit! Some real foul shit, man! And you know it! How you gonna just turn your back on me after all the records I’ve sold?”
I sigh, smoothing a hand over my tie. “Look. I’m gonna ask you nicely to bounce before I call security and have you escorted outta here. Don’t let this get ugly, fam. Roll out ‘n’ go get ya shit together.”
His manager tries to talk some sense into him. “C’mon, Jaquan, man. You’re already in enough mess. Let’s not add more insult to injury.”
I pull my buzzing phone from out of my pocket. It’s a text from my assistant, Arianna, letting me know the front of the building is swarming with the paparazzi.
I shake my head, sliding my phone back into my pocket. “You might wanna take the stairs and exit outta the back of the building. There are cameras out front. I’m sure waiting for you.”
“I’m not running from them. I have nothing to hide.”
His manager tries to dissuade him from flapping his gums to the press. To just fall back before he digs himself into another hole. But this muhfucka is a Know It All.
I cock an eyebrow, shaking my head. “Suit ya’self.” I walk over to the door, then pull it open.
J-Smooth stares me down, then reluctantly stalks toward the door. “Man, fuck this shit. I’m out.” He brushes by me as he walks out. I grit my teeth and fight to keep from punching him in the back of his muthafuckin’ head.
• • •
“Hey, baby, I say, leaning down and kissing Marika on the lips. She’s already seated at the sushi bar at Masa’s—a twenty-six-seat Japanese restaurant in the Time Warner Center with a $450 menu price per person, not including the two bottles of sake and tip. As pricey as this shit is, I dig this spot and how they change the omakase for every season. And watching Chef Masa do his thing is worth every penny.
Marika smiles at me, then glances at her watch. “I didn’t think you were going to make it. How’d the meeting go?”
I give her the condensed version then quickly change the subject, draping my arm on the back of her chair. “But enough about that. I don’t wanna talk about that dumb muhfucka. How was your morning?”
“Busy. Spent my first half of the morning in an editors’ meeting, then the last half of it with publicity.”
I smile, then lean in and kiss her on the neck. “You’re so fucking sexy.”
“So are you.”
