LIES LOVERS TELL

“Zuri Day does an excellent job…a well-written story.” Urban Reviews

“…enjoyed how this was put together.” Rawsistaz Reviews



Now, enjoy this 5-Chapter Excerpt!

1

            Maya fumed, the steady tapping of her foot an outward sign of her annoyance. The man standing five feet in front of her was taking forever at the ATM. On another, less harried day she may have welcomed the sight. He was tall, she guessed about six foot two, broad-shouldered, with long, thick legs encased in jeans that emphasized nicely rounded, tight buns. She’d wondered what his face looked like until his transaction had taken longer than the sixty seconds she thought appropriate, considering the hurry she was in. As if Monday mornings weren’t busy enough, her assistant had phoned to inform her that Mr. Brennan was waiting on her in his office. Zeke rarely came into the office before ten a.m. on Mondays; she couldn’t imagine the urgent matter that had changed his normally predictable schedule.

The stranger at the ATM looked at a receipt he’d retrieved from the machine and began another transaction. Maya looked at her watch and sighed audibly, hoping the man would get the message.  Will you hurry up…geez! She no longer cared about his attractive backside; he was making her late. 

            “Excuse me, but could you hurry? There’s a line,” Maya said in a firm, authoritative voice. The fact that she was the only one in line was beside the point.

            The stranger stopped punching in information, looked up from the ATM screen, and slowly turned around. Maya breathed in quickly, and almost forgot to breathe out. The man was platinum fine; at least what she could see of him. He wore a Dodger baseball cap and sunglasses, so she couldn’t really see his face. What she could see was mouth-watering: a strong, firm chin with perfectly groomed day-old stubble, a strong aristocratic looking nose that tapered over the most delectable lips she’d ever seen in life. A small cleft in his chin gave him a roguish air. 

            The stranger’s mouth turned up in a slightly amused grin. Maya realized she was staring at the man’s lips and tried to regain her composure. She slowly exhaled, set her shoulders back, tilted her head slightly and continued in her best authoritative tone. “Are you finished?”

            The smile deepened in the stranger’s face. “Are you?”

            His teeth were straight and white and lit up Maya’s heart like a florescent light bulb. She looked briefly at his chest, slightly exposed by two open buttons, revealing a light layer of curly, black hair. Maya blinked her eyes, tried to get her mind to work. She couldn’t figure out what was wrong with her, what about this man had her so flustered. She figured it must be the phone call making her nervous, the phone call that said her boss was upstairs, waiting. 

            That thought shook Maya from inactivity. “Look, I’m in a hurry. Are you done?”

            Maya watched the smile fade from the stranger’s face and she could tell his eyes were intense, even hidden as they were behind dark glasses. He shrugged, turned to the machine, cancelled his transaction, retrieved his card and stepped away from the machine.

            “It’s all yours,” he said unsmiling.

            Maya hurriedly conducted a transfer and retrieved two hundred dollars from the ATM, all the while aware that she was being watched. She tried to forget about the stranger as she stuffed the bills into her purse, retrieved her card and headed towards the elevator. She’d glimpsed the stranger step back up to the ATM after she walked away and couldn’t help but to consider what he’d done chivalrous. She also found herself wondering what was hidden behind the ball cap and dark shades.

            There was little time to ponder that though; duty called. She phoned her brother to tell him she had transferred money into his account, and that it was the last time she was going to rescue him from his irresponsible actions. He was her beloved twin brother and all the family she had left in the world. The night before her mother died, Maya had promised to watch after him. All of eight minutes older than Stretch, she’d always been the sensible one, he the rebel. But she couldn’t continue to clean up the messes he made. It was time for somebody to man up.

As soon as the elevator doors opened onto the penthouse floor of Brennan & Associates, thirty-three stories above the hustle and bustle of downtown Los Angeles, Maya was all corporate business. She bypassed the luxurious break room and her roomy corner office, not even stopping to put down her purse or briefcase.  She’d been summoned by Zeke Brennan. And when Zeke called, people came running—quickly.

            “Good morning, Zeke,” Maya said She’d called him “Mr. Brennan” the first three years of her employ. But last year, when she was promoted from first assistant to executive assistant, working directly with Mr. Brennan on a daily basis, he told her it was okay to call him Zeke. She only did so when they were alone, however. Whenever clients or other staff was around, he was still “Mr. Brennan.”

            “Maya,” Zeke replied simply, shuffling through papers on his desk.

            “You’re here early,” Maya said. She sat down in a chair opposite him, set down her purse, and opened her briefcase to retrieve a pen and notepad. Sensing Zeke was in no mood for chitchat, she remained quiet, waiting. She casually scanned the immaculate office: an exquisite blend of African mahogany and stainless steel. The floor to ceiling windows covered the east wall, giving Zeke an uninterrupted view of not only downtown, but miles beyond, into Orange County. Unlike the rest of the carpeted offices, the CEO office’s floors were a rainforest brown marble, imported from India. Matching, maroon suede area rugs under his massive desk and the large conference table on the office’s opposite side warmed both the floor and the room, as did the freshly cut bouquet of bird of paradise, yellow callas, reddish orange amaryllis, and vibrant blue mokaras, set in Tiffany crystal, and adorning the middle of the stately table for ten. Maya had been a key player in the offices redesign and the weekly delivery of freshly cut exotic flowers created especially for the executive offices her idea.  She noted that the cleaning team had done an exceptional job, as she demanded. There was not a spec of dust, or a paper out of place. She was pleased.

            Zeke opened a folder and took out another document. He handed it to Maya. “Ever heard of this company?”

            Maya’s attention immediately returned to business. She took the paper from him, scanning it quickly. It provided scant details of an investment company, S.W.I., International, from London, England. Their holdings were listed at an impressive twenty billion, with properties on all seven continents. Several personnel were listed, one of them highlighted, a Mr. Sam Walters.

            Maya shook her head, handing the paper back to Zeke. “No, I haven’t. But it seems as if I should have, they’re impressive.”

            “I thought the same thing,” Zeke said, rising from his chair and walking over to look out the window. “How did a company of this size and with this reach elude my radar? Unless,” Zeke turned to Maya and continued. “Unless this is a new company being developed under an old, established investment company, created to keep the competition in the dark about who’s actually buying what.” 

            Maya knew this was a definite possibility. Investors weren’t known for shouting their transactions from proverbial rooftops. Research was one of Maya’s fortes, and what had led to a bachelor’s degree with honors. And, she loved a challenge. “You want me to find out more about them?” she asked, already making of list of various resources she could tap for information.

            “Actually, I want you to find out more about him,” Zeke said, this time handing Maya a photo with a name highlighted at the bottom. “Sam Walters.”

            “Me?” Maya knew Zeke employed men and women from various occupations, geographical areas, communications and background check companies, etc. to research competitor and other’s histories. What could she possibly do that a professional background check company couldn’t?

            Zeke smiled for the first time that morning. He sat down in the chair next to Maya instead of behind his desk. “I know what you’re thinking, and you’re right. I’ve done the background checks, reviewed the buzz on this guy and he comes up legit; a land developer who made billions redeveloping for the rich in Africa. Sold his company and is now looking to expand his land ownership portfolio, primarily in the large metropolises of the United States.”

            “So what do you think I can find out that your people couldn’t?” The guy sounded legit to Maya too, so much so that if not for her professionalism, she’d ask if he were married.

            “I don’t know,” Zeke responded. “It’s just a feeling I have, a gut instinct, that all’s not how it looks with Mr. Walters. He comes out of nowhere, no one knows about him over here…”

            “Did you ask Mr. Trump?” Zeke and Donald Trump were golfing buddies, and had also participated in several joint real estate ventures.

            “He doesn’t know him either; knows about the parent company though, the one we think is serving as an umbrella for S.W.I.”

            “So how can I help?”

            Zeke leaned forward, choosing his words carefully. “I need someone to get on the inside of this company, to get close to Sam Walters, someone who has the smarts to obtain confidential information and the savvy to pull off the duality this job will require.”

            “You want me to try and get a job at,” she looked again at the paper, “S.W.I. Company?”

            “Not exactly.”

            Maya was confused. Was Zeke asking her to try and date this Mr. Walters? That had actually been the first thing that came to mind when Zeke mentioned “getting close.”

            “Ahem, how do you suggest I get close to Mr. Walters?” Maya was usually very comfortable talking with Zeke, even when discussing multi-million and billion dollar business deals. Now, however, was not one of those times.

            “Well, I’m certainly not going to ask you to sleep with him,” Zeke said, once again reading her thoughts. 

            “Was I that obvious?” Maya asked, relaxing.

            “No, I’m that smart,” Zeke countered lightly, before turning serious. “I do want you to become a part of his household though, and I’ve got it all prepared, all worked out.”

            “How do you propose I do that,” Maya asked, confused once more.

            Zeke hesitated and then answered. “As his maid.”

2

            Sean Wynn sat back in a plush leather chair and pondered his new identity as Samuel K. Walters. As one of the most sought after private investigators in the world, he was used to assuming identities. Few, however, had been trickier than this one. 

            He’d had to study for two straight months just to get up to speed on all the real estate and investment lingo that would have to roll off his tongue naturally in the myriad of meetings he had scheduled for the upcoming week. Even though he’d invested heavily in real estate, and was a silent partner in a company that acquired premium properties, he hadn’t become well-versed in the market’s lingo until now. He’d had to research Canaccord Adams, the financial services company under which he’d assumed identity, and memorize their myriad of global investment opportunities, which thankfully included real estate. His clients had set this cover up for him, obviously having some pretty extensive connections with them to be able to do so. They’d done an excellent job. He’d been given the name of one of the partner’s uncles, and all subsequent information, with the exception of photos which obviously had to be him, had been transferred from a White, obscure and anonymous South African businessman.

            For the physical transformation from Sean Wynn to Sam Walters, Sean had chosen a conservative, human hair, black afro wig lightly sprinkled with gray. He’d also purchased a mustache and beard, having learned from a top makeup artist years before how to apply such disguises professionally. He’d gotten so good at applying the faux fuzz that his own mother had once mistaken it as real. Finally, Sam had adopted a spot-on perfect British accent.

            Looking over at the couch, he frowned slightly at the mid-section paunch he’d purchased from a Hollywood costume shop. It wasn’t the most comfortable thing to wear, but it did give him a convincingly sloppy-looking mid-section, one he’d keep covered at all times with an ill-fitting designer suit coat. His plan was to give the appearance of a rich, yet bumbling businessman, ripe for the pickings of his smooth-talking, more debonair American counterparts. 

          Sean rose from the chair, stretched his lithe frame, and walked into his large, stainless steel kitchen. Upon hearing his assignment was in California, he’d informed his assistant to immediately begin looking at beachfront properties. After living in London the past two years, he knew he wanted to be near the ocean. His assistant had done a fine job of obtaining just what he’d requested; an impressive yet unobtrusive oceanfront property with a stretch of private beach, pool, Jacuzzi, and space between houses. His was a corner property, with only one close neighbor on the east side. The west side and back of his home was surrounded by ocean – the front, a gated, private drive. The furnishings were simple, yet elegant, perfect for the bachelor status Mr. Walters claimed. Sean claimed that status as well, but here, for all intents and purposes, he was strictly Sam Walters. All matters that didn’t have to do with the task at hand, especially matters of the personal kind, like thinking of his bachelor state, would have to wait. 

            Sean walked into the kitchen, poured himself a large orange juice, and returned to the living room. He reached for a folder lying on the table next to the leather chair and took it and the juice outside to the patio. It was a beautiful summer California evening, with a cool breeze coming in off the ocean. A few sailboats drifted lazily on the water, children splashed in the waves closer to shore, and a couple fishermen sat perched on a rock at the end of the marina. Sean stared out at the picturesque scenes for a moment before reclining on a chaise lounge.  He thought of the irony in the contrast: how to those on the outside, his appeared to be a serene, lazy life of leisure while in reality, it was a life filled with suspense, mystery, intrigue and, occasionally, danger. The mystery and intrigue thrilled Sean; the danger, he could do without.

          Finishing the orange juice, he sat the glass down and opened the folder. An eight by ten photo of a distinguished looking gentleman was taped to the left side. He wasn’t attractive as much as he was commanding: angular facial features, a thick head of wavy, salt and pepper hair worn combed back from his face, clean shaven, piercing green eyes. His suit was immaculate, with smart matching shirt and tie. A large gem sat in the signet ring worn on his left pinky, displayed prominently as his chin rested between the forefinger and thumb. Beneath the photo, a name: Zeke Brennan.

         Sean rubbed his chin as he reread the report he’d studied for weeks now. He’d basically memorized everything there was to be found on Brennan & Associates; or B&A as it was known in like circles, their acquisitions of the past several years, primary competitors, leading agents and key personnel. Flipping through the pages, he pulled out another one with several photographs lined up on the left, descriptions on the right. His eyes rested on the information regarding Zeke’s executive assistant, Maya Jamison. Sean studied the attractive yet serious face, brown eyes partially covered by a blunt-cut bang, high cheekbones, medium-sized lips and smooth mocha skin. Her hair was pulled back in a conservative pony tail, her suit an equally subdued, navy blue with high neckline. She wore little if any makeup. He shook his head. Definitely not my type. He started to go to the next page of key staff descriptions when a thought came to him and he looked at the picture of Maya again. Was this the rude woman who’d snapped at him earlier today? He tried to remember the woman who had demanded he finish his transaction and move out her way. He had been in the Brennan Building, had purposely gone there to scope out the place before his meeting with Zeke Brennan two days from now. But where there was fire emitting from the woman he’d encountered earlier, the woman in the picture looked as cold as ice. She’s probably a bitter workaholic with a cat for company, Sean thought, before tossing the paper aside and finishing his study of the company, and more specifically the man he’d been hired to bring down.

3

            “Can you believe it? Can you believe he actually formed his mouth to suggest I be a flipping housekeeper?” Maya, who’d maintained a calm demeanor in Zeke’s presence, was now releasing her anger. Her black cat, Lucky, may have been sympathetic but as is often the case with cats, one never knew. He raised a paw, licked it, stared at Maya for a moment, and then pranced out of the room with his tail high in the air.

            “Great, just great,” Maya said to the now empty room. “The one person I can talk to, which is actually a cat, just walked out on me. Lucky, I was talking to you!”  Maya pulled back her comforter cover and plopped down on the bed. Her head was reeling from the early morning meeting with Zeke. The rest of the day had passed in a fog as she quickly brought Jade, the first assistant under Maya, up to speed on various projects and details she was handling for him. There had been another quick meeting in which Zeke had informed key staff members that Maya would be mostly working out of the office for the next several weeks, and that Jade would be the one to report to on all matters for Mr. Brennan. There were a few questioning glances sent Maya’s way, but everyone knew better than to question Mr. Brennan about anything. Maya was definitely not offering any information. Her coworkers would just have to wonder.

            The worst part about the whole clandestine affair was that Maya had been sworn to secrecy, prevented from discussing what she was doing with anyone except Zeke. Maya desperately wanted to talk to her best friend about it; she and Trish usually shared everything. As if summoned, her phone rang, Trish.

            “Hey girl.”

            “Ooh, what’s wrong with you? Was it a stormy Monday?”

            “Yes, and Tuesday will be just as bad,” Maya responded, quoting the popular blues tune.

            “What happened? Zeke lose his mind with the work load?”

            “Something like that.”

            Trish waited for the details she knew would follow; except they didn’t. 

            “So…what’s he got you doing now?” Trish almost felt she worked for Brennan sometimes; that’s how much she’d discussed the company goings on with Maya. Trish had even dabbled with the thought of going into real estate. 

            “Maya, you there?”

            
            “Oh, I’m sorry, guess I’m preoccupied.”

            “Obviously,” Trish said, a smile in her voice. And then, “Ooh, girl, I met a fine honey today; name’s Tony.”

             “Really?” Maya wasn’t in the mood to talk but hoped Trish’s chattering about her crazy life would take Maya’s mind off her own. 

             “Yes, and I think this one could be a keeper.” Trish went into detail about how Tony looked, what they’d talked about and the fact that they were going out Saturday night.
  
              “That’s great,” is all Maya said in response to Trish’s long rambling.

             “Girl, you are not paying me any attention. Why don’t we hook up tomorrow? I just got an assignment that will have me downtown for the next two weeks. Let’s do lunch.” In between Trish’s quest to become the next Angela Bassett, she supplemented her income with temp jobs.

            “Uh, no, I won’t be in tomorrow. I’m, uh, working from home.”

            “What?” Trish asked with a hint of incredulity. Maya hadn’t missed a day of work in three years, except for the day when her brother, Stretch, was sentenced to prison. “Maya, what is going on?”

            “It’s no big deal, really. I’m just working on a personal project for Zeke, and I have to do a lot of research on the internet. He thought I would have fewer interruptions at home.”

            “Oh, okay. What about Wednesday?”

            Maya took a deep breath. Keeping this maid mess away from Trish was going to be harder than actually being a maid! “This is a pretty big project; I might be working from home all week.”

            Trish tried to read through what Maya said and find what she meant. But she knew Maya could shut up tighter than a paint closed window. She decided to drop it, for now.

            “Alright then girl, let me know when you want to hook up.”

            “Okay, I’ll call you.”

            Maya hung up, glad to be off the phone. She and Trish could talk for hours and often did; this was definitely a change of events. Maya rubbed her shoulders, tense from the pressure of dealing with a situation that was only hours old. How would she hold up acting like somebody else, for weeks? And just how long was she expected to? Maya got up from the bed and began pacing. She’d never even thought to ask Zeke about that. How long was this charade supposed to go on?

            That thought made Maya revisit just what this charade entailed. She was to act as one of Sam Walters’ housekeepers. Just what that meant, she’d find out tomorrow, when she met with the woman who until now had been cleaning the home. Maya could only guess what kind of favors Zeke called in to get this whole thing to work. She knew that because of his many real estate holdings, Zeke had access to most of the major cleaning companies in the city. But how he worked it out to find which one cleaned the house that Sam Walters was renting was anyone’s guess. Zeke seemed to know everything. It is one of the reasons he was where he was…on top. But where would this “assignment,” put Maya? She’d get that answer soon enough, but that night it put her in a frenzy, tossing and turning, alternately dreaming about a man with a bushy beard and mustache, and another one with lickable lips, a cleft chin, and dark glasses. 

            The next day, following Zeke’s instructions, Maya telephoned the cleaning company and introduced herself as the Martha Jones who’d been referred to them for the Walter’s home. She spoke with Maria Hernandez, the friendly and efficient office manager. Maria went over the basic assignment, and included a list of Maya’s duties: dusting, mopping, washing, changing bed linens, and washing any dishes left by the client, Mr. Walters. Maria informed her that she could fill out the required paperwork when she arrived at the house the next morning, and told her a woman named Cecilia would be there to help her get started. Maya, who was practically stunned into silence, said little.

            “Any questions, senorita?” Maria asked. “You seem worried. Well…don’t be; I think you’ll do very well.”

            Maya managed to find her voice, and a little friendliness. After all, Maria was simply doing her job. It wasn’t Maria’s fault that a corporate executive was trading her designer duds for dishwashing gloves. Inside, Maya cringed. This is not what I signed up for when I joined Brennan & Associate’s elite staff. What in the world am I doing? 

             She was still asking that question when a half hour later she found herself in the aisle of a Goodwill thrift shop. Maria had suggested she wear sturdy, comfortable clothes and tennis shoes. Maya couldn’t think of anything in her closet that would suffice for cleaning, she usually wore cutoffs and an old t-shirt when tackling her abode. But since she thought it best to somewhat hide what she really looked like, she needed something frumpy, plain and big. The less attention she drew to herself, the better. Remembering the plot of an old movie, she also decided to buy a wig and scooped up a pair of old, thick, prescription glasses. How she wished she could discuss this with Trish. Her friend was the actress, after all.

            Several hours later, Maya was back home, her purchases spread across the bed. Looking at the motley ensemble stirred her anger again. Here she was, an honors graduate from the University of Southern California, with a bachelors in Business Administration, getting ready to mop a floor for money? It didn’t make sense. None of this made sense. Just do your job Maya, she reasoned, while holding a large, wrinkled dress up to her fit, curvy frame. You’ll get your payday sooner or later. I owe Zeke now; maybe after this, he’ll owe me. With renewed resolve, Maya reached for another outfit, this one a big pair of sweat bottoms and large t-shirt. She picked up the wig and glasses and headed to the bathroom to do a dress rehearsal. In just a few hours, it would be showtime.

4

            Sam Walters eyed himself critically in the mirror. His ‘fro, though looking a little dated, looked like his real hair. The beard and mustache were perfect for lessening the impact of his cupid lips and hiding the cleft in his chin. The gray highlights added years to his age, as did the paunch he wore under a large sports shirt. His khaki pants were just a tad too short, revealing white crew socks that he wore with sandals. One thing was for sure, Sam Walters would never win any GQ awards. But he wouldn’t unduly stand out in a crowd either; and that was just as he wanted.

            Sam left his bedroom and walked into the kitchen. The clock on the wall told him it was about time for the maid to arrive. He was a bit irked that the first one had left so abruptly. She’d been quiet, quick and efficient, just like he liked his help. She’d also seemed to be the kind who would have absolutely no interest in him or his business whatsoever. He heard her speak exclusively in Spanish, except for the few words she spoke to him. At least it was the part-time housekeeper and not Cecelia, the head housekeeper. He considered whether he even needed two housekeepers. But as was often the case, the new one probably had mouths to feed.

            Maya paused before stepping up to the doorbell and ringing it. Afterwards, she stepped back and turned around, taking in the ocean view before her, masking her nervousness with deep, conscious breaths. When she heard the door open, she turned back around.

            They both stared at each other for a moment. To Maya, Sam Walters was even more unattractive in person than he was in the picture. She wasn’t expecting someone so old and, well, raggedy. Sean, on the other hand, had assumed that the new maid would be Hispanic, as the others were. The thought that the maid might be Black hadn’t occurred to him. Sean took in the uncombed, unkempt wig, the big, wrinkled shirt, oversized sweat pants, cheap tennis shoes and hid a frown. Lord, does she had to look like a maid just because she’s working as one? Her glasses were so thick Sean honestly wondered what, if anything, she could see out of them. He recovered first.

            “You’re Martha.”

            “Uh, yeah sah.” Maya had decided to adopt a simple, pseudo countrified accent and avoid looking direct at Mr. Walters as much as possible. Hopefully, especially for her assignment, he’d be gone most of the time she was in the home.

            “I’m Sam Walters.”

            Sean stepped back and opened the door; her sign to enter. She did so and immediately noted the home’s understated elegance. As much as Maya dabbled in interior design, she was sorely tempted to touch several of the home’s accessories, sure she knew at least one of the designers or artists.  She refrained. Maybe one day when he’s gone… Maya gave herself a mental shake. This wasn’t a pleasure visit, this was business. She would do well to keep this in mind. 

            Sean had walked over to the dining room table and picked up a piece of paper. He handed it to Maya. It was the same list of household duties she’d received verbally from Maria. “They explain this to you?” he asked.

            “Yeah sah,” Maya replied, taking the paper.

            “Any questions?”

            Obviously Sam was a man of few words. “Uh, no sah.”

            “As you probably know, Cecelia is the head housekeeper. Normally she’d be here but she had a doctor’s appointment.”

            Maya simply nodded.

            Sean could see the woman was nervous. Surely this wasn’t her first job. He couldn’t see a company sending a novice to his upscale neighborhood. As long as she did her work and did it well, it wasn’t his concern. Still, something about the woman made him want to put her at ease. “Cecelia is an excellent housekeeper; she’ll train you well and be able to address any concerns.”

            Maya stole a quick glance at Sam over the rims of her eyeglasses. She could barely see anything when looking through them. “Thank ya.”

            Sean stood there for another second or two, watching Martha. He couldn’t put his finger on it but something about her was prickling the investigator in him. Maybe it was her pathetic demeanor, or the way she talked, barely above a whisper, as if every word was a dollar she didn’t want to spend. And she looked so insecure, so nervous. Then he got angry. This woman looked young, early twenties he guessed. And here she was throwing her life away cleaning someone else’s kitchen. Was this really the best she could do in life? Is this really as high as she aspired? And why did he care? It wasn’t like Sean to get soft, ever. He really needed to take a vacation.

            “Cecelia will be here at two; she’ll give you more details on your duties. For now, you can start in the kitchen. I’ll be in my office,” he said, turning to walk towards a set of closed double doors. He stopped abruptly and added, “the only room in the house that is strictly off-limits.”

            Maya watched as Sam walked, or a better word might be waddled, to his office. When he shut the door, she let out the breath she didn’t know she’d been holding. So she was in; she was the new, official part-time cleaning woman at Sam Walters’s home. And as sure as she knew that, she knew that whatever Sam had that could help Zeke was probably in that off-limits office he’d just entered. Maya had always liked a challenge. Before it was over, she was going to turn that office inside out. If there was something hidden there or anywhere in this house that would help out Zeke Brennan, Maya, as Martha, would find it.

            Maya headed to the kitchen. She was glad to be alone. Although the insecure bit was part of her act, she actually was nervous. She’d always been the serious one in the group, the no nonsense business woman. If she’d thought it once, she’d thought it a hundred times…she needed Trish!

            Maya placed her purse on the table and looked around the kitchen.  Her first job would be easy; there were only a few breakfast dishes in the sink. Obviously Sam ate light; though one couldn’t tell to look at him.  Maya searched the cabinets, finding dishes up top and cleaning supplies beneath the sink. There was a huge, stocked pantry off to one side of a kitchen that boasted stainless steel appliances and granite counter tops. The upscale environment didn’t surprise Maya, in fact, with the large portfolio she and Zeke had reviewed, she was surprised he lived even this modest. Interesting. For some reason, this fact felt like information that should be tucked away for future reference. Maya unconsciously reached for her Blackberry to make a note; then remembered she’d left the gadget that was as much a part of her as her right hand at home, in her other purse, the Prada she’d voluntarily traded for a beat up Wal-Mart reject from Goodwill.

            Maya sighed, rolled up her sleeves, reached for the rubber gloves and dishwashing liquid she’d seen under the sink, and started working. “C’mon, Martha,” she whispered, with a sarcastic emphasis on her pseudo-name. “Time to earn your eighty a year salary.”

            When Cecelia walked into the kitchen two hours later, she found Maya in the pantry organizing the cans, boxes and bottles. Maya was extremely organized and old habits died hard. She’d cleaned the kitchen from top to bottom, and was now acting like an organizing fool.

            “Oh my, you do good job,” Cecelia said, smiling.

            “Thank you,” Maya said naturally, forgetting her accent. Oh, shoot! You’re Martha stupid, Martha!!! Maya turned back to the stack of cans and continued arranging them. Of course she was being paranoid; Cecelia barely noticed her answer. It was a wake up call though. I’ve got to be careful.

            “I show you house,” Cecelia said. “Finish this later, okay?”

            Maya simply nodded and followed Cecelia out of the kitchen.

            The first thing Maya noted was how impersonal the house appeared. Granted, Mr. Walters had moved to town only recently, but most times one could note some type of personal effect, even if it was minimal. But there were no photos or mementos lying around, no personal effects of any kind. She thought this would change when they reached the master suite. It did not. The furnishings were expensive, yet sparse. Aside from the clothes in his closet, which with the exception of a couple suits were just like the ones he now wore, and a few pieces of jewelry on his dresser, the room could have been in any hotel.

            As they were leaving, Maya noticed another closet, next to the master bath. Without thinking or hesitating, she went to open it. It was locked.

            “Oh no, Mr. Walters only,” Cecelia said. “We no go in there.”

            “Oh, uh, ‘xcuse me,” Maya said softly. Hum, what’s behind door number two?

            The rest of the tour was uneventful and when they finished, it was in the laundry room. A couple loads of clothes had been sorted and were ready for washing. This and replacing the linens on Mr. Walters’s bed were to complete her work for the day. As Maya poured detergent into the machine and began to fill it, there was only one thing on her mind; how in the world she was going to survive this boring madness two days a week. She missed the razzamatazz world of B&A already.

            Downstairs, Sean had relaxed his façade behind the comforts of a locked office door. The afro wig was perched over an unused lamp, and while the fake paunch was still strapped on, Sam was shirtless. He had pretty much finished the minor computer research he’d scheduled for the day and so far, had come up empty. His clients, The Rosenthal Group, had leveled charges of bribery, coercion and blackmail, among others, against the man he was investigating. When he’d countered that those were some pretty strong accusations to make against someone, they’d agreed, but hadn’t flinched. That combined with the steep fee they were paying him was more than enough motivation for him to keep digging until he found the proof his clients needed to bring their adversary down. For Sean it wasn’t a matter of if, but when. If there was any truth to the unsavory allegations about Zeke Brennan and his empire, Sean, as Sam, would find it.

            But for now, Sean was just waiting for Martha to leave so he could follow suit. So far, she’d seemed harmless but Sam kept his eye on everyone. Another week or two and he’d feel safe in leaving the house with her in it.  He reached for the brochure in front of him and perused the suite he’d just rented. Not knowing how long this assignment would last, he knew it was important for him to be able to unwind without fear of blowing his cover. So he’d rented a suite about twenty-five minutes from the house, and was ready to take full advantage of it. He wanted to lose the paunch, the wig and mustache, and hit a gym.

            Tomorrow, he needed to be relaxed; so tonight he would work out the tension that had built up over the past few days. Every meeting he’d scheduled was crucial: the first, with The Rosenthal Group, second, lunch with his old friend Neil, who had deep connections to Los Angeles’ political and social infrastructure, and the third and final meeting of the day, with Zeke Brennan.


                                                                     5

The fourth of July was here and just in time. Maya needed this holiday weekend. Two weeks had passed since she’d started being Martha part-time, and she was about to climb the walls. Playing maid was the most boring job she’d ever tackled in her life. So far there had been absolutely nothing of note to be discovered in the house and with the exception of a couple magazines, nothing remotely personal belonging to Mr. Walters. And, she’d been painfully reminded how much she hated housework. When Cecelia had assigned her to the master bathroom, complete with scrub brush and shower squeegee, she’d almost quit on the spot.

            
          That’s why she was so thankful for tonight, Magic Johnson’s Benefit Fourth of July party. Trish had managed to get two VIP tickets to this exclusive event and had proven what a true friend she was by inviting Maya, instead of new boyfriend Tony, as her guest. Considering she’d barely spoken to Trish the past two weeks, much less seen her, Maya would have totally understood if Trish had given her new man the generous gift.

            Maya was ready to get loose; let her hair down. She may have been bored, but she was still stressed. She’d finally gotten comfortable with her Martha persona, complete with the unsure demeanor and simple accent, but she was more than ready to step back into her place at B&A. Word had it that Jade was trying to make Maya’s reduced office presence a permanent one and even though Maya was still in the office a couple days a week, that was hardly enough to satisfy her thirst for power and prestige. Maya’s work was her life. The past couple weeks had sorely proved she had very little going on in her world without it. 

            Maya pulled up to Trish’s apartment in her newly washed, silver Beamer. That’s another thing she’d missed on the days she became Martha, her own vehicle. After enduring a two block walk to the bus stop and then two busses to get to Playa Del Rey three days a week, she had a whole new respect for bus riders, drivers and the things they endured: foul language, foul body odor, dirty seats and often homeless and demented Angelenos. After this experience, she would never look at a bus stop the same way.

            “C’mon in, I’m almost ready,” Trish said loudly, over the loud sounds of Beyonce’s voice coming from the stereo. “I’m getting in the mood! It’s time to get our party on!”

            Maya laughed as she joined Trish in a dance around the living room. Trish was always good for a laugh and fun times; things Maya had had far too few of the past two weeks. 

            “You are looking hot! Is that new?”

            Maya shook her head as she stopped dancing and did a model’s turn. “You like it?”

            “Girl, the way that dress is fittin’, your ‘a’ might get some tonight.”

            “My ‘a’ could use some.” Maya laughed as Trish went to finish dressing. She and Trish had adopted this abbreviated form of cursing years ago when Trish had babysat her pick-up-everything-you-say two-year old niece for a couple months. The habit stuck and now the only cursing both she and Trish did was the implied word’s first letter. Yes, my ‘a’ could use a big, hard ‘d’.

            Thinking of her love life, and the nonexistent possibilities of said life, almost caused Maya to lose her good mood. Perhaps that’s why she worked so hard and so much, so she wouldn’t have to think about being lonely. Maya didn’t know why she always seemed to be in a catch-22: the men who were attracted to her she didn’t like, and the men she liked weren’t attracted to her. It had been that way since college and after walking in on her last boyfriend making out with her neighbor, she decided to shift all of her desires into becoming successful and rich. 

            But she had to admit, lately she had been thinking of how nice it would be to have someone in her life, to have someone to come home to. Especially these last two weeks when she’d hardly talked to Trish. If not for Trish, Stretch, and co-workers, her phone would rarely ring. And then there was “Mr. ATM,” as she’d named the handsome stranger who for some reason wouldn’t leave her thoughts. Every now and then his image would drift up into her mind and she’d imagined all kinds of things that could happen with the body that had so perfectly filled out a pair of jeans.

            Stretch limos and town cars lined the walk leading up to Marina Del Rey’s Ritz Carlton Hotel. Beautiful people of all shapes, sizes and colors added to the glamour. Trish and Maya felt right at home among them as they entered the hotel: Trish in her KLS shirred mini, and Maya in an equally short, brick red Angali Kumar. The silky fabric teased her naked skin with every step, a lacy, black thong and bra set being her only other clothing. With Maya spending most of her days in button up suits or, as Martha, Goodwill castoffs, this extravagance felt good. She felt fine and foxy; ready to unleash the wild animal side of her that had been tame for too long.

            They entered the crush of the ballroom and were instantly swept up into the party mood. Almost immediately, Trish saw someone she knew and left Maya to say hello to them. Trish knew some of everybody in L.A. and Maya was well aware she’d probably seen the last of her until it was time to go. That was fine, Maya was right at home in this environment. She decided to go to the bar for a cool glass of sparkling water but before she could get there, she was accosted.

            “My, my, my, my, you sure look good tonight,” the handsome man said, blocking her path with his buff body and a dazzling smile. 

            “Thank you,” Maya responded. She started to walk around him, believing if she didn’t she might not be responsible for her actions. The man looked good enough to eat right there!

            “Uh, could I get this dance?” he said, stepping in front of her once more and placing a hand gently on her arm.

            The hand could have been an iron, that’s how hot it made Maya. Now she really needed something cold, like a shower. “I was on my way to the bar,” Maya said, realizing she wasn’t going to be able to make a quick escape. 

           “Then allow me to join you for a drink.”

          Maya looked up into eyes the color of dark chocolate, framed by long, thick lashes. Her mouth watered. Remembering the “lonely single” thoughts she’d had only hours ago, Maya decided to try and relax, enjoy herself. Hadn’t she and Trish agreed that Maya needed to get some? Not that Maya would do that tonight, she was a lady after all. There’d be no one night stands with someone she’d just met, someone who was almost melting her like wax with his sexy eyes, lush lips and a cleft that made…wait! That’s it! Maya thought, eyeing the handsome stranger more carefully. This is Mr. ATM! Maya became even more flustered, remembering the late night, erotic fantasies she’d constructed at this stranger’s expense. Maya swallowed hard, and tried to discreetly find where her “cool” went.

         They reached the bar and Maya, who didn’t drink, decided she needed something to calm her nerves. She asked the bartender for something light, and he suggested a wine spritzer. Mr. ATM ordered a beer.

“My name is Sean,” he said, after he’d placed his order. “And what is yours…besides lovely?”

           Maya smiled. There was something about this man she really liked. She knew what he said was just a line and from anyone else it would have gotten on her nerves. But coming from this particular mouth, it made her feel special. “It’s Macy.”

Where had that come from? Without even thinking, Maya had given an alias name. Lord, all this clandestine action was really getting to her. But on second thought, maybe it would be better that this hunk of fine didn’t know her real name. She'd seen him in the Brennan Building after all. Maya was always aware of her high profile position, and was always guarding her public persona and her privacy. She just wanted to lose her inhibitions if only for a moment, adopt a persona, much like she was doing as Martha, for just one night. If this guy didn't know who she really was, executive assistant to L.A.'s top real estate mogul, maybe what happened at the Ritz could stay at the Ritz…

Available now at these locations!

www.amazon.com
www.bn.com
www.booksamillion.com
www.blackexpressions.com
www.bordersstores.com
www.indiebound.org
www.walmart.com
www.kensingtonbooks.com