Do You Really Even Have To Ask?

Dear Zane,

I have a question (or 2) to ask:Is it possible for a guy to have a girlfriend that he doesn't like? Is it possible for him to claim that "she won't let me break up with her"? Why would a guy stay with a girl just to avoid hurting her or having her go off if he broke up with her? I realize that some women are crazy and can't accept rejection, but how does a REAL MAN handle something like that? I ask b/c I like (or used to like) a guy that I thought was single when we hooked up. But after seeing some things I kind of figured that he was attached to someone else. He didn't actually discuss any of this with me, but his friend claims that this might be the case for him. Can you tell me how that is?

Signed,
Is It Possible?

Dear Is It Possible,

You are being fed a bunch of bullshit by this man’s friend; probably at his direction. He has a woman, always had a woman, and attempted to make you his jump off. You would be a fool to even contemplate getting involved with him. No one can force someone to be in a relationship; especially a man. It is not like the woman is going to give him a beat down or anything. I seriously doubt that. Leave him to her and find someone who does not play silly games.

Blessings,
Zane

Loving Alone

Dear Zane,

I have been in a relationship for a little over a year now and me and my significant other have not had sex yet. This is a problem for me because before I met him, I was having sex every other day but since I love him, it hasn’t been like a determining factor in our relationship. I recently went out the country on a trip to Turkey and my trip lasted through our anniversary but when I got back, it wasn’t even like he cared. I was very upset by this but I took the whole stance of charge it to the game; he's a dude. But lately it’s like we've gotten more distant and that is a major problem because I hate feeling like I’m the only one in a relationship; he says I need to quit nagging him but it seems like he's distancing himself from me because of his past relationships with women, including his mother. How do I break the shell that he has over his heart without "nagging" him? And is it even worth trying to do or should I just move on? School is starting and I have no time for undue stress.

Please Help Me.

Signed,
Loving Alone

Dear Loving Alone,

After reading your email, I am trying to figure out the true purpose of your relationship. Not to say that sex is, or even should be everything but if you are a sexually active young lady, why should you be deprived? If he is withholding sex for religious reasons, you must decide if you agree with that. If it is something else, it would give me pause for concern.

Follow your gut instincts. Since it felt different once you got back, something may have occurred while you were overseas. I would concentrate on school and leave him alone. He is not willing to open up and he is calling you a nagger. Let him see how it feels when he has no one to nag him at all.

Blessings,
Zane

Getting Really Fed Up

Dear Zane,

I love your books and I hope that you keep up the good work. My problem is that I have a “husband” baby daddy. I have been with him for about four years. I have had problems with him in the past—ex-girlfriend problems. The other day, she hit him up and he did not realize that I saw it. I told him about it and he does not want anything to do with her. I believe him because she has been hitting him up by email and AIM. He blocked her completely from everything. She is getting me to the point that I am going to throw one of my Reebox and show her who I am. I am trying to better myself; she is making me go back to the same old me. Should I just leave it alone and block her, or should I take action and bust her down? Not to mention that she is married and has a family of her own but she is still trying to “hold a friendship.”

Signed,
Getting Really Fed Up

Dear Getting Really Fed Up,

If I had a dollar for every one of these emails that I receive, I would be rolling in dough. Darling, your problem is not with the other woman. She is not living with you, she has not been in a committed relationship with you for four years, and she did not father your child. Your man is the problem. If he does not want anything to do with her, he would not have anything to do with her. You are saying that he has blocked her completely from everything, so I am confused. If he blocked her, then how is she contacting him? If she cannot contact him, then what is the problem?

You definitely do not need to “bust her down.” Again, she owes you ZERO respect or consideration. Trust me, it is easy as hell to get someone completely out of your life; whether they want to leave or not. I have done it many, many times. After four years, that woman should not even know how to contact him. How long has he had his AIM I.D.? Email address? Did he accept her as a friend on MySpace? See my point. Deal with him and not her.

Blessings,
Zane

I Know That I Am Eighteen But I Don't Know If I Am A Lesbian

Dear Zane,

I have never done this before, but I guess that it never hurts to try. I am kind of confused about my sexuality. I have always to guys, but now it seems that I am craving for a female. I am only eighteen and I have always been kind of attracted to women but never faced up to it. I do not want to believe the truth myself. I first realized that I like females when I was fifteen. I am not a lesbian—well, I do not think I am—nor do I think that I am straight. I am sexually confused. The crazy thing about this situation is that I have never been with a female or even done anything sexual with a female. Now that I am older, I cannot help but wonder what it would be like to be with a woman. I think that I am now more attracted to girls than I am to guys. My question is should I explore my sexuality with a woman or should I just stay with my heterosexual way?

Sincerely,
Sexually Confused

Dear Sexually Confused,

Just because you have never been with a female does not mean that you do not want to experience it. After all, didn’t you start fantasizing about being with men before you actually did it? That is how most people start having sex in the first place, no matter what their sexual preference. They begin to crave it, yearn for it, wonder about it, and then act on it. With that being said, here is my response to you. You are only eighteen and you have your entire life in front of you to figure things out. Finding other women attractive does not define your sexuality, and you do sound very confused.

You should just live your life naturally and not rush into anything. Sexual experiences should come very naturally and should never be forced. Take your time and your emotions will speak the ultimate truth.

Blessings,
Zane

Every Day Is Truly a Gift-Rest in Peace, E. Lynn

I have sat around the majority of this evening trying to find the words to express my sentiments regarding the homegoing of one of the greatest voices in literature—not African-American literature but literature period. I spent a few hours answering advice emails, played with a strange puppy that wandered onto my doorstep, joked around with my children, and even played online Spades; all the while trying to think of what I wanted to say—or if I should even say anything at all. Then I decided that I had to say something and I had to do it before I went to sleep tonight.

I was on a business call around one o’clock today when I read a message on Facebook from a young lady informing me that E. Lynn had passed. Stunned does not quite capture my initial thought. Death is never easy but it seems almost implausible when someone is as full of energy, determination, and talent as he was. A true visionary, E. Lynn’s voice will be legendary and he opened the door for many others to walk through.

When I read his autobiography years ago, What Becomes of the Brokenhearted, I could not help but to admire the courage that it must have taken to not only write down everything that he had endured, but to allow the world to share in his plight. He was able to accomplish so much, despite everything that he had overcome. I know that feeling well but do not think that I could ever open up my life like that to the world. It would be much too painful for me, but E. Lynn did it with grace and dignity, realizing that by exposing his trials and tribulations, it could and would help others. E. Lynn was always willing to assist in any way that he could. Last year, I asked if he would travel to Dallas to do an event at the Black Academy of Arts and Letters. He immediately accepted, even though his assistant would have to drive him there and even though the stipend offered would not even cover his expenses. Like me, he realized that there was a much deeper purpose to our presence there and it was a wonderful weekend for a worthy cause.

I saw his book on the new releases shelf in a bookstore last week and I was so happy for him to have “birthed another baby.” That is what books are for authors who are passionate about their work. Books are like our children that we have to eventually cut the umbilical cord on and send out into the world alone. I cannot help but wonder, had not God called him home, how many more children he would have realized.

After I heard about his death, I had to leave home to attend my daughter’s hip hop dance recital. My thoughts on the way to her summer camp were that it was such a shame that he would not get to see his work on the big screen. I realized that it meant so much to him; we had numerous conversations about it. Hollywood has a tendency to option our books and then go out and commission screenplays that could never truly represent us like novels. Novels have intense storylines, flushed out characters, and are beloved by avid readers; three elements that “written-for-the-screen” movies tend to lack. Later on, I read an article that stated that he was in California to discuss movie deals. I can only imagine his excitement that maybe, just maybe, after so many years someone was going to finally “get the point.”

I will not go on and on; you all know how long-winded I can be. However, I want to stress a few things that all of us should take away from the life (and death) of such a wonderful spirit. Every day is truly a gift. I do not say that on a constant basis simply to say it. It means something to me. I even have a plaque in my office that states it. Every day is a gift that must be embraced because that day will never come our way again. Life is too short for pettiness and drama. As I walked through the Harlem Book Festival last weekend, and many people who used to talk down to me, or about me, came up to me and embraced me or spoke to me, someone asked me how I could be so kind to those who had tried to destroy me. My response was that I do not carry things like that in my heart. Only I truly understand my journey and what is for me will be for me. Just like what was for E. Lynn was for him, and no one could take that away, or distract him from his path. So for those of you who loved him, I am sure he loved you back. For those of you who criticized him, I seriously doubt that he took it personally. His talent could not be disputed and his voice could not be silenced, for as long as we had him in our presence.

I hope and pray that E. Lynn will continue to do God’s work and that his death will serve as motivation for the tens of thousands of people who aspire to be published writers, or those who wish to realize any other dream. It is important to thank God not only for all of the things that He has given us, but also for all of the things that He has taken away. For without failure and a great deal of loss, one can never truly be inspired. I will miss you, E. Lynn, as an author, as a humanitarian, and as a friend.

Blessings,
Zane

Calling All Single Moms

Calling all single moms!!! If you're a single mother and you're raising a son, then I have some exciting information to share with you. Jamie Foster Brown of Sister 2 Sister Magazine has developed an awesome program that YOU and your sons can benefit from!!

You don't want to miss this!! This is for those who live in the Baltimore, Virginia, DC, Maryland area.

Welcome! Come! $35 a session. If you're interested, please email your name, address, phone number to Kia Hopings at Irmfamilyempowerment@yahoo.com and you will be notified of the date, time, location and payment options. Space is limited.

Excerpt of Obsessed by Delilah Devlin

Excerpt from Obsessed: An Invitation Erotic Odyssey by Delilah Devlin

ZANE COMMENT
Auctioned is part of the Invitation Erotic Odyssey Series along with Disciplined by Allison Hobbs and Auctioned by Kimberly Kaye Terry. They are part of the Strebor Quickies line, economically priced at $9.95 per copy but with enough action, romance, and sex for books that cost twice as much. I hope that you will check it out. Blessings, Zane

Book Description
On an uncharacteristic whim, an obsessive-compulsive woman vacations at an island resort where she learns how to surrender to her disorderly, capricious, and wanton inner self.
Briana's pristine life has recently gone downhill after she realized her perfect marriage was a sham. Weighed down by the burdens of her impending divorce and the shame of being a "starter wife," the hysterically out-of-control Briana calls the number printed on a postcard for a limited-time offer at a distant lodge. Upon arriving at the sex vacation resort, Briana is confronted with all of her old hang-ups and throws herself into the pleasures of exhibitionism -- freeing herself from her heartbreaking past and the inhibitions that have always held her back in life.

About the Author
Delilah Devlin dated a Samoan, a Venezuelan, a Turk, a Cuban, and was engaged to a Greek before marrying her Irishman. She's lived in Saudi Arabia, Germany, and Ireland, but calls Texas home for now. Ever a risk taker, she lived in the Saudi Peninsula during the Gulf War, thwarted an attempted abduction by white slave traders, and survived her children's juvenile delinquency. Creating alter egos for herself in the pages of her books enables her to live new adventures. Since discovering the sinful pleasure of erotica, she writes to satisfy her need for variety--it keeps her from running away with the Indian working in the cubicle beside her!

Chapter One

Chuff-chuff-chuff.

Briana Neeson paused, switched the wand to her left hand, and then continued scrubbing. Never mind, the white bowl gleamed. Or that the pipe cleaners she’d shoved into the jets had come out without any flakes of sediment. She’d never get the damn toilet clean again.

The bitch had sat her fat ass on the seat after screwing her husband blind.

Briana allowed herself to think the coarse words, although she’d never have said them aloud. Not even when she’d walked into her bedroom with her arms full of packages from the Galleria Dallas mall, only to drop them when she realized the sounds she’d heard while climbing up the stairs hadn’t come from the television. The low, keening moans had been the woman’s. The sharp grunts her husband’s.

Shocked, she’d realized she hadn’t recognized his sounds because he never made them when he pumped away atop her body. He’d sounded agonized.

Probably strained something, he pounded the woman’s quivering butt so hard.

He’d turned when she dropped the packages, his dark, half-lidded gaze meeting hers, but he hadn’t missed a stroke. His hand reached for the woman’s long, blonde hair that stuck to her sweaty shoulders and wrapped around it, pulling it hard to force her back into an arch and her face toward the headboard, and kept right on pumping, until at last, his lips pulled away from his gritted teeth and he came.

Briana had stood frozen, her breaths coming in short, choppy pants and her body trembling. Part of her hadn’t believed he’d done this in their bed. The other, knew it was her own damn fault.
After all, Jonathan had warned her.

Chuff-chuff-chuff.

Her hand slipped, and her chest hit the porcelain. An anesthetizing chill struck a nipple. Without realizing it, her robe had fallen open as she labored. She stroked the wand deep into the bowl and leaned toward it, purposely hitting her nipple again.

The cold caused it to contract, spiking the tip, and she discovered the sensation wasn’t unpleasant. But the other nipple wasn’t equally aroused. Equally…chilled.

Pulling open the opposite side of her robe, she switched the wand again, eased her knees apart for balance on the hard tile floor, and let her forward motions slam her other breast into the toilet.

Then stroking the bowl with the bristled brush, she arched her back, just like the skanky blonde her husband had screwed, and bit her lip to hold back the sounds as her arousal built.

With her nipples tightening, elongating, a rush of liquid seeped from her pussy, encouraged by the soft rasp of the terrycloth robe settling between her buttocks, draping lower to gently abrade her open sex.

She’d have to wash the robe, but not just yet. The sensations were too pleasurable. With the smell of the disinfectant swirling in the bowl, she blinked, and tears spilled down her cheeks to mingle with the soapy water.

Chuff-chuff-chuff.

Soon enough, the sensations didn’t satisfy. Rising on wobbly legs, she ran scalding water from the shower’s long, flexible shower head over the toilet brush, followed by a rinse of bleach to disinfect, and then sat the brush in its holder beside the toilet. She dropped her robe into the hamper, stepped over the edge of her pristine tub, and turned on the faucets, setting the temperature as hot as she could take it.

She squirted a quarter-sized dollop of liquid soap on the back brush and counted the strokes with her left hand, then the right. Another dollop on a loofah, and she scoured her left arm, then the right. Rinsing clean, she did the same for her left leg, then her right. Then at last, she placed a foot on the rim of the tub and scoured her pussy—to remove the traces of her own arousal, but lingering long enough, rubbing hard enough, that at last her body bowed.

Briana’s orgasm wasn’t loud or dirty, and she didn’t come with sweat and smell, or even sound. Still, she couldn’t help feeling just a little envious of the woman who’d scrambled into the bathroom with streaks of her husband’s ejaculate striping her fleshy buttocks and thighs.

She may have been a sleazy skank, but she’d accomplished something Briana never had in seven years of marriage. The whore had made her husband tremble.

Standing in the shower with the scalding water running down her body, Briana faced the fact that she’d failed.

While Jonathan had been appreciative of her organizational skills early in their marriage, later he’d begged her to loosen up a bit at home. Leave the laundry for a day inside the hamper, let him rest his feet on the furniture…and don’t rush to shower after they made love.

She heard muffled footsteps coming from the bedroom. Hours had passed since Jonathan had thrown on his clothing and herded the other woman out the front door. Briana had watched them through the kitchen window as he held the car door open for the woman, sharing a look with her that seemed filled with an easy, sensual satisfaction.

Then his gaze had risen to the window where Briana stood, and his expression changed instantly, shuttering her out. His jaw tightening, he’d walked around the car and slid inside, backing out of their driveway without hesitation and spinning his wheels in the pea-sized gravel Briana had raked to perfection the day before.

He hadn’t called. Hadn’t answered any of the dozen messages she’d left as she hurried around the bedroom and bathroom, nose wrinkled, donning plastic gloves to strip away soiled sheets and tossing the woman’s underwear into a plastic bag that she carried immediately to the outdoor bin.

With her heart tripping in her chest, she hurried to wrap a towel around her body, and then glanced into the mirror. She paused to run a comb through her damp hair before easing open the bathroom door.

A suitcase lay on the bare mattress.

Briana hesitated at the door and scanned the room.

Jonathan stepped out of his walk-in closet carrying an armload of his clothes. Upon spotting her, he strode quickly forward and dumped the clothes into the case.

“What are you doing?” she asked and then inwardly winced at how ridiculous that sounded. Of course, he was leaving. Didn’t everyone leave her?

Dressed in khaki trousers and an open-necked, long-sleeved shirt, she noted the crease on the edge of his collar and bit her tongue to hold back the urge to tell him about it. He didn’t look in the mood to listen to her fuss.

His expression was hard and cold. The set of his square jaw a clue he wasn’t in the mood to talk. He’d made up his mind.

“I’ll try harder,” she whispered, her hand clutching the edge of her towel. She needed something to squeeze because her heart felt ready to explode.

He gathered up the clothes spilling over the sides of the case, not bothering to fold them, and looked over his shoulder, spearing her with a hot glare. “You don’t get it, Bri. You drive me crazy. You couldn’t wait to tear the sheets off the bed, could you?”

“Why wouldn’t I? Her scent was all over them.”

His upper lip curved into a snarl. “But the wet spot bothered you most, didn’t it?”
It had. The longer she’d stared at it, the bigger and yellower it grew. “We can talk about this,” she said in a rush. “You don’t have to go.”

Jonathan snorted. “I’ve talked until I don’t have a thing left to say to you. I don’t love you, baby. Haven’t for a long time.”

The words hurt, but he couldn’t leave. She just needed one more chance to prove she could change. “But you need me. You told me that.”

He turned his head away and zipped the case shut. “I can afford an assistant to take over the scheduling. I can afford an anal bitch I don’t have to sleep with.”

“I’ll see a therapist.”

A deep breath expanded his well-muscled chest. “Do what you need to do to get well, but it’s not going to make a difference for us.” He picked the case off the bed and sat it upright on the floor, before sending her another glare that cut right through her. “I’m through.”

He meant it this time. She could tell by the way his jaw firmed. His gaze held no emotion. “Are you going to her?”

“Carrie?” He shrugged. “She’s just a girl who was willing.”

He hadn’t even cared about the bitch he fucked in her bed. “Why did you bring her here?”

Jonathan lifted a hand and raked it through his neatly cut brown hair. “I didn’t know how else to tell you. I’ve used words, but you talked right over me, never once acknowledging you understood. I’ve made appointments with therapists and marriage counselors, but you found one excuse after another not to go. You weren’t willing to change.”

“I don’t need them. We don’t need them. I’ll just try harder.”

“Fuck, Bri,” he bit out. “Try any goddamn harder, and I swear I’ll cut my own throat.” He turned away, hefted the large case easily, and strode toward the door. Without looking back, he paused. “My attorney will be in touch.”

Chapter Two

“I can’t believe that asshole.”

Briana sighed and settled deeper into the armchair as her best friend Heather opened the topic of conversation.

Heather had made it so easy, calling her and cutting through Briana’s soft hello with a sympathetic, “I just heard,” before Briana could think of the words to tell her Jonathan had walked out.

After she stifled her brief disappointment that it wasn’t her husband calling, Briana didn’t bother asking how Heather had learned about her humiliation. The subdivision’s grapevine had likely issued an all-points bulletin the moment Jonathan and his slut drove through the security gate.

“So, what are you going to do?” Heather asked, sympathy softening her tone.

“What can I do?” Briana muttered. She’d rearranged furniture and moved some of her clothing from her closet to his to even them out. Beyond that, she wasn’t sure what else to do. She was still too stunned.

Her life was about to change, and change unnerved her. Made her feel uncomfortable in her clothing, made it impossible to sleep. Set her mind racing through her long to-do list of chores she should put off until they were due, but wouldn’t because she had to stay busy.

“Do you have a lawyer?”

“I’ll put that on my list.” Why hadn’t she thought of that? Did she secretly still hope Jonathan would walk back through the door and say he’d changed his mind?

Heather groaned. “Tell me that you at least changed the locks.”

Changed the locks? “Why would I do that?”

“Bri, do you want some slut sittin’ on your sofa, watchin’ your TV?”

Briana shook her head, knowing she wasn’t following Heather’s train of thought. Her concentration was shot from too little sleep the night before and too much stress. “Do you think he’d bring her back here, again?”

“I swear, sometimes you’re clueless,” Heather said, her exasperation deepening her Texas twang. “I’m talkin’ about him cleanin’ you out. Takin’ all your things when you leave the house.”

“Jonathan’s not like that.” He wasn’t cruel. He wouldn’t even move a coffee table without asking first—a thing he’d learned in their first week of marriage could set her teeth on edge.
Still, he’d fucked another woman in their bed, knowing she’d be home at any time.

“He’s a man. He’s probably listing all your household possessions right now and figurin’ out where the split should be. And it won’t be down the middle.”

Briana wondered how much Heather’s two divorces colored her perspective. “He’s the one who left. He abandoned me and the house.”

“He’s just gettin’ away to think. And talk to the boys. They’ll have all kinds of advice to give him about how to screw you good and proper.”

Or maybe he would change his mind once he figured out he still needed her.

“Are you thinkin’ he’s gonna come back, sweetie?”

Was she really so predictable? “He left in such a rush. Maybe he’s had time to—”

“What did he say when he left?”

How could she tell her? Heather was her friend, her closest one, but Briana had never let her know things weren’t perfect between her and Jonathan. His hurtful words still raised bile in the back of her throat.

“He said I drive him crazy,” she blurted before she had time to think about it. There was a long pause, and Briana cringed inside, wishing she’d never told her. “Did he have a reason to say that?”

“You know I love you, right?”

The hesitant way Heather said it had Briana shaking her head, wishing she could make an excuse and just hang up the phone. She knew she didn’t want to hear what blunt bomb her friend was preparing to drop.

But hanging up wouldn’t be polite.

“Honey, sometimes, you drive me a little crazy, too.”

Briana shifted uneasily in her chair, bent her head to hold the phone against her shoulder, and reached both hands for the fruit-decorated coasters stacked on the side table. “I know I’m a little obsessive…”

“A little? Obsessive Compulsive Disorder can be just as challenging for friends and family as it is for the person who suffers from it.”

“I’ve never been diagnosed.”

“You won’t go to a therapist to get the diagnosis, but I don’t know anyone who alphabetizes their canned goods.”

Briana shuffled the coasters, arranging them alphabetically: apples on top of bananas, bananas onto grapes, grapes onto oranges. “You think that’s weird?”

“A little...but I’m sure you can find everything a lot faster than me.”

“Heather, he didn’t look back once when he walked away.” Not satisfied, she began to re-sort: orange on top of purple, purple topping red, red on top of yellow.

“He’s already moved on, honey. Once a man cleans off his shoes on the welcome mat, he forgets about the dirt he just tracked through. It’s why he always leaves muddy footprints.”

Briana set the coasters back on top of the side table and clasped her hands on her lap to make herself stop. “I hate that.”

“I bet you do.”

The starch in her friend’s voice almost had her smiling. But only for a second. She closed her eyes and rubbed the bridge of her nose, feeling a headache coming on. “I can’t believe it. I’m a starter wife, aren’t I?”

“A starter wife?”

“Yeah, the one he needed when he was getting started.”

“Honey, you need to stop thinking about him. He’s so not worth it.” An audible sigh sounded over the line. “When was the last time you did something spontaneous?”

“What do you mean?”

“Do I have to pull out the dictionary?”

“I know what it means, but I’m capable of spontaneity.”

“Sure you are,” Heather said dryly.

“I am,” Briana sputtered. “I do…spontaneous things all the time.”

“I just bet you do, like when you shop for groceries and think about what you’re gonna make for dinner?”

“Well, no. You know I always have my list.”

“Uh-huh… When was the last time you did something wild and outrageous?”

Never. Briana bit her lip. They both knew she didn’t do anything without planning. “I can be outrageous. Maybe I’ll paint my toenails blue…I’ll just have to add—”

“—the polish to your shopping list?”

Another long pause had Briana ready to end the conversation she felt so depressed, so lacking in the “normal” gene.

“You know what the problem is, don’t you?”

“Other than my husband left me?”

“He’s not in his proper place. Hell, you get a panic attack when a coffee cup doesn’t get turned right side up in a cupboard. Why don’t you stick a pin in the map and take a trip? Get away from everything familiar. Give your brain a chance to reset some switches.”

“I can’t just take off. I have plans. There’s the luncheon with the ladies tomorrow.”

“Um…about that, Bri…”

Briana heard the hesitation in Heather’s voice, and her stomach sank. “They don’t want me to come, do they?”

“They asked me to talk to you. Some of the bitches think it might be a bit uncomfortable for you there.”

Briana snorted. “That’s so sweet,” she said, letting a little acid bleed through her tone. “They’re concerned about how I might feel?”

“Yeah. They’re probably afraid it’s catchin’. You know, the Big D.”

Briana heard the growl in her friend’s voice and almost smiled again. Count on Heather to always have her back. “It’s too bad we can’t be spontaneous together.”

“Yeah, twins kinda rule that out. I could use some ‘me’ time.”

“Maybe I’ll take your advice.”

“You should.” By her tone, she seemed doubtful. “Maybe an opportunity will come faster than you think.”

“Maybe…”

“I’m just sayin’, keep your options open.”

“Seems like my calendar’s going to be completely free,” Briana said, forcing cheerfulness into her voice she was far from feeling.

“You feel better? Any less anxious?”

“Yeah. Thanks, Heather.”

“What are friends for? Call me tomorrow?”

“I will.” As she hung up the phone, she wished she could be the person Heather wanted her to be. But how could she pick up and leave if there was even a chance Jonathan might want to talk? Seven years they’d been together. For seven years, she’d run the social side of his business. The man had never lifted a finger to make any plans, any arrangements.

He didn’t have her Rolodex.

When he called, she’d be cool. She wouldn’t answer the telephone on the first or even the second ring. Maybe after he’d asked to come back, she’d do as he’d suggested. See someone who could help her be a little less…obsessive.

God, that word again. She wasn’t that person, was she?

She just needed another chance, another shot at showing him she could be perfect enough.
Heather was right about one thing. Briana didn’t like things out of place. She knew she ought to be more concerned about the fact he’d cheated, but she couldn’t shake the anxiety that kept her heart racing and her palms damp.

Jonathan wasn’t in his proper place. She’d felt that most keenly the previous night when she lay down to sleep. Weight wasn’t distributed on her mattress in the way she was accustomed. She hadn’t had to fight rolling toward the middle. She’d been perfectly, wretchedly level.

No, Heather would never understand that she could forgive him fucking a whore in the middle of her clean sheets, but she couldn’t forgive him upsetting the balance in her bed.

* * *

After yet another sleepless night, Briana awoke feeling groggy, her head pounding. The house was spotlessly clean. Every closet was reorganized. Even the tools on the pegboard inside the garage had received her attention. Jonathan wouldn’t find fault with anything—if he ever came back.

She was beginning to doubt he would. He hadn’t called once. Wednesday had passed, which meant he’d been back to work for two full days and hadn’t needed her help with arranging a single luncheon appointment or dinner reservation. Perhaps he’d already hired an anal bitch to take her place.

Slowly, over the past few days she’d come to terms with the fact he wasn’t coming back. Which left her wondering what she should do next. Nearly paralyzed by the worries that flashed through her mind, one after the other, she’d worked like an automaton cleaning the house and working in the garden to exhaust herself enough she wouldn’t notice how silent the house was, or how empty her bed felt.

She’d tried to look at the bright side. She no longer had to clean up after Jonathan, but that left her with even more time on her hands. Then the niggling thought flashed that maybe she wouldn’t be able to hold onto the house once they divorced. What would he be made to pay in a settlement? They didn’t have any children; the time had never been right to begin the family he’d wanted.

There was only her. What judge would understand that she might lose her mind if she were forced to move someplace else? As soon as that thought occurred, she’d shoved it back into her subconscious, unwilling to face it. Not yet.

She had the morning’s dishes to do.

With the lemon-fresh scent of the frothy water soothing her, she slowly cleansed her coffee cup and dish, and then grabbed the spoon rest next to the stove and the magnets from the refrigerator to wash them, too. She pointedly kept her gaze from the window in front of her, not wanting to watch the driveway as she’d done compulsively for days.

When at last she had nothing left to clean, she let out the water, dried her plastic gloves and pulled them off, folding them before tucking them in their baggie beneath the sink. Then she washed the scent of the gloves from her hands, slathered on rose-scented hand cream, and slid her diamond ring back into place on her third finger.

As she held her hand up, the perfect stone caught the light shining through the window, refracting multi-colored rays like a prism.

The perfect ring for the perfect girl.

That’s what Jonathan had said when they chose the ring together before they married. When had he come to hate “perfect”?

A metallic clang sounded from outside, and she dropped her hand and curled her fingers tightly. The mail. Probably with a stack of bills. She hadn’t checked her household account to see whether Jonathan had added funds for her to pay them. Something she’d let slip.

She hurried to the door and opened it, watching as the mailman stepped off the flagstone pathway onto the sidewalk on his way to the next house. Reaching into the metal box beside her door, she lifted the lid and took out the envelopes, letting the lid drop with a loud clang.

As she turned back toward her door, she sorted through the envelopes. Nothing urgent.

Advertisements for new credit cards, a coupon for a car wash…

A metallic clang sounded behind her again, and she turned, her brow wrinkling. Had a breeze lifted the lid?

Still, she couldn’t resist checking the box like Pavlov’s dog expecting another treat even knowing the routine had been somehow changed.

She swirled her hand inside the box, and her fingers touched on something. Withdrawing her hand, she found she held a postcard advertisement, but one unlike anything she’d ever seen.
The edges were pristine, not a single fray or bend. No postmark. On one side, the glossy side, there was a picture of a beach—a long scythe-like stretch of white sand that curved until it disappeared, sandwiched between a line of symmetrical palm trees and lapping azure waves.

The jagged, vertical cliffs in the background were softened by lush vegetation draping their steep sides.

The palms, so straight and perfectly spaced, appealed to Briana instantly. So did the empty expanse of sand. When she looked closer, she saw a man standing in the shadows beneath one tree, wearing only a pareo knotted at his waist.

Even in the shadows, she could tell how perfectly made he was. His chest was smooth, his muscles well defined, and his waist lean and narrow with the knot in the colorful fabric resting atop one notch of his slim hips. His smooth skin was the color of coffee lightened with cream. His hair hung in dark ropes to his shoulders.

Her breath caught at the expression on his face—full lips turned up slightly at the corners, a chocolate gaze held wide and entrancing. His nose was narrower than she would have expected among features that looked Samoan or Hawaiian and flared only slightly at the end. He seemed to beckon her, to dare her to say “Yes.”

Reluctantly, she turned the card over. The texture on this side was slightly gritty and the same pale shade as the sandy beach. The lettering was in black and had the look of handwritten calligraphy. At the top was an embossed flower in deep, reddish orange.

Prepared to quickly skim the contents and flip the card again for another glimpse of the beach and the man, her gaze snagged on the greeting.

To Ms. Briana Neeson:

You are cordially invited to The Island, a place where your most fervent desires come to life with just one wish. At The Island, we cater to your needs…seduce you beyond your inhibitions…set you free to discover the woman you were meant to be. This invitation is given to a select few, and you’ve been chosen. Should you choose to accept this invitation, you agree that you are ready for a change, that you are freeing yourself to experience something you’ve never dared to dream, and in doing so, your desire to be fulfilled, to reach perfection will manifest deliciously…

“And the day came when the risk to remain tight in a bud was more painful than the risk it took to blossom.”

This invitation will expire in twenty-four hours, Briana. You can contact us at
800-555-9860 to experience the fantasy of a lifetime. We’re waiting for your call…

Absently, Briana laid the other correspondence on a pewter dish on top of the foyer’s bureau and slowly closed the front door behind her. Although she knew the postcard was just a seductively designed advertisement meant to catch her eye, she couldn’t suppress the thrill that shot through her. As though the invitation spoke directly to her soul.

Before she had time to think twice and drop the card into the trash, she reached for the phone and dialed Heather’s number. She’d know what to do. She would tell her it was a scam, a lure to entice lonely women into giving up their credit card numbers and embarking on an adventure that could only disappoint.

However, Heather didn’t instantly discredit the postcard. In minutes, she stepped across the threshold, her hand extended for the invitation, which she read intently for several minutes.
Briana braced herself for disappointment.

Instead, Heather’s eyes widened as she lifted them to meet Briana’s gaze. “Let’s dial the number,” she said, excitement quivering in her voice.

And because this was the first time in days that Briana had felt a swell of something other than grief, she let Heather’s excitement sweep her along.

Before she knew it, Heather had taken down the details, handing the phone to Briana for her to give them her dietary preferences, bungalow versus hotel room, view of a beach or the island’s volcano, and so many other things that Briana’s head swam.

When she handed back the phone to Heather, she stood still, only half-listening as she realized she was seriously considering the trip.

Heather hung up the phone, turned toward her, and then let out a girlish squeal as she wrapped her arms around her and squeezed hard. “Girl, you have to do this. It’s perfect!”

Briana shook her head and pulled away. “This is crazy. You know that, right? I can’t afford a vacation like this.”

“Yes, you can. It’s only three days.” She shoved the paper she’d used to take down the details and circled the figure at the bottom. “That’s an all-inclusive price—airfare, hotel, and meals. Charge it to your credit card.”

“But I might need that money. Who says Jonathan’s going to keep paying the bill?”

Heather’s eyes narrowed, and then fell to Briana’s hand. “Sweetie, if you’re worried about cost, I have a solution for you.”

Before Briana could muster up another half-hearted protest, she let Heather slip the ring off her finger.

“I know this guy who runs a jewelry store. It’s not a pawn shop, not really, but he will hold the ring for a month before offering it up for resale. His commission isn’t outrageous.” She slipped the ring into her purse, and then grabbed both Briana’s hands. “You have to do this. Remember, we talked about you getting away? You’ve been living like a mole. I bet you haven’t been any farther than the edge of your lawn, have you?”

Briana nodded slowly. “But this is crazy.”

“You know what’s crazy? You waiting on that asshole to change his mind and ask to come back. You don’t need him. Not for a damn thing. You take this vacation. Let your island guide show you everything you’ve been missing—”

“Island guide?”

“You know that man on the front of the postcard?”

Briana nodded—he was the reason she hadn’t immediately consigned the card to the trash can.
Heather’s lips stretched into a wide grin. “He’s yours if you want him.”

If you enjoyed this excerpt, please purchase a copy of Obsessed by Delilah Devlin at your local bookstore or online at: http://www.amazon.com/Obsessed-Invitation-Odyssey-Strebor-Quickiez/dp/159309230X/ref=sr_1_4?ie=UTF8&s=books&qid=1248350501&sr=1-4

Rodney Lofton Signs No More Tomorrows in Washington, D.C.

Rodney Lofton signs No More Tomorrows: Two Lives, Two Stories, One Love on his Washington, D.C. tour:

Thursday, July 23, 2009, 6:30 pm

Lambda Rising, 1625 Connecticut Ave., NW, Washington, DC

Friday, July 24, 2009, noon to 2 pm

B. Dalton, Union Station, 50 Massachusetts Ave. NE, Washington, DC

Friday, July 25, 2009, 3 to 5 pm

Books a Million, 503 King Street, Alexandria, VA

Saturday, July 25, 2009, 1:30 to 3 pm

The Literary Joint, Centre at Forestville (formerly Forest Village Park Mall)3393 Donnell Drive, Forestville, MD

Sat. July 25, 2009, 7 pmBook release event: Us Helping Us, Inc. 3636 Georgia Avenue, NWWashington, DC(202) 446-1100

Zane's Boudoir-August 7, 2009

Excerpt from Auctioned by Kimberly Kaye Terry

Excerpt from Auctioned: An Invitation Erotic Odyssey by Kimberly Kaye Terry

ZANE COMMENT

Auctioned is part of the Invitation Erotic Odyssey Series along with Disciplined by Allison Hobbs and Obsessed by Delilah Devlin. They are part of the Strebor Quickies line, economically priced at $9.95 per copy but with enough action, romance, and sex for books that cost twice as much. I hope that you will check it out.

Blessings, Zane

Book Description

A rejected, overachieving workaholic attempts to overcome her rage and humiliation during a whirlwind, hedonistic weekend in which her true worth is put to the test -- when she gives up control, she feels an exhilarating freedom she's never felt before.

Chase Davidson has always been driven to succeed. Growing up poor, Chase vowed she would rise above the squalor of her childhood and become successful. When her Fortune 500 Company doesn't promote her, Chase is beyond distraught. Disgraced and furious, she wants her power back. Needing a quick fix to soothe her damaged ego, she impulsively accepts an invitation to an island adventure that promises to fulfill her every desire -- including her desire to be "number one." Forced out of her comfort zone, both emotional and sexual, what she experiences is more than what she bargained for, but exactly what she needed.

Chapter One

“Look, I want that report on my desk now. Not in the next couple of hours, not tomorrow, or the next day. Now.” Chase ended the connection in the middle of the new advertising assistant’s blabbering and apologizing, not interested in anything the inept man had to say.

Her short, manicured nails flew over her keyboard as she drafted the first marketing plan for the lucrative new account she knew was hers. All of her careful courting would pay off, and the position of president of marketing would be hers once she landed the multimillion-dollar deal.
One corner of her full, mauve-tinted lips hitched up in a smile. Euphoria enveloped her at the thought of occupying the large corner office with the breathtaking view of the downtown Dallas skyline that would come with the promotion.

A near orgasmic shudder of delight coursed through her body.

Her eyes were half-closed behind the small square-framed, designer glasses perched on the bridge of her nose, and a sigh of pleasure escaped from between her pursed lips.

She removed one hand from the keyboard and lightly stroked a hand over the head of the man between her thighs as his head bobbed up and down and his gifted tongue softly lapped the inner lips of her vagina. Although her attention was fully on the screen of her computer, she continued to pet him, encouraging him silently to continue.

She released a very low moan when he captured her plump, blood-engorged clit and suckled it deep into his mouth. When he inserted a finger inside her moist core and pumped in and out, she closed her eyes, bit her fuller bottom lip, but didn’t utter a word.

She’d become quite proficient at maintaining silence when needed since her discovery of Javier and his spectacular tongue.

Under her desk, where no one could see—if anyone were to enter her office unannounced, he licked and prodded her, stroked and suckled her cunt with hot delicious strokes, while his fingers delved deep into her core and withdrew her moisture.

He used her juices to rim the puckered hole of her anus, lightly stroking, but not daring to imbed his slender finger all the way inside, plying her pussy and ass until her body began to quake. Her limbs tensed, and the muscles in her vagina clamped in a painful constriction with her orgasm hovering, ready to break free.

But he was careful not to bring her to completion.

He knew better than to do that.

He’d learned over the course of the last months of their association that her release was not his to give.

She no longer had to forcibly move his greedy mouth as he devoured her creaming pussy, desperate to take her to the ultimate little death and to prove something she didn’t require from him when she felt the beginnings of her orgasm unfurl.

He’d learned to read the signs her body made when she was dangerously close to orgasm.
She felt the tingling sensation begin to strum through her body, heralding that her release was near.

The walls of her pussy contracted and pulsed in a steady relentless beat, and her limbs began the fine trembling that signaled her body was ready to submit to orgasm.

She moaned, placing her hands in the thick, silky strands of his hair and ground against his face. As he licked her and suckled her clit so hard, her back arched sharply away from her chair with every slick press of his tongue.

“Enough!” She barked the words softly, yet his marauding tongue refused to obey. With an expertise that made her bite the inside of her cheek to prevent a scream from releasing, he hollowed out his tongue and shoved it deep into her creaming core.

Chase’s eyes flew open as realization dawned on how close she was, how close he had been, to making her come.

“Enough, goddamn it.” She forcibly stopped her orgasm. Her jaw clenched and tightened as she fought for control. Her fingers dug into his head, and she grasped handfuls of his hair, pulling his head from between her thighs.

She stared down at him angrily as he sat crouched between her thighs with the evidence of his oral activities smeared over his face.

His breathing was uneven, and his eyes glittered almost maniacally with a look she’d never seen before. It vanished as quickly as it appeared, too quick for her to catalogue and process its meaning.

“Bring the bag,” she bit out the words, licking dry lips. Her breathing was labored and harsh, mimicking his as she fought to bring her body back under control.

She pushed away from her desk, and her chair nearly toppled with the force. But she ignored it as she strode around the desk. Her eyes quickly moved to the closed door, making sure the lock was in place before she turned back to Javier.

With her eyes narrowed, she waited for him to bring the small, pink bag to her and withdraw the contents.

“I’m sorry,” he said, his voice low and husky. His eyes averted from hers in submission as he handed her the dainty beribboned bag.

“Look at me, Javier,” she said in a tight, controlled voice.

When he turned around, she placed a long, slender finger beneath his chin, forcing him to look at her as she ran assessing eyes over his flushed, darkly handsome face, searching for a hint of what she thought she’d seen when she pushed him away.

“Look at me,” she demanded again, gentling her voice.

For long moments, their gazes locked, his with a slight fear. She knew her gaze was unflinching and cold.

Slowly she moved her finger down his throat, circled the base of his throat with her long fingers, and applied a slight pressure, until he began to cough.

She smiled, knowing he enjoyed the power play as much as she. Once she asserted her dominance, Chase slowly released her hold.

She feathered her fingers down his throat, past his hard, chiseled chest and stopped at the waistband of his slacks. She kept her eyes glued to his as she unfastened his pants, peeling the edges along the zipper aside and yanked them, along with his briefs, down the length of his legs.
After she removed the bag from his tightly clenched hands, she murmured, “Turn around.”

His eyes were bright and shining, an anticipatory gleam in their dark depths as he licked his lips and did as she requested.

He placed both hands on the edge of the large, mahogany desk and lowered his head, braced himself, and waited.

Lifting her skirt, Chase deftly eased her panties down and attached the long, thick dildo to the harness she wore, nestling the base against her clit, snugly, and grasped him by his lean hips.
Separating the hard, muscled cheeks of his ass, she began to feed him her dick. A low growl of satisfaction came from her lips, accompanied by his moaning cries of welcome.

“Hold on, tight. This won’t be easy,” Chase promised darkly, her breath fanning the fine hairs at the nape of his neck.

She felt a fine tremor run over his body at her hot words of intent.

Without waiting for a response, her fingers tightened on his hips and drove into him in one deep stroke. Her lips pulled back in a feral grin when he gasped, his body arching sharply against the strength of her invasion.

Once the inner muscles of his walls relaxed, allowing her to press into him as far as she could, Chase allowed him no time to become accustomed to her length. Instead she began to move.
Flexing, surging, and plunging, she rolled her hips, plunging deep into his ass. The feel of the artificial dick spanking against her clit stimulated her and aroused her. As she glanced down at their joined bodies, the sight of her dick easing in and out of him as her hips moved against him aroused her even more.

With her legs braced far apart, she removed one hand from his hip and trailed it around to the front of his body, shoving the ends of his shirt aside to grasp his hard, thick rod in her hand.
She feathered her fingers over the turgid length of his shaft and back to his balls, lightly grasping the twin plum-like spheres in her hands. He moaned when she applied a slight pressure, rolling and massaging them in the palm of her hand before her hand dropped away.

She again grasped his cock in hand, circling the base with her thumb and middle finger, and lightly stroked up the length before using the pad of her thumb to swipe across the tiny eye in the center of the bulbous knob, wiping away his sticky pre-cum.

“Taste it,” she encouraged.

After placing her thumb in his mouth, he did as she requested, suckling her thumb and making moaning sounds of delight as he licked her finger clean.

She laughed and removed her thumb from his greedy mouth and grasped his lean hips with both hands, fucking him in long strokes to his accompanying mewling cries of pleasure and pain, so interwoven they blended as one melodious cry of rapture.

Chase delivered a sharp, warning slap on the cheeks of his ass.

Immediately his guttural moans were quieted, becoming small whimpering sighs of pleasure even as he pushed back against her invasion.

Her hips moved with precision, surging in and out of him smoothly, the fire inside of her building, growing, with each drag and pull inside his clenching heat. Chase fucked him in sure, easy glides. He cried out, slamming his hips back against her mound, begging her to do him harder, deeper.
Yet she kept her strokes, slow, methodical.

She marinated in him in deliberate, slick strokes, ignoring his fervent moans as he accepted—welcomed—her thrusts, the muscled cheeks of his ass flexing and tensing as she rocked into him.
Chase felt so strong, so alive…so in control as she plunged in and out of Javier. The feeling of being buried deep inside of him was an addictive feeling, downright exhilarating.

She bit the lower rim of her lips to the point of pain, her breathing becoming harsher with each roll of her hips against him.

Her head snapped back, and the corded veins in her neck pulsed and throbbed as she felt her hovering orgasm threatening to break. Instead of pushing it away, as she had when he laved between her thighs, she reached for it.

When her orgasm was seconds from spilling over, she reached around his body with her hand. Gently, yet firmly, she cupped his balls, rolling the spheres in her hand until he released a harsh, keening moan.

She grasped his shaft, ran her hands down the length of the steely pipe, in quick, deadly succession, and he broke. His body jerked and spasmed as his cum—thick, white and hot—spewed like a geyser over her hand.

Chase grit her teeth, clenched her eyes tightly shut, and desperately held on to her control even as her orgasm slammed into her. Unable to hold back, the dam broke, and her cum overflowed, weakening her for that brief moment, so that she had to hang on to his hips as she delivered the last of her thrusts into his quaking body.

When it was over, she laid her chest over his heaving back, blanketing his body for that one moment at peace.

“Thank you,” he whispered.

His body fully collapsed on the desk, and Chase’s fingers loosened their death grip on his hips as she drew her body away from his.

“Why…why do you…?” he panted, unable to finish the question as he lay spent and useless, his upper body sprawled on top of her desk.

She ignored his question. She knew he loved having her fat dick working his ass as much as she loved giving it to him.

“Ms. Davidson.” Chase’s eyes narrowed as she listened to her assistant’s voice come over the small discreet intercom on her desk. “I’m sorry to interrupt your…lunch.”

“What is it, Christine?”

“Your presence has been requested in the boardroom as soon as you’re able.”

“I’ll be right there,” she replied, smoothly easing out of Javier.

She reached inside the dainty, pink bag to lift out a pre-moistened tissue. Carefully she wiped the length of the dildo and tossed the used wipe in the trash bin under her desk before placing the dildo back inside the bag.

She moved away from the prostrate man, deftly removed the harness from her hips, and placed it in one of the drawers of her desk before skimming her hands down the length of her body and tugging her skirt into place.

Turning to look at her reflection in the small, wall-mounted mirror, she quickly pulled out another desk drawer, withdrew her lipstick, and ran the tinted, bulbous end over her lips before placing it back in the drawer.

She rubbed her lips together, then raised her hands to her hair, smoothing away errant strands that had escaped the tight chignon secured at the nape of her neck.

Once satisfied with her appearance, she lifted her leather carryall, hooked the strap over her shoulder, and walked toward the door.

With her hand on the knob, she turned back around. Javier had gotten up from his prone position and was fumbling with his slacks.

“Don’t ever forget who’s in control. If you do that again, I won’t go so easy on you the next time,” she said, letting him know that she was aware of his transgression. Had she not stopped him, he would have brought her to orgasm.

Even from the distance she was from him, she could see his olive-tinted face blanch and a fine tremor course over his body in response to her threat.

With a smile of satisfaction, she turned and left.

Chapter Two

“Have a seat, Chastity.” William Buford stood when Chastity entered the boardroom. A wide smile creased his fleshy, rosy face as he motioned for Chase to take a seat.

William Buford was one of three senior managers in the marketing firm of Manhattan Buford, and his being in attendance at the meeting definitely alerted Chastity that indeed, she would be joining the ranks of senior managers.

“Thank you, sir,” she replied, her confidence soaring. Not only was William Buford in the room, but the other two senior managers were in attendance as well, reconfirming that she was minutes away from being offered the president of marketing position.

After she sat down and accepted the glass of ice water from a waiting attendant, Chastity glanced around the room. She returned the smiles of Lance Buford and Emily Manhattan, both of whom held key positions at Manhattan Buford.

“I’d like to begin by congratulating you on landing the Stratham deal. It was truly a coup for you and the firm. Well done,” William Buford continued.

“Thank you, sir. I’m very pleased with the results as well,” she replied, feeling proud of not only what she had accomplished but that she’d done so after several others in her department had failed to acquire the account.

“Yes, well, you should be!” Lance chimed in. “In fact, you’ve been watched carefully, these last few weeks, by not only the partners but also Mr. Baptiste.”

Daemon Baptiste was the man who owned controlling shares in Manhattan Buford. Chase, as well as all of the upper management to most of the secretarial pool, knew of him.

Although he’d never been seen in the Dallas, New York, and California offices of Manhattan Buford, he was the driving force behind Manhattan Buford.

He owned controlling stock and held the position of CEO of the firm, yet no one besides the partners knew much about him. Gossip floated around the office—that he was a hardnosed businessman, one of the richest men in the country, and also one of the most reclusive.

Few images of him were seen publicly, and the available ones were profiles or from a distance. Upon learning about him, Chase had been mildly curious and had sought to find out more about him. No personal information could be found. She found only the bare facts, reports in financial documents, and legal transactions.

What she did know was that Baptiste was a billionaire tycoon who acquired failing businesses, invested money and new management, spearheading the turnaround until the business was not only solvent but also immensely profitable. He then turned around and sold it off to the highest bidder in multimillion, even billion-dollar, deals.

Several years ago, when Manhattan Buford had been in jeopardy of going bankrupt, Baptiste bought the company and within a year, had revitalized it, even taking it beyond its previous levels of success.

However, instead of selling, he’d held on for reasons no one knew. He left the daily operations with the original partners; however, his unseen presence was felt.

“Wow, now I’m impressed.” Chase brought the crystal goblet to her lips and took a sip of water, hiding the satisfied smile that hovered around her lips.

As the cold liquid eased down her throat, she fought back the giddy feeling of triumph that threatened to make her lose control. But it was all she could do not to jump up from her chair and turn a series of undignified, joyful cartwheels straight down the middle of the expensive and rich mahogany table.

Yes, the position was hers. She knew it.

And the fact that Baptiste knew of her was simply icing on the cake.

“However, before we go into all of that, we have to wait for Mr. Serrano,” William finished, catching Chase completely off guard and making her smile slip.

“Mr. Serrano? I’m afraid I don’t understand.” She carefully placed the goblet on the table, turning questioning eyes to the managers.

“Well—”

The door opened at that moment, interrupting whatever William had been planning to say.
Chastity’s eyes narrowed slightly, and a sense of foreboding swamped over her when the assistant brought Javier into the room and quietly exited.

“I’m sorry I was late, gentlemen…Ms. Davidson.” First, he gave his shit-eating, groveling smile to the partners before turning his smile to Chase and slyly giving her a wink, one that no one saw but her.

The sense of foreboding increased, and she watched his narrow ass sit down in the offered seat after fastidiously brushing away imaginary wrinkles from the 800-dollar, charcoal-gray Armani suit she’d gifted him last week. For work well done.

Chase continued to watch him as he straightened the cuffs of his shirt. The overhead light hit the shining, fourteen-carat gold-and-diamond encrusted links—the same ones she gave him for Valentine’s Day—so that they seemed to wink at her much as he had, mocking her.

“Well, let’s get this started, shall we, gentlemen…Chastity?” William Buford glanced around the table and once he was assured all eyes were on him, began to speak.

“Chastity, again, we want to congratulate you on the deal. Amazing job, well done. Absolutely amazing! We’ve been trying to get the Stratham business for over two years. You step in and seal the deal in less than two months. Brilliant!” He rubbed his large, beefy hands together. A smile of pure greed spread across his fleshy lips, splitting his lips so wide his canine teeth were exposed, giving his features an uncomplimentary, wolfish appearance.

“Yes, well, I did work hard for it. In fact—” Her words were cut off when Javier broke in.

“Yes, she did. To see her in action, see how she worked it, how she so cunningly manipulated them, worked on their emotions, found their weakness, exploited them…in a good way of course, was truly amazing,” he said with a laugh. The board members laughed along with him.

Chastity grit her teeth as her heartbeat slammed against her chest. The son-of-a-bitch was making her seem like some damn piranha as though she were nothing more than a cutthroat shark.

“Well, I wouldn’t quite put it like that,” she said, cutting in.

“I’m sorry! I didn’t mean it in a bad way! Not at all! I’ve learned so much…being under your tutelage, Ms. Davidson,” he replied, turning his attention toward her, the expression on his face guileless as though butter wouldn’t melt in his conniving mouth.

She nodded her head shortly and gave him a tight smile, while clamping down on the impeding feeling of disaster looming.

“Yes, it definitely shows how well you’ve learned under Ms. Davidson’s mentorship, Javier,” Maurice’s booming, jovial voice cut in. The feeling of doom amplified when he called Javier by his first name.

“Which is why, in great part, Javier owes you a great deal of gratitude.”

Chase cocked her head to the side, raising a brow in question, although she already knew, deep inside, exactly what William Buford meant.

She damn well already knew.

“As you know, Maurice Hines recently left Manhattan Buford, and with his departure, the position of president of marketing opened.”

Chastity glanced around the room of smiling executives; a scream of denial lodged tightly in her throat.

She listened with distant awareness as they ran down Javier’s qualifications—an MBA from Harvard with an emphasis in management, graduating at the top of his class along with his brief tenure working at Manhattan Buford where he’d been promoted due to long hours and his talent.

The same qualifications that she possessed and more.

“Although he’s been with us a short time, we believe that Javier has what it takes to take over the position; his leadership and education are above reproach. He—”

“That position is mine.” Chase broke into William Buford’s spiel not wanting to hear another word of his detailed outline of Javier’s qualifications.

William stopped, and all eyes turned to Chastity. She saw a mocking glint spark in Javier’s dark gaze as he too looked at her.

“Excuse me, Ms. Davidson?”

“With no disrespect intended, sir…That position should be mine.”

“Yes, well…” He stopped, and, for a moment, Chase felt a sharp sense of triumph as he floundered, trying to find the right words to say. “Yes, Ms. Davidson, you are very qualified for the position as well. You’ve proven how—”

“Then why? And why wasn’t I told that Javier was in the running for this?” Her question was sharp, to the point, the muscles in her face sore from the tight control she was keeping on herself.

“It wasn’t an easy decision, Chastity. But we feel it’s the best one,” William replied, almost gently. She gazed angrily at him, hating the look of pity she saw in his watery blue eyes.

“Then why?” She could not look at Javier. To do so would make her falter and lose what little control she desperately held on her emotions.

“To be honest, Javier has what we’re particularly looking for, for this position.”

“Chase, look, you know how much we’ve wanted to get a foot in the Latin market. Javier recently has met Roberto Chavez,” he said, mentioning the name of a key player in a successful Hispanic-owned and operated advertising agency whose projects included national commercial print and media ads. “With his courting, they are now considering working with us—”

“Considering?”

“Yes. Nothing is confirmed. As I said, we feel confident that Javier will be able to bring us the account.” A deep red flushed the man’s cheeks, and when he couldn’t look directly at Chastity, she turned to stare at Javier before turning back to face Buford.

“What the hell is this about? And don’t give me that bullshit line that Javier ‘has what it takes’ to run the position,” she said his name with disdain, jerking a thumb in his direction. “That’s a line of crap and we all know that. I worked all day, every day, never took one damn day of vacation time, working long nights, then took work home on weekends...making sure the work was done, and done correctly. No matter who the hell took off, I was there, working my ass off! I’ve just landed…not ‘considering’…landed…a multi-million dollar account and you have the audacity to tell me this shit?”

The room was silent after her outburst. The proverbial pen could have dropped and all would have heard it. No one said a word, the tension in the room so palpable and thick it felt like a noose around her neck.

“We have another position for you, Chastity. One which we feel you will see the merits of, given time—” William Buford was the first to speak.

“And what would that be?”

There was an ominous moment of silence, and Chase watched them exchange nervous-looking glances. There was a wealth of communication in their silent conversation, one that confused her as much as angered her.

“Mr. Baptiste wants you to work with him.”

“What?”

“As his assistant.”

“His assistant?” Chase narrowed her eyes, spearing them with her glance. She carefully took note of the nervous way William played with the tip of his gold-covered fountain pen, and the way Emily Manhattan avoided her eyes. “So, you’re telling me, I’m being demoted?”

“No! Not at all, please, Ms. Davidson, listen—”

“This is utter and complete bullshit.”

“I’m sorry that you feel that way, Chastity. You are a valuable member of this team.”

“If I’m so valuable, why am I being demoted to assistant, William? Tell me that!”

“I’m not at liberty to discuss that with you, at this time. Mr. Baptiste himself will be in contact with you—”

“I don’t think so. You can tell Mr. Baptiste he can damn well find himself another lackey. I quit.”

There was silence in the room, for long minutes. Chastity turned her head away, and fought back the burn of tears she felt threatening to fall, until she heard the scrape of chairs easing against the plush carpeting, indicating the men were leaving the table.

And that was it. No asking her to reconsider, no negotiating, nothing.

One by one, they left the room. Chastity kept her face averted until she heard the sound of the door opening and closing. When she thought they were all gone, she turned back around, and came face to face with Javier.

He smiled and leaned down, whispering in her ear, “Who got screwed now, bitch?”

She clenched her jaw and said nothing. She simply watched him turn around and saunter toward the door before he left the room.

One lone tear escaped, unnoticed, and trailed down Chastity’s cheek.

Chapter Three

“Hey lady, what’s going on? I ain’t seen you in a while.”

Chase walked into the dark, deserted bar and offered a smile to the man who stood behind the bar wiping down the counter with another towel.

“Not a whole lot, Mickey. What about you?” she asked as she walked inside, stopping when she reached the bar.

She pulled out one of the high bar stools and climbed onto the seat, placing her bag and laptop on the empty stool beside her.

“Can’t complain. Wife is out visiting her mama, got the place to myself for a change,” he answered, grinning widely and exposing a shining set of pearly-white dentures that glistened starkly against his charcoal-colored skin.

“Yeah, and what are you going to do with all that freedom?” she asked and nodded her head when he put a glass of whiskey in front of her.

“Hmmm. Don’t know. Maybe I’ll have that orgy I been thinkin’ about,” he replied and winked.
Chase offered a small smile in return and swirled the shot glass around, the amber-colored liquid swirling around the small chunks of tinkling ice.

“You gonna play with that or actually drink it?” the old man asked in a hoarse voice, thanks to years of smoking and hard drinking.

She lifted the glass to her lips, drank it in one swallow, and shut her eyes as the alcohol burned and slid down her throat.

After she placed the empty glass down, she raised her eyes and caught Mickey staring at her. A thoughtful expression lined his face.

“Fucked-up day at the office?” he asked, nodding his head toward the empty glass, silently asking if she wanted another.

She shook her head “no” to the refill.

“That’s putting it mildly.” Her laugh rang hollow even to her own ears.

“Wanna talk about it? I’ve been told I’m a good listener.”

Chase sighed and shook her head, still stunned at the turn of events over the last few hours.

“Have you ever had your dreams snatched from you, Mickey? Have you ever been this close?” she asked, putting up two fingers indicating the length span of an inch. “This close to being number one? And just when the prize is within range, after years of building to that moment, it vanishes. Poof. And you’re left freefalling, adrift, and no idea how the fuck it happened?” Chase laughed a harsh-sounding laugh, shaking her head. “Well, that’s about how I feel right now. All I wanted to be is number one…is that asking too much?” Although she voiced the question to Mickey, she knew he didn’t know the answer to the question, and was speaking to herself more than him.

“Sorry. Yeah…it’s been one of those kind of days,” she finished. “Look, I’d better go.” She glanced up at him as she spoke. . The forced smile that she had put on began to slide off her face when she noticed the intent way he was looking at her.

“Hey, why don’t you stick around a bit more? Like I said, I’m a good listener,” he offered, again, a look of worry creasing his wide forehead.

“No.” She wrinkled her nose. “I’m sure you are. I think I’ve opened up more than enough for one day. But thanks for the offer.” She smiled.

He opened his mouth to speak, but promptly closed it. “Why don’t you let me make you another drink, one of my specialties? Cures the blues…I even heard it can cure the common cold.” He laughed hoarsely.

“Does all that, huh?” She raised a brow. “No, but do you have anything good in the back? Something I can take home with me?”

The surprised look on his face almost made her laugh.

She rarely drank besides an occasional social glass and in the two years she’d known Mickey, he’d never seen her drink more than a shot or two at the most.

“Like I said…It’s been a real bitch of a day.”

He cocked his head to the side, as though considering something.

“I got just the thing for you. I ordered a few boxes of some real fancy shit last week for some rich guy giving a party: 2001 Cabernet Sauvignon—it just came in. He won’t know the difference if I take out a bottle or two.”

“For a price, right?”

“You know it, Boo.” He laughed, winking at her. His rotund, stout body ambled away toward the back and moments later he returned with a bottle of the wine, offering it for her inspection.
“Hmmm. Nice,” she murmured, taking the bottle from his hand and cradling it in her hand, the bottle neck nestled in her palm; the base, cool…soothing… against her inner arm.

“What do I owe you?” she asked, jumping from the barstool and grabbing her things from the stool beside her.

“It’s on the house.”

“Come on, what do I owe you, Mickey?” She raised incredulous eyes toward him.

“Take it and go before I change my mind.” He winked, and with a grin, she thanked him and turned to leave.

She was on her way out of the door when Mickey’s voice stopped her.

“You know, being number one can come with a high price. Some would say a harsh price. Are you ready to pay that price, Chase?”

She stared at the door, considering his question. “I’ve been ready for a long time, Mickey,” she answered without turning around.

If you enjoyed this excerpt and would like to purchase the book, please get it from your local bookstore or purchase it online at: http://www.amazon.com/Auctioned-Invitation-Odyssey-Strebor-Quickiez/dp/1593092326/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&s=books&qid=1248196905&sr=1-1