LADY LYNXX UPDATES!: My Daddy's money - The story of a gold-digger! Read Chapters 1 and 2 here....
This novel is completed! Looking for an agent....
Final draft of the first two chapters below! Enjoy....
Chapter 1
February 2005
Amaya Summer had it all. The worst thing was that she knew it. Waking up in her Tribeca apartment every morning was an affirmation of that fact. Amaya switched off the alarm on her cell phone and looked at the time. Was it 6.00am already?
“Time to get up.” she told herself. Amaya rolled out of her majestic Baker king size bed, then put on her slippers and shuffled off to the bathroom.
Henry Bartholomew was already pulling up his socks and trying to get the hell out of there and make it to the office on time. He took a quick look around the room and felt satisfied that the place was now bought and paid for in her name; and the bitch is worth it, thought Henry as he visualized her head-game from the night before.
Before she jumped in the shower, Henry picked an unread copy of the latest Dyme magazine that was on the table, then flicked to the pages that featured Amaya’s latest photo-shoot spread and short interview. He read a little, then decided he wanted to read the start of it to her out loud.
“Amaya, sweetie-I’m loving this Dyme interview. Check out what they say at the beginning: ‘Amaya is the hottest music video model, pin up and general hip-hop eye-candy there has been in recent times. Since being discovered at the age of 18 by popular DJ and magazine/club owner DJ Slay, Amaya has not looked back. As a testament to her full name, Princess Amaya Cleopatra Jade Sumner-Wilson possesses an astonishing beauty, God given to only a handful in every generation.’ Isn’t that awesome baby?”
“Humph….” she replied dismissively.
She’d stopped to listen since she had yet to read the article: as usual, the description of her stature in the game did not disappoint. They got that right, she thought pompously and carried on walking to the bathroom buck naked.
Henry’s heart filled with pride at the fact that he had the hottest chick in the game swallowing his load on the regular; she didn’t even complain about his hairy pot belly like his wife Gloria constantly did. He followed her to continue talking about what he’d just read as she was brushing her teeth.
“Damn baby, you got some name!” he exclaimed. “So why’d you change it? It’s such a beautiful name….”
“It was just easier at the time.” she replied vaguely.
Amaya had changed her name to a much simpler Amaya Summer a long time ago. When she’d started to become popular back in the day, she decided that the Wilson family name would be a hindrance rather than a help to her career, as would her mother’s surname of Sumner. DJ Slay used to often remark that Amaya’s caramel skin and enviable long dark brown locks made her seem as if her own personal sun shined on her wherever she went; and so the name was born.
Henry seemed to have forgotten about work and stared at her as if looking at a work of art. “Good God Almighty baby, I just can’t get over your body.” he drooled.
“I know. Look at me.” she said to her reflection in the full length mirror. “No nips, no tucks, no botox, no peels. That’s why I’m the shit.”
“You know baby, that’s why I fucks wit you. You’re 100% natural! Those other chicks, Buffie, Melyssa Ford—they ain’t got nothing on ya. You’re your stats are perfect. 34DD-24-42; how many bitches can claim to have that without some help, huh?”
As she plucked a stray eyebrow from her face, Amaya let him keep droning on about the things that she already knew. She felt like telling him that any idiot knew that beauty set her apart from all the other ‘video hoes’ in the game.
Amaya possessed the perfect mix of a supermodel face, high bust, small waist and phenomenally round derrière. In fact, the curves on her body would make the most difficult F1 track look as straight as an Olympic pool.
In terms of casting, she played the perpetual role of ‘the hot wifey’. Slay had also said back in the day, that she looked far too refined to be prancing around in thongs or booty shaking; as a result she had never done either in any video, photo-shoot or magazine. Her image was sexy, yet classy; Amaya Summer epitomized every nigga’s dream wife and that was her main selling point.
Henry looked at his flashy diamond encrusted Rolex and realised the time; shit, it’s nearly 6.30, he thought. “Baby, so I’ll see you later then?” he asked gingerly.
“No.” she replied coldly.
“But…but, baby I thought, you know…with the apartment and all. Urm, I thought you’d let me spend more time with you, since I’ve shown how serious I am.”
“What did you think Henry? Did you think that buying me an apartment was gonna change anything?”
“But baby come on. This place set me back almost a million dollars. I think I should at least be able t….”
“Be able to what? Be able to drop in whenever you like? We both know the score Henry; you ain’t leavin’ your wife and buying me an apartment is cheaper than divorcing her. Don’t get it twisted.”
“Ok, so when do I see you?” he asked, visibly defeated.
“I’ll call you,” she replied, then turned her back to him and faced the mirror. “Let yourself out will ya?”
Henry mumbled something that she wasn’t listening to anyway, and then left her apartment.
He trembled with rage inside as he tried to start the car. “Fuck, fuck, fuck!” he snapped loudly and banged on the steering wheel for emphasis. This is the last time I get pussy whupped! The last motherfuckin’ time, he cursed . Fucking bitch was just using me all along!
Henry sped off to work in his Aston Martin as mad as hell. He would have been even madder to discover that he’d just been dumped to make way for Byron Lord.
Underneath her perfect shell, the world was oblivious that Amaya was a cold, calculating and extremely determined young woman. There was only one goal for her, and that was to cultivate as much wealth as she possibly could without actually working much at all. The money earned from her modelling gigs was only chop change; it was also a medium used to meet as many rich high-rollers that she so wished. The average person would never guess that Amaya was a ruthless gold-digger, forever looking for the man with the biggest purse. This was where her daddy came into play. Not daddy in the father sense; no, her father was long gone. Amaya lived her life in pursuit of ‘daddy’ in the sugar-daddy incarnation. Her modus operandi was to play them all to a fine tune and high sum before moving on. She maintained that any fool that was dumb enough to throw away his money for the sake of arm candy must have enough to spare anyway.
Just before putting on the shower, Amaya smiled as she thought about her latest catch. Byron David Lord was CEO and founder of the GAMEbuy chain of computer game supply stores and filthy rich. He was billionaire tens of times over and for Amaya, basically a dream come true. As a self-made 52 year old billionaire to Amaya’s 24 years, they were an odd couple. This didn’t bother her in the slightest; whilst most of her old high school friends were shacked up with some no good bastard and at least 2 snotty kids, Amaya had the world.
She was still yet to consummate her relationship with Byron and he’d already upgraded her Mercedes S-class coupé to the latest Jaguar XJR. But that was part of the game. Play the lady by withholding sex for the first few months, yet keep them just interested enough with the slickest head game in the world.
The coup de grâce was that she always swallowed their load. The fact that a woman of her calibre would even entertain such was a huge compliment to most men.
Gettin’ money from these niggas is too easy, she said to herself. Just like mama said.
Amaya then pondered upon her impending photo-shoot that morning, when the phone rang. She let the machine pick up.
“Hey babe, it’s Byron.”
What the hell could he want at this hour? she thought.
Chapter 2
Bryon was always the first one to reach the office and that was the way he liked it; in fact “the early bird catches the worm” was the phrase that men like him lived by.
The executive black Maybach came to a stop outside the GAMEbuy headquarters in Manhattan; Francis, the chauffer walked round to open the door and let Byron exit the vehicle. Polished, suited and booted, Byron Lord stepped out of the car with the unspoken pride of a black male that had made it to the top of the proverbial mountain. He entered the building with an air of self-importance and gave a quick nod of acknowledgement to the security guards, and then the ladies at the reception desk. As Byron made his way up to the 25th floor, thoughts ran through his mind of how far he’d come in life.
Rivalled only by close friend and fellow billionaire Augustus Trump, Byron Lord was by far the heaviest closer in the business. His niche was to buy out ailing companies, build them up and then sell them on again. The only company that he hadn’t sold off so far was GAMEbuy; it was of course, his brainchild at the age of 35.
Wow, was it that long ago? he thought. Byron recalled the long hours that he’d put in on Wall Street as a small time trader; hours of watching his precious daughters grow up lost, never to be regained. He often wondered if things would have been different if only he made the time; but a man is a man, and he had no choice back then but to provide.
While he had never played the race card, he felt it his misfortune to be one of the few black men on the trading floor. To add to his pain, being constantly overlooked for promotion was what he’d hated the most. Byron spent endless hours training his younger and less qualified Asian and white counterparts; they were all eventually systematically promoted to positions of Manager, Senior Manager and even Partner, while he was left to languish in acquisitions. Well I guess they’re sorry now! Byron said to himself.
As he walked out of the elevator and onto the floor, his secretary Marilyn was already at her desk as usual. In the five years she had worked for him, she had never been late or taken a day off sick; he appreciated her, yet also took advantage of her dedication. A light seemed to have switched on inside her head as she noticed his approach to his office.
“Good morning Byron, coffee as usual?” Marilyn asked brightly.
“Good morning Marilyn, yes that’ll be fine…, anything that I need to look at immediately?”
“Oh yes, there’s the Amsterdam proposal on your desk. The deadline for completion is close of play today. They’ve already called and said that they’d like to have a call with you at about 9.00 o’clock.”
“That’s about two and a half hours away. I guess that’s enough time for me to decide.”
Byron hadn’t even been sitting in his office for up to five minutes, before Marilyn walked in with a mug of steaming black coffee; she was too efficient even by his standards, not that he was complaining. Once she’d left him and shut the door, he continued reminisce as he read the proposal papers; yet another global expansion of GAMEbuy was to be executed with the planned opening of a branch in Amsterdam, Holland. If anyone had told Byron that he would be a billionaire less than two decades after opening his first GAMEbuy store, he would have said they were talking some bullshit.
The sweetest revenge for Byron was being able to buy out Randall, Webster & Maxwell; it was an old trading firm that he had put fifteen long years of his life into. Byron eventually left the firm after making a small fortune on a calculated investment in a little known computer game company; this was just before the technology stock boom of the 1990’s. Byron’s extended family was still living in Harlem at that point; whenever he visited, his nephews and nieces were usually playing their Super Nintendo or Sega Genesis consoles for hours and hours on end. Byron always used to wonder back then how come they never seemed to get tired.
After researching the market for a while, he eventually foresaw the potential of the ‘video game’ thing in the long term.
GAMEbuy was the first of its kind; a store that sold all platforms of computer games, accessories and titles all in the same place was unheard of before its inception. The kids were on to it like flies to a pile of hot dung and before he knew it, Byron had to quickly expand the business. Within six short years GAMEbuy was nationwide.
Fast forward seventeen years, and GAMEbuy was worldwide. The company had international flagships in London, Tokyo, Paris and Australia amongst others. There was also a website, popular TV show and a small electronic goods arm of the business. In spite of all of this success, Byron’s personal life was not so spectacular; his superficial nature had rendered him incapable of loving a woman for her true worth.
His thoughts turned to Amaya and his intention to take her out to Cipriani that evening; she was exactly the type of woman he’d been looking for and once they’d met, he’d found her impossible to resist. She was one of the few women walking on earth that made him have to chase her; he found himself bending his own rules to keep up. In Byron’s world, everything and everyone was at his beck and call 24 hours a day, seven days a week, so when he dialled Amaya’s number at 6.35 that morning, the last thing he expected to encounter was her answering machine.
Why the hell doesn’t she answer my calls? Byron thought, as her number rang endlessly. Nobody and that means nobody, keeps me hanging on voicemail. Everyone picks up when I call! he fumed in silence.
He shouldn’t have been surprised; in fact, he should have been used to it. Amaya would often force him leave voicemail messages, of which she would reply when she so desired. Byron frequently asked himself why he continued to tolerate such.
At first glance, Byron was the quintessential tall, dark and muscular black man. He wasn’t much of a looker facially, but by God did he have presence. This was the type of man that had never needed work to bag a hot chick; the type of man that most women found irresistible. To this end, he couldn’t fathom why it was so difficult to break Amaya down to his whims; on the contrary, he felt powerless to her demands of him much like a slave. Unfortunately, he was dealing with a force much stronger than his own; the game had been set from the beginning and Byron never really stood a chance in the first place.
As he listened to her recorded answering machine message, Byron wished he had listened to his best friend’s warnings about her; ever since the day that he’d met her at a music industry party, Julian had said that Amaya was a beautiful, yet sly fox.
“Byron, you see that chick? She ain’t easy bro, most men fall at her feet like fools; Amaya Summer ain’t no regular video ho. That bitch has an agenda.” Julian warned. Byron had laughed in Julian’s face back then, stupidly thinking that she held no challenge for him at all.
“Come on Ju-baby, this is me you’re talking about. This is Byron Lord here, and I ain’t never met a bitch that I couldn’t break; she’ll be eating out the palm of my hand by the time I’m done. You’ll see….”
“Aight player…I’m just tryna help a brother out.” Julian said and watched Byron go off to find his prospective conquest.
Once they began to engage in conversation, it didn’t take long before he became intoxicated by her gorgeous body and velvety voice. Amaya seemed just like the type of woman he wanted; well-spoken, beautiful and seeming smart.
Apparently, her video model work was funding her way through law school. Byron liked the fact that she wasn’t just some dumb bimbo broad; he also liked the way that she was looking at him. Amaya gazed at him as though he was the only man alive; this flattered him to the point that, he would have paid almost any amount of money to possess her body that night. Byron wasn’t to know that she would dangle his heart on a string for a few months first before even getting a sniff of her pussy.
The thing was, though Amaya wasn’t openly mean, she had a way about her. It was a suggestive way that made men of the strongest will melt like a marshmallows on a stick over an open fire.
As CEO of ‘The Jam’ records - the first record label to sell hip-hop music exclusively - Julian Saunders was aware of any shady characters that operated within the music industry and the ‘video vixens’ were no exception. He knew exactly how Amaya operated from watching her interact with the artists under his roster on video shoots. Julian would give her one thing, the kid was smart. Underneath that perfect body and dollface, there was an undeniable tick, tick, tick of her brain.
Miss Summer never mixed business with pleasure, talk less of getting involved with any of the ghetto-minded recording artists that she frequently worked with. Amaya was only interested in the top business players, yacht owners and fantastically rich men of the world. She had figured out a long time ago, that no matter how big the wallet was, all men had the same equipment between their legs; this equipment also happened to be attached to their brains, and then came the spoils.
Byron decided to leave a short message anyway in spite of his frustration.
"Hey babe, it’s Byron. Just making sure that we’re still on for dinner tonight. Duncan can pick you up from the shoot and drive you to Cipriani,” he paused and sighed for a moment before continuing. “Umm, I’ll be waiting on your call before I ask Marilyn to confirm it that we’re gonna show up.”
He then ended the call same way he always did.
“Please gimme a call me back, okay sweetie?”
Amaya had already hit the shower before he’d hung up.
Thoughts?
© Lady Lynxx 2008
LL - My original post on thisis50.com from 26 February 2008:
Link to original post on thisis50.com and comments:
"http://www.thisis50.com/profiles/blog/show?id=784568%3ABlogPost%3A...
Final draft of the first two chapters below! Enjoy....
Chapter 1
February 2005
Amaya Summer had it all. The worst thing was that she knew it. Waking up in her Tribeca apartment every morning was an affirmation of that fact. Amaya switched off the alarm on her cell phone and looked at the time. Was it 6.00am already?
“Time to get up.” she told herself. Amaya rolled out of her majestic Baker king size bed, then put on her slippers and shuffled off to the bathroom.
Henry Bartholomew was already pulling up his socks and trying to get the hell out of there and make it to the office on time. He took a quick look around the room and felt satisfied that the place was now bought and paid for in her name; and the bitch is worth it, thought Henry as he visualized her head-game from the night before.
Before she jumped in the shower, Henry picked an unread copy of the latest Dyme magazine that was on the table, then flicked to the pages that featured Amaya’s latest photo-shoot spread and short interview. He read a little, then decided he wanted to read the start of it to her out loud.
“Amaya, sweetie-I’m loving this Dyme interview. Check out what they say at the beginning: ‘Amaya is the hottest music video model, pin up and general hip-hop eye-candy there has been in recent times. Since being discovered at the age of 18 by popular DJ and magazine/club owner DJ Slay, Amaya has not looked back. As a testament to her full name, Princess Amaya Cleopatra Jade Sumner-Wilson possesses an astonishing beauty, God given to only a handful in every generation.’ Isn’t that awesome baby?”
“Humph….” she replied dismissively.
She’d stopped to listen since she had yet to read the article: as usual, the description of her stature in the game did not disappoint. They got that right, she thought pompously and carried on walking to the bathroom buck naked.
Henry’s heart filled with pride at the fact that he had the hottest chick in the game swallowing his load on the regular; she didn’t even complain about his hairy pot belly like his wife Gloria constantly did. He followed her to continue talking about what he’d just read as she was brushing her teeth.
“Damn baby, you got some name!” he exclaimed. “So why’d you change it? It’s such a beautiful name….”
“It was just easier at the time.” she replied vaguely.
Amaya had changed her name to a much simpler Amaya Summer a long time ago. When she’d started to become popular back in the day, she decided that the Wilson family name would be a hindrance rather than a help to her career, as would her mother’s surname of Sumner. DJ Slay used to often remark that Amaya’s caramel skin and enviable long dark brown locks made her seem as if her own personal sun shined on her wherever she went; and so the name was born.
Henry seemed to have forgotten about work and stared at her as if looking at a work of art. “Good God Almighty baby, I just can’t get over your body.” he drooled.
“I know. Look at me.” she said to her reflection in the full length mirror. “No nips, no tucks, no botox, no peels. That’s why I’m the shit.”
“You know baby, that’s why I fucks wit you. You’re 100% natural! Those other chicks, Buffie, Melyssa Ford—they ain’t got nothing on ya. You’re your stats are perfect. 34DD-24-42; how many bitches can claim to have that without some help, huh?”
As she plucked a stray eyebrow from her face, Amaya let him keep droning on about the things that she already knew. She felt like telling him that any idiot knew that beauty set her apart from all the other ‘video hoes’ in the game.
Amaya possessed the perfect mix of a supermodel face, high bust, small waist and phenomenally round derrière. In fact, the curves on her body would make the most difficult F1 track look as straight as an Olympic pool.
In terms of casting, she played the perpetual role of ‘the hot wifey’. Slay had also said back in the day, that she looked far too refined to be prancing around in thongs or booty shaking; as a result she had never done either in any video, photo-shoot or magazine. Her image was sexy, yet classy; Amaya Summer epitomized every nigga’s dream wife and that was her main selling point.
Henry looked at his flashy diamond encrusted Rolex and realised the time; shit, it’s nearly 6.30, he thought. “Baby, so I’ll see you later then?” he asked gingerly.
“No.” she replied coldly.
“But…but, baby I thought, you know…with the apartment and all. Urm, I thought you’d let me spend more time with you, since I’ve shown how serious I am.”
“What did you think Henry? Did you think that buying me an apartment was gonna change anything?”
“But baby come on. This place set me back almost a million dollars. I think I should at least be able t….”
“Be able to what? Be able to drop in whenever you like? We both know the score Henry; you ain’t leavin’ your wife and buying me an apartment is cheaper than divorcing her. Don’t get it twisted.”
“Ok, so when do I see you?” he asked, visibly defeated.
“I’ll call you,” she replied, then turned her back to him and faced the mirror. “Let yourself out will ya?”
Henry mumbled something that she wasn’t listening to anyway, and then left her apartment.
He trembled with rage inside as he tried to start the car. “Fuck, fuck, fuck!” he snapped loudly and banged on the steering wheel for emphasis. This is the last time I get pussy whupped! The last motherfuckin’ time, he cursed . Fucking bitch was just using me all along!
Henry sped off to work in his Aston Martin as mad as hell. He would have been even madder to discover that he’d just been dumped to make way for Byron Lord.
Underneath her perfect shell, the world was oblivious that Amaya was a cold, calculating and extremely determined young woman. There was only one goal for her, and that was to cultivate as much wealth as she possibly could without actually working much at all. The money earned from her modelling gigs was only chop change; it was also a medium used to meet as many rich high-rollers that she so wished. The average person would never guess that Amaya was a ruthless gold-digger, forever looking for the man with the biggest purse. This was where her daddy came into play. Not daddy in the father sense; no, her father was long gone. Amaya lived her life in pursuit of ‘daddy’ in the sugar-daddy incarnation. Her modus operandi was to play them all to a fine tune and high sum before moving on. She maintained that any fool that was dumb enough to throw away his money for the sake of arm candy must have enough to spare anyway.
Just before putting on the shower, Amaya smiled as she thought about her latest catch. Byron David Lord was CEO and founder of the GAMEbuy chain of computer game supply stores and filthy rich. He was billionaire tens of times over and for Amaya, basically a dream come true. As a self-made 52 year old billionaire to Amaya’s 24 years, they were an odd couple. This didn’t bother her in the slightest; whilst most of her old high school friends were shacked up with some no good bastard and at least 2 snotty kids, Amaya had the world.
She was still yet to consummate her relationship with Byron and he’d already upgraded her Mercedes S-class coupé to the latest Jaguar XJR. But that was part of the game. Play the lady by withholding sex for the first few months, yet keep them just interested enough with the slickest head game in the world.
The coup de grâce was that she always swallowed their load. The fact that a woman of her calibre would even entertain such was a huge compliment to most men.
Gettin’ money from these niggas is too easy, she said to herself. Just like mama said.
Amaya then pondered upon her impending photo-shoot that morning, when the phone rang. She let the machine pick up.
“Hey babe, it’s Byron.”
What the hell could he want at this hour? she thought.
Chapter 2
Bryon was always the first one to reach the office and that was the way he liked it; in fact “the early bird catches the worm” was the phrase that men like him lived by.
The executive black Maybach came to a stop outside the GAMEbuy headquarters in Manhattan; Francis, the chauffer walked round to open the door and let Byron exit the vehicle. Polished, suited and booted, Byron Lord stepped out of the car with the unspoken pride of a black male that had made it to the top of the proverbial mountain. He entered the building with an air of self-importance and gave a quick nod of acknowledgement to the security guards, and then the ladies at the reception desk. As Byron made his way up to the 25th floor, thoughts ran through his mind of how far he’d come in life.
Rivalled only by close friend and fellow billionaire Augustus Trump, Byron Lord was by far the heaviest closer in the business. His niche was to buy out ailing companies, build them up and then sell them on again. The only company that he hadn’t sold off so far was GAMEbuy; it was of course, his brainchild at the age of 35.
Wow, was it that long ago? he thought. Byron recalled the long hours that he’d put in on Wall Street as a small time trader; hours of watching his precious daughters grow up lost, never to be regained. He often wondered if things would have been different if only he made the time; but a man is a man, and he had no choice back then but to provide.
While he had never played the race card, he felt it his misfortune to be one of the few black men on the trading floor. To add to his pain, being constantly overlooked for promotion was what he’d hated the most. Byron spent endless hours training his younger and less qualified Asian and white counterparts; they were all eventually systematically promoted to positions of Manager, Senior Manager and even Partner, while he was left to languish in acquisitions. Well I guess they’re sorry now! Byron said to himself.
As he walked out of the elevator and onto the floor, his secretary Marilyn was already at her desk as usual. In the five years she had worked for him, she had never been late or taken a day off sick; he appreciated her, yet also took advantage of her dedication. A light seemed to have switched on inside her head as she noticed his approach to his office.
“Good morning Byron, coffee as usual?” Marilyn asked brightly.
“Good morning Marilyn, yes that’ll be fine…, anything that I need to look at immediately?”
“Oh yes, there’s the Amsterdam proposal on your desk. The deadline for completion is close of play today. They’ve already called and said that they’d like to have a call with you at about 9.00 o’clock.”
“That’s about two and a half hours away. I guess that’s enough time for me to decide.”
Byron hadn’t even been sitting in his office for up to five minutes, before Marilyn walked in with a mug of steaming black coffee; she was too efficient even by his standards, not that he was complaining. Once she’d left him and shut the door, he continued reminisce as he read the proposal papers; yet another global expansion of GAMEbuy was to be executed with the planned opening of a branch in Amsterdam, Holland. If anyone had told Byron that he would be a billionaire less than two decades after opening his first GAMEbuy store, he would have said they were talking some bullshit.
The sweetest revenge for Byron was being able to buy out Randall, Webster & Maxwell; it was an old trading firm that he had put fifteen long years of his life into. Byron eventually left the firm after making a small fortune on a calculated investment in a little known computer game company; this was just before the technology stock boom of the 1990’s. Byron’s extended family was still living in Harlem at that point; whenever he visited, his nephews and nieces were usually playing their Super Nintendo or Sega Genesis consoles for hours and hours on end. Byron always used to wonder back then how come they never seemed to get tired.
After researching the market for a while, he eventually foresaw the potential of the ‘video game’ thing in the long term.
GAMEbuy was the first of its kind; a store that sold all platforms of computer games, accessories and titles all in the same place was unheard of before its inception. The kids were on to it like flies to a pile of hot dung and before he knew it, Byron had to quickly expand the business. Within six short years GAMEbuy was nationwide.
Fast forward seventeen years, and GAMEbuy was worldwide. The company had international flagships in London, Tokyo, Paris and Australia amongst others. There was also a website, popular TV show and a small electronic goods arm of the business. In spite of all of this success, Byron’s personal life was not so spectacular; his superficial nature had rendered him incapable of loving a woman for her true worth.
His thoughts turned to Amaya and his intention to take her out to Cipriani that evening; she was exactly the type of woman he’d been looking for and once they’d met, he’d found her impossible to resist. She was one of the few women walking on earth that made him have to chase her; he found himself bending his own rules to keep up. In Byron’s world, everything and everyone was at his beck and call 24 hours a day, seven days a week, so when he dialled Amaya’s number at 6.35 that morning, the last thing he expected to encounter was her answering machine.
Why the hell doesn’t she answer my calls? Byron thought, as her number rang endlessly. Nobody and that means nobody, keeps me hanging on voicemail. Everyone picks up when I call! he fumed in silence.
He shouldn’t have been surprised; in fact, he should have been used to it. Amaya would often force him leave voicemail messages, of which she would reply when she so desired. Byron frequently asked himself why he continued to tolerate such.
At first glance, Byron was the quintessential tall, dark and muscular black man. He wasn’t much of a looker facially, but by God did he have presence. This was the type of man that had never needed work to bag a hot chick; the type of man that most women found irresistible. To this end, he couldn’t fathom why it was so difficult to break Amaya down to his whims; on the contrary, he felt powerless to her demands of him much like a slave. Unfortunately, he was dealing with a force much stronger than his own; the game had been set from the beginning and Byron never really stood a chance in the first place.
As he listened to her recorded answering machine message, Byron wished he had listened to his best friend’s warnings about her; ever since the day that he’d met her at a music industry party, Julian had said that Amaya was a beautiful, yet sly fox.
“Byron, you see that chick? She ain’t easy bro, most men fall at her feet like fools; Amaya Summer ain’t no regular video ho. That bitch has an agenda.” Julian warned. Byron had laughed in Julian’s face back then, stupidly thinking that she held no challenge for him at all.
“Come on Ju-baby, this is me you’re talking about. This is Byron Lord here, and I ain’t never met a bitch that I couldn’t break; she’ll be eating out the palm of my hand by the time I’m done. You’ll see….”
“Aight player…I’m just tryna help a brother out.” Julian said and watched Byron go off to find his prospective conquest.
Once they began to engage in conversation, it didn’t take long before he became intoxicated by her gorgeous body and velvety voice. Amaya seemed just like the type of woman he wanted; well-spoken, beautiful and seeming smart.
Apparently, her video model work was funding her way through law school. Byron liked the fact that she wasn’t just some dumb bimbo broad; he also liked the way that she was looking at him. Amaya gazed at him as though he was the only man alive; this flattered him to the point that, he would have paid almost any amount of money to possess her body that night. Byron wasn’t to know that she would dangle his heart on a string for a few months first before even getting a sniff of her pussy.
The thing was, though Amaya wasn’t openly mean, she had a way about her. It was a suggestive way that made men of the strongest will melt like a marshmallows on a stick over an open fire.
As CEO of ‘The Jam’ records - the first record label to sell hip-hop music exclusively - Julian Saunders was aware of any shady characters that operated within the music industry and the ‘video vixens’ were no exception. He knew exactly how Amaya operated from watching her interact with the artists under his roster on video shoots. Julian would give her one thing, the kid was smart. Underneath that perfect body and dollface, there was an undeniable tick, tick, tick of her brain.
Miss Summer never mixed business with pleasure, talk less of getting involved with any of the ghetto-minded recording artists that she frequently worked with. Amaya was only interested in the top business players, yacht owners and fantastically rich men of the world. She had figured out a long time ago, that no matter how big the wallet was, all men had the same equipment between their legs; this equipment also happened to be attached to their brains, and then came the spoils.
Byron decided to leave a short message anyway in spite of his frustration.
"Hey babe, it’s Byron. Just making sure that we’re still on for dinner tonight. Duncan can pick you up from the shoot and drive you to Cipriani,” he paused and sighed for a moment before continuing. “Umm, I’ll be waiting on your call before I ask Marilyn to confirm it that we’re gonna show up.”
He then ended the call same way he always did.
“Please gimme a call me back, okay sweetie?”
Amaya had already hit the shower before he’d hung up.
Thoughts?
© Lady Lynxx 2008
LL - My original post on thisis50.com from 26 February 2008:
Link to original post on thisis50.com and comments:
"http://www.thisis50.com/profiles/blog/show?id=784568%3ABlogPost%3A...
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