Weapons of Mass Seduction (16 page)

“Am I a Republican?”

“Well, yes.”

“Because it's political suicide for all of us to be in one party. For all the decades of support that black folks have thrown blindly at Democrats, what have they gotten in return? We still rank at the bottom of everything, from education to employment to life expectancy,” Valen stated in a voice that let her know he'd been down this line of questioning many times before.

“But what about GOP politics do you find attractive?”

“Fighting terror, strong family values, empowering the individual. It's more important to teach a man to fish rather than give it to him on a plate in some soup kitchen.”

“But it seems that under the banner of ‘individual empowerment' your party seems content to make political decisions based on what's good for the one and not the many. They forget about the rest of our folks languishing at the bottom or struggling in the middle,” Pia said, her indignation rising.

“Pia, just because I am a black Republican doesn't mean I stopped caring about black people. If things are going to change, sometimes the fight has to come from the inside as well. My goal is to engage our people in such a way that everyone benefits. Hopefully I'll be one more nonpartisan voice trying to do the right thing.”

“But…”

“Why don't we agree to disagree and leave politics alone for a minute? Is that okay?” Valen could feel the conversation about to explode into a repeat of their last meeting, and it was the last thing he wanted to happen today. He needed to change the topic and change it fast.

“Okay,” Pia agreed. It was much too beautiful a day to spend it arguing over political ideologies. “But you did want to talk about your program.”

“And we will, but first, do you mind if I ask you a couple of personal questions?”

“Okay,” Pia said, hearing the hesitation in her voice.

“Who's your favorite singer?”

“Sade.”

“Good choice. Very sexy and elegant.”
Like you,
he wanted to tell her, but he kept that to himself.

“What is this?”

“Just a quick way of knowing you better.”

“Okay. Yours?”

“I'd have to say Stevie Wonder.”

“
Have
to? As if you could go wrong with Stevie Wonder. The man is a musical genius. There is no better album than…”

“
Songs in the Key of Life,
” they said in unison.

“What's your favorite cut on the album?” Pia asked.

“‘Knocks Me Off My Feet' and ‘As,' but I like them all.”

“I can't disagree.”

“Okay, we both have great taste in music. Now, this is important. What makes you smile?”

“Um, lots of things, but I guess I'd say natural beauty—both inner and outer. That and a seventy-five percent off sign in the Jimmy Choo store window. What makes you smile?” Pia asked, suddenly very curious.

“Blue, blue ocean water.”

“Any ocean in particular?” Pia asked.

“The Indian Ocean. I am very partial to the waters off the Maldives. There's a resort there called the Reethi Rah where every view is just breathtaking.”

“Hmm,” Pia murmured, imagining herself there. “Where are you getting these questions?”

“Do you know how many interviews I've given over the years? I've been asked everything from my positions on Iraq and Iran to ‘Boxers or briefs?'”

“So?” Pia asked with a mischievous glint in her eye.

“So, what?”

“Boxers or briefs?”

“Sorry. That's classified information,” he joked back.

“I have a question,” Pia declared. “What surprises you?”

“Unfortunately, not much surprises me these days. How about you?”

“The way my clothes shrink just hanging in my closet.”

“Funny, girl. Anything else?”

“I guess how fate works,” Pia said, thinking about the way her life was unfolding.

“Here's a question a reporter asked me last week. Answer with just one word. A man is powerful when he…?”

Pia took a moment to think before replying. “Listens, though—no offense to your gender—it's tough to find a man who really listens. He may hear you, but it seems that rarely does he
listen
.”

“Listens would be my answer too.”

Without thought or provocation, Pia playfully reached over and punched Valen in his upper arm. It was an involuntary reaction, stored muscle memory from junior high, where every girl slugged her crush. “Get your own answer. You're just saying that because I did,” she accused him, her entire body suddenly in automatic flirt mode.

“No, really. We just happen to once again agree. Think of it as a happy bipartisan moment. Okay, when is a woman powerful?”

“That's a tough one,” Pia said, taking time to think. “I'd have to say when she's natural and doesn't try too hard. When do you think a woman is most powerful?”

“When she loves,” Valen said, briefly looking into her eyes before dropping his.

There was no doubt that something was happening between them. Despite his untenable political leanings, Pia was beginning to like this man, and the idea was making her extremely uncomfortable. He was a refreshing change from the usual characters she knew. And he was giving every indication that he liked her back. Suddenly the comfortable, playful feeling she'd had earlier was gone, replaced by the need to vacate this beautiful place and the company of this far too interesting and handsome man. Attracted as she might be, Pia saw no reason to explore a potential coupling that had
DOOMED
stamped across its welcome mat.

“So let me get this straight,” Dee said, dropping a folder full of information on Valen's campaign that they'd never gotten around to discussing. It landed on Pia's desk with a thud that seemed to accentuate the mood of their conversation.

“You were having a great time, best date you've had in years, and you decided you simply needed to bolt.”

“Yep,” Pia said, pretending to be too preoccupied with work to have this conversation. She hoped in vain that Darlene would get the hint and skedaddle.

“
Plus
you think he's an all-around great guy and a major catch.”

“Uh-huh.”

“
And
he gave you the distinct impression that he'd love to get to know you
a lot
better, like up close and real personal, but you want me to screen all his calls. No phone, no e-mails, no communication of any kind.”

“Yep.”

“
Chica,
I do not get you. You ace the workshop, finally start acting like a girl again, get asked on a second date—and by some rich, successful guy, mind you—but you have no interest in him. Just tell me one more time—why?”

“It's not so difficult to understand, Darlene. I accomplished my goal, which was to get pregnant, but that's it. I'm not interested in hooking up with anyone, at least not now. And particularly not with a man who is running for the U.S. Senate on a Republican platform that touts a bunch of conservative viewpoints including strong ‘family values.'”

“So that's it. You just give up?”

“Yep. Better to quit now while I can.”

Chapter Twenty-one

“
W
hat exactly are you searching for?” Cris asked as he trailed Becca at the Golden Pagoda jewelry counter.

“I'm looking for a cool ring. Something that's interesting and draws attention,” Becca said, continuing to inspect the tray of rings.

“Like this?” Cris asked, handing Becca a gold band.

“Whoa—this is beautiful. It's like a piece of sculpture,” Becca said, immediately falling in love with the piece. Cast in gold was a nude, three-dimensional woman stretched luxuriously across the band, smelling a bouquet of flowers.

“It's perfect,” she cooed, slipping it on the middle finger of her right hand. There was something magic about this ring that suddenly made Joey's whole trademark icon explanation make sense. The artsy band of gold immediately made her feel connected to her sensual self, and just viewing it on her hand reminded Becca of the woman she wanted to be. “It's also a hundred and fifty dollars,” Becca said, sneaking a peek at the price tag.

“Marked down from three hundred,” Cris pointed out. “Get it. You'll never see anything like it again.”

Cris was right. It was unique and sexy—just as she aspired to be. Becca really couldn't afford it, but it was too perfect and made her feel too good to leave behind.

“I wish you were coming with me tonight,” she said as they waited for the clerk to approve her credit.

“I know, but it's Phil's birthday, and he's got his heart set on celebrating at Rumba's. I still think you should go with Heather or Angelique. Why go by yourself?”

Because I don't need the competition
, she wanted to inform her friend, but didn't. “I'll be fine.”

Becca, dressed in her supersexy blue dress and sporting her new jewelry, purposely arrived at the opening of Uptown fashionably late. She'd learned from the comings and goings of all her celebrity idols that no socialite worth her one hundred pounds would ever come to an opening on time. Outside the door, trapped behind a velvet rope and a burley bouncer, was a crowd of folks clamoring to be admitted.

“If you don't have an invitation, you're not getting in,” the bouncer's voice boomed over the throng. At that, several people gave up in defeat and walked away, thinning the crowd enough for Becca to make her way to the front with minimal effort. Pulling out her best imitation Paris Hilton smirk and Naomi Campbell vamp, Becca strutted up to the bouncer and gave him a bold wink.

The door man gave Becca an
I'd like to tap that ass
once-over, licked his lips, and unclipped the rope, allowing her access. Becca could hear the disappointed smacks and lust-hungry moans of those left on the sidewalk. Funny, before the WMS workshop, she would have been standing among them. But now, after her experience with the sweet power of whip appeal, there was no stopping her.

Walking through the crowded club, Becca enjoyed but ignored the looks and suggestive comments as she made her way to the bar, which was jammed with women of every color and size.

Must be ladies' night,
she decided before her mouth gaped open when her eyes got a look at the reason these chicks were all jockeying for position.

Nico Jones—obviously Chicago's sexiest bartender—was Eve's restitution to all the women she'd kept out of Eden for trying to sauté Adam's apple. He was handsome and charming, and, unlike the first man on earth, he thrived on temptation—as witnessed by the constant flow of propositions he was receiving.

It wasn't his tight muscular frame, built up to medium height and dipped-in-chocolate brown skin, or his flowing shoulder-length locks that were most appealing. It was Nico's charismatic display of boyish (
I need your doting mother-love
) charm and manly (
as long as you're a MILF
) sex appeal that was such a damn turn-on. That and his eyes, which tilted downward and could read sad and needy when his sparkling white smile was not on display. That body, that charm, those eyes—you just wanted to draw him to your breast and perform the most unspeakable acts while he was there.

Becca stood shrouded in the shadows, studying the bevy of sizzling chicks surrounding this magnificent specimen. They were a rainbow of races and colors and with various body types, all trying to command Nico's attention.

Becca suddenly felt all the air rush out of the room when the object of her obsession turned, flashed his heavenly grin in her direction, and began walking toward her. Becca felt the contents of her stomach drop and with it all her earlier confidence.

Oh my God, he is beautiful. Don't blow it. Remember lessons learned. Be cool. Sexy, crazy, cool
. In the few seconds it took for him to reach her, the combination of thoughts, instructions, and advice flooded through Becca's mind, overwhelming her speech center. They were finally face-to-face, and all she could manage was a nervous smile.

“So what's your pleasure?” His rich baritone voice melted over her.

Becca tried to sneak a deep breath before answering. Sucking in renewed confidence as well as oxygen, she replied, “Silk panties,” then watched in silent glee as her answer caused a noticeable twitch of Nico's full, luscious lips.

“Nice,” he replied, a wink in his voice, before walking away to mix her drink.

Becca took the time to breathe and regroup. Another new discovery: Self-assurance was easy to manufacture when the man in question wasn't relevant. But when he mattered, confidence was more of a hide-and-seek proposition.

She watched as he mixed her cocktail and then became distracted by the throng of partyers looking to get their buzz on. Becca checked her watch. It was twelve-thirty. Hopefully the crowd would soon begin to thin and she'd have an opportunity to talk with Nico.

“Sorry for the wait. It's crazy tonight,” Nico shouted over the pulsating music and noisy hubbub of voices as he delivered her drink.

“It's okay. I'm Becca,” she said loudly, leaning over the bar and giving him an unobstructed view of her cleavage.

“Nico Jones,” he said, nodding and smiling. “Don't go away. I'll be back.”

Nico returned to his bartending duties, leaving Becca plenty of time to watch, fantasize, and nurse her drink. Every now and again, she'd catch his eye, smile, and manage to hold his attention until it was needed elsewhere. They played this game of peekaboo for about twenty minutes until Becca noticed some other woman holding Nico's attention for longer than she found comfortable. She had to do something.

Becca watched and waited until Nico looked back in her direction. As she waved him over, she had no idea what she was going to say or do, but getting him away from the redhead and back to her side of the bar was paramount. Once he was there, she'd figure something out.

“What is your pleasure?” he asked. At that moment, Becca was glad he could not read her mind.

“A glass of water, please,” Becca requested while running her finger around the rim of her cocktail glass, just as she'd seen Julie do.

“Nice ring. Is that a panther?” he asked, taking her hand.

“No—here, take a closer look,” she suggested as her next move revealed itself. Becca gently extricated her hand from his grasp, put her finger between her lips, and, looking squarely in his eyes, pulled the ring off in her mouth. Reaching for his hand, Becca plucked the band from her tongue and placed it in Nico's palm.

“Nice,” Nico repeated. Becca wasn't sure if he was referring to her jewelry or her antic. “And very sexy,” he stated, placing the ring back on her finger while lightly caressing her palm. His touch released an icy hot shower of desire throughout her body, causing her to inhale sharply.

“Thanks,” she said, unable to think of a clever reply.

“So, um—”

“Becca.”

“Right. I'm almost done here. Why don't you wait for me,” he said.

It took every bit of willpower Becca had not to jump over to the other side of the bar and scream, “YES!”—especially after noticing the jealous eyes and ruffled feathers around her. So many times she'd been the owner of those envious eyes—to be the one being envied felt golden. Tonight Becca had the chance to be the hot girl who left with the hot guy. But the avalanche of voices that suddenly overwhelmed her head dampened her delight.

There's a difference between flirting and teasing,
Joey's voice rang out in her head.

You've got a new look and an entirely different sales pitch,
Pia's added.

Even Mike from Suede made an appearance, his pushy, up-against-the-wall come-on rushing to her memory's forefront. He had refused to take no for an answer, sure that “No” meant “Try harder.” Would Nico be the same way?

Maybe she was a little out of her league, and certainly she was not as experienced as her actions would imply. Becca needed to slow this train down a bit, but the line behind her waiting to board was long and full of eager riders. Would there be a second chance if she declined?

Nico returned, his eyes full of promise and expectations. “So, are we going to hook up?”

“Hmm—Nico, I wish we could. But I actually came with somebody.”

“You're sure?” he asked, tucking his bottom lip behind his upper teeth, a nearly impossible-to-resist gesture.

“Yeah, but here's my number,” she said, writing her cell phone number down on a cocktail napkin. “Call me and we'll hook up soon,” Becca said, sliding the paper toward him.

Nico took the napkin, folded it, and put it in his pocket.

“You'll call me, right?” Becca asked, hoping she didn't sound desperate.

“Sure.” Nico Jones winked and walked away, leaving Becca high on a cloud of silk panties and great expectations.