Slow Release (Ebony and Ivory Book 1) (2 page)

Damon

It may be a slow release but when she lets go, I’ll be there; she will fall and when she does, I’ll be there to catch her.

“I want her, enough said.”

“She’s in Haiti.”

“I don’t give a fuck if she’s on the moon. I. Want. Her.”

I sat back down behind my large cherry wood desk and eyed my assistant seated in the chair across from me. I could tell by his body language that he was about to start lecturing me. Times like this always made me wonder what I was thinking when I hired him.

“She’s not your standard model, Damon.”

“Oh hell, Marcus, why don’t you just say what you mean?”

He squirmed and took a deep breath, no doubt trying to get the balls to tell me things I already knew.

“She’s dark skinned, very dark skinned, and her hair is short. It’s so short that she’s practically bald, like cut down to her scalp.”

A growl escaped from somewhere deep in my chest, and when I spoke, my tone of voice betrayed the anger I felt building within me. “I’m not running some fucking cookie cutter, blonde hair, blue eyes, fake tits, modeling agency. Now granted, I’ve got no problem with hiring Caucasian women, but what I do have a fucking problem with is hiring cardboard cutouts. We have a string of women who all look the same. I want diversity, and I want this. This woman has got an exotic, sexy as hell ethnicity about her, and the camera loves her.”

I tossed the picture across the desk so hard that he had to scramble to catch it before it fell to the floor. “Can you honestly look me in the eye and tell me that woman isn’t beautiful?”

“Oh, she’s definitely beautiful. She’s intriguing as hell with that dark skin and those blue eyes, but will she sell jeans that are geared towards size zero women?”

“The models who are stick skinny don’t sell size zero jeans; they sell magazines. Most real women can’t squeeze their asses into a size zero. As badly as I hate to admit it, our models sell an ideal that is not only impossible to attain, it is unhealthy to pursue.”

“Let’s get realistic here, Damon. I bet if I looked over that desk, I’d see that your cock is hard. You saw her, got turned on, and now you want her.”

“You’ve got until the end of today to get her on the phone, and you’ve got until the end of the week to get her on a plane. Make it happen, Marcus, or you’re out of a job.”

“You can’t be serious.”

“You heard me. Now, get out of my office.”

As soon as the door hit him on the ass, I pushed down on my hardened cock and reached for the picture. My breath hitched in my throat as I looked at the woman staring back at me from the glossy print. Her skin was so dark and smooth it looked like satin; it literally shined like a beacon calling out to me. I couldn’t remember a time I’d ever seen a woman that black or that beautiful. Her allure moved me, and I was going to change the way the industry and members of society perceived their standards of beauty…

Skye

In my family’s one room hut in Haiti, I sat on my bed and looked through the magazine the man named Damon sent to me. None of the women in the photographs looked like me at all.

All of the women pretty much looked the same. They were the standard Caucasian models with blonde hair and blue eyes. There was some variation with a pair of hazel eyes thrown in every once in a while or dark blonde hair with highlights, but most of them looked the same. Every single one of them was skinny with long hair. One thing was for sure; none of them looked like me.

I picked up the 8x10 glossy of the white man—the very good looking white man. He sat with a cigar in one hand and a glass of bourbon in the other. He had coal black hair and a neatly trimmed beard and mustache that gave him a very distinguished look. It was his eyes, though, that drew my attention and ensnared me. They were also coal black, but they held such an intensity within them that it was like he was looking right at me—no, right
through
me. Even through a photograph, I could feel his dominance. He was demanding an answer, wooing and pulling me in to join him in New York City.

In the letter he enclosed with the magazine, he revealed that he already set up everything I would need upon my arrival in New York. I’d stay with him in his mansion and to counter any reservations I might’ve had about my living arrangements, he sent referrals. I can only assume he knew I would be wary of staying with a complete stranger. He also sent pictures of the bedroom I would occupy, and goodness, it looked more like a very large suite in a five star hotel.

What I couldn’t come to grips with was why he wanted me. I had only sent my portfolio to him at my mother’s insistence. From the day I was born, she said people were mesmerized by my looks. By Haitian standards, I was considered very beautiful, but what did this Caucasian know about black women’s beauty? Much like the man wanting me to model for his agency, it was my eyes that always intrigued people. They were a startling blue and, against my dark skin, really stood out. Though his eyes made him appear worldly and mine seemed to exude innocence, we did share the trait of our gazes being equally intense.

I hadn’t even met this man yet and already the feelings he inspired not only confused me, but intrigued me as well. His good looks made me wonder why he wasn’t modeling rather than running a modeling agency.

“Child, what is on your mind, girl?” My mother’s voice cut through my thoughts.

“This is a lot to process, Mommy. It’s a whole new world and customs I’m not familiar with, and it’s like starting over with no idea of what I’m getting into.”

“Child, I understand your fear, but this is what you’ve always wanted. You’ve waited for this all your life. From the time you could walk, you made the family and any visitors we had watch your runway shows. You were so cute setting up everything just the way you wanted. I used to cry because I didn’t have money for a camera. I so wanted to take pictures of the sweet little shows you set up. This isn’t just about money, Skye. This is your dream. A new beginning can be a good thing. It’s not only good for you, but it could be good for the whole family.”

I knew this was the chance I needed to take care of my family. This job would enable me to financially care for my five siblings and single mother. Money wasn’t easy to come by in the impoverished village where we resided. I live in the small village of Meille and after January 12, 2010, our lives became even more desperate when a catastrophic earthquake hit our area. As if that wasn’t enough, on the 14
th
of October, my baby brother died from a case of Cholera, an intestinal illness. He was just two years old when he died, and it devastated my family. We had once been seven children, and now only six of us remained.

“I know, Mommy. I’ll go for the good of the family. Nothing would please me more than to move you all out of this village. I love you, Mommy, and I’m going to do what I can to get us all out of this terrible living situation.”

My mother’s hand gently stroked over my cheek as she spoke. “You do this for you too. I want you to have a life, a good life. You deserve the chance I never had.”

So, it was settled. I would board a plane and go to New York. Though I was scared of my new beginning, I was even more fearful that more members of my family would die in poverty. The simplest of things were hard here. Even our water source was tainted, and we suspected it was what had killed my brother. Anything had to be better than this, and only time would tell if I was making the right decision.

Damon

I sat in the backseat of a luxury car and tried to avoid looking at the perceptive eyes of my business partner, who seemed intent on studying me in his rearview mirror. As if he picked up on the fact I was aware of his perusal, he spoke, “Do you need more air back there?”

“Everything is fine, Jerome.”

Though he was my business partner, he also served as my bodyguard, and he was a damn good one. He stood at a very large 6’5” of pure muscle. He probably knew me as well or better than anyone else in my life, and he was much more than an employee; he was my best friend. It irritated me that he knew me as well as he did sometimes, and this was one of those times. Because he was my best friend, he was well aware of my sexual preferences. He was also well aware how captivated I was with the model we were on our way to pick up from the airport.

I haven’t always had money. I grew up very poor and even back then, Jerome had my back. I met him when my life was a torrential downpour of dealing with bullies who picked on me because of my small size. It was Jerome who took me to the neighborhood gym and taught me how to box. After we finished school, we went into the modeling industry together. We pooled our resources and launched into an industry we knew nothing about, full of hope and determination. Now, we both live in mansions on a ten acre estate. It was one of the first things we did when we started making real money—building our houses on adjoining land. At that point, he insisted I put him on payroll as my bodyguard so that he was always with me. More than once, we’ve seen issues arise with other agents and working together has not only ensured our success, but our safety as well. He was there for me when I had no one else. He was a true friend when I had none, and I have never forgotten it.

“I’ve never known you to meet one of your models at the airport. Normally, you just send a driver to pick them up.”

I knew he was fishing, but I had no intention of revealing the real reason I was going myself today. “I’m certain the young lady is nervous about coming to New York. No doubt, the culture shock will be an issue for her. I want her comfortable and settled in, so she can begin working as soon as possible.”

It was all a lie, well, a partial truth. I really was concerned about her suffering from culture shock, but more than that, I had to see her. I had to know if she would affect me in person as much as her picture had in her portfolio. I would know as soon as I laid eyes on her if she had bewitched me. What I didn’t know was what I was going to do with the knowledge once I had it.

I spent the day before getting her bedroom set up with every possible thing she might need, including a completely new wardrobe full of designer clothing. She would be well taken care of in ways she never experienced before. I was going to see to that. Her every need and desire would be met by my hand. I wanted this complete stranger, a woman I didn’t even know, to understand that I would be the one, the only one, to meet her needs.

I wasn’t in the habit of fucking the women who worked for me. In fact, I went out of my way to not form bonds with the models, not that I bonded with any of the women I fucked either. They were just that—a fuck. I wined them, dined them, fucked them once, and then made sure I never saw them again. It ensured I didn’t have to worry about any of them getting attached to me. More than that, it guaranteed I didn’t develop feelings for any of them.

It’s hard for a man in my position to trust people’s motives, and women’s motives I definitely don’t trust. I work in a cutthroat industry, and many times, women try to attain job security the age-old way—on their backs. Their motives are selfish at best, and I’m not the kind of man who can be used. I’m honest with the women I bed. It’s sex, nothing more and nothing less. This is the first time I can ever remember being this intrigued with a woman.