You going to nail that Al Pacino campaign?”
“How’d you know about that?”
“Girl, please,” he said, waving his hand. “I work for Human Resources. We hear everything down there. So, you going to nail that account or what?”
Dior smiled. “I’m going to do my best.”
“Well, just so that damn Candace doesn’t get it. I can’t stand that witch.”
“Candace Waller?”
“Uh-huh. She thinks she’s hot shit, and word around the office is she sees you as the main competition for the account, so you must be the one that’s really hot shit because she sure the hell ain’t.”
Dior paused, not sure what to say. Why would this person she’d never met before be telling her all of this?
“Well, anyway, I gotta go. You can thank me for the tip another time. And believe me you will,” Gordon said as he sashayed off.
That evening Dior excitedly let the air out of her air mattress. She folded it up and put it in her hall closet. She swept and mopped all her floors and wiped down the woodwork, mantel and window seals. She was good and ready by the time the deliverymen came with her furniture.
She opened the door and before her stood a chocolate god. He was at least six feet tall, 220 pounds of nothing but muscle. His skin was so smooth it looked like silk. His bald head glistened against the sunrays. He had the whitest teeth and sexiest smile. He was not to be taken lightly. Mr. Good Black Man 2008 might be nice, but the man standing in front of her was real. Everything about him yelled fuck me. Dior was turned on instantly. Her womanhood started to thump in her pants and her breasts felt like they were waking up from a long nap. She couldn’t control the feelings she was getting just looking at the guy, so there was no telling what she would do once he started moving her furniture in.
“Hello, Mrs. Emerson?” He broke the silence.
“Ms.,” Dior clarified. “I’m not married.”
“Oh, okay,” he said with a smile. “But you are the person we’re supposed to be delivering this furniture to, right?”
“Oh yes, of course,” Dior said, gazing into his deep dark eyes.
“Okay, well, I’ll just have you sign this paper and my guys will start bringing your stuff in,” he said, holding a clipboard out in front of Dior.
Dior signed her name as fast as she could so that she could get another look at him before he went back inside his truck. He took the clipboard back and ripped off the back portion of the paper. He handed it to Dior and walked away.
Dior was in a trance watching his every move. She particularly concentrated on his butt cheeks and his back. She felt herself getting so moist that she was concerned she might have an orgasm. She tried to shun the sexual feelings she was experiencing, but they were too overpowering. She stepped outside without a coat on, hoping the cold air would straighten her out, and all that did was make her nipples harder. She couldn’t believe what she was feeling for a perfect stranger. But she liked it.
She had turned to go back into her apartment when she noticed a voluptuous young woman heading up the stairs to the brownstone’s front door.
“Hi,” Dior called out. “You must be my new neighbor. You just moved in a couple of days ago, right? I saw the moving men bring in your furniture.”
The woman stopped and slowly walked back down the stairs. “Hi,” she said in a sweet southern accent. “Yes, I have the first-floor apartment. My name’s Tamara.”
“I’m Dior.”
The two women eyed each other warily. “Well, I gotta go. I’ve got of lot of work to do,” Tamara said finally. “It was nice meeting you.” She headed back up the stairs.
“All right, Ms. Emerson, do you know where you want everything to go?” Dior’s fantasy asked. She looked at him and wondered if he had noticed the curve of those shapely hips trotting up the steps, but his attention seemed devoted entirely on Dior. Good, she thought, as they went back into the apartment.
“This is the bed frame,” one guy said.
“That goes in here,” Dior said, leading them into her bedroom.
The guys laid the boxes out on the floor and went back to the truck for more. Dior just stood around watching as the guys took several trips to the truck and back to her apartment. Every so often, the chocolate god would bring something from the truck inside, but for the most part he was directing the two other guys. Once all the boxes for the bedroom were inside, the two guys got to work putting the bed, nightstands, and dresser together. Meanwhile, Dior’s dream man looked around in the living room.
“This is a nice place. How long have you been living here?” he asked, his deep voice sending shock waves through Dior’s body.
“Thanks. Just a week,” she answered. “Can I get you or your guys anything to drink?”
“No. We’re fine, thanks.”
“Speak for yourself!” one of the other guys yelled from the bedroom.
Dior and the guy who appeared to be the boss chuckled and then Dior asked the worker, “What would you like? I have water and iced tea and a couple sodas.”
“A soda is fine,” he shouted out. “Thank you.”
Dior took a soda out of her refrigerator and walked it into the bedroom to the guy. The bed and nightstands were already together and they were working on the dresser. Dior was surprised to see how fast they had worked and she went back into the living room to tell their boss how impressed she was.
“They’re getting it done so fast,” she said. “I wish I had cash on hand to tip them.”
The boss guy flagged her playfully and said, “Oh, that’s all right. These guys get paid to do this.”
“Yeah, and what do you get paid to do?” the same guy who asked for the soda shouted out. “Stand around and talk to the customers?”
“Exactly. It’s my job to satisfy the customer and your job to satisfy me,” he retaliated. Then he turned to Dior and explained, “That’s my little brother. He’s always talkin’ trash.”
Dior chuckled again and then asked flirtatiously, “What size shoe do you wear?”
“Thirteen,” he said, licking his lips.
Dior blushed as they stared at each other. She figured that she wasn’t doing a good job keeping her feelings for him a secret. He clearly knew that she found him attractive and it was obvious he knew how to handle it. He flirted right back.
“All right, the bedroom is done,” one of the guys said as he entered the living room.
The other guy followed, drinking from the soda can.
“We’re going to get the living room stuff now, okay?” he said to Dior.
“Okay,” she said, rushing into her
