Fifty Shades of Jungle Fever Read Online Free Page B

spoon fed like little babies or something. He’s not that much older than us. How old is he anyway?”
    “Thirty-two. Keisha, I’m sorry. I should’ve prepped you better. So, when is he gonna fork it over?”
    “I’m sure I’ll get those details over drinks at Wicked next Friday,” I lie. “I’ll give you the low-down next Monday when you get back.”
    “Okay, then. Later?”
    “Later,” I say.
    I’m so fucking screwed if I can’t get Princess Danai to buy into our business proposal next Friday.
    #
    Somehow, I survive until midweek with just one hundred dollars, a CTA pass, and an old college I.D. to my name. Darryl Sykes calls me every day, two times a day, trying to get me to meet with Tristan White.  He uses my purse as bait, but after the first call, I ignore his number. I will not go back into White’s lair until I secure another deal. Maybe not even then.
    I can’t put my finger on it, but there’s something sinister about that dude. Granted he’s hot enough to melt ovaries, but he makes me feel like he isn’t one to be trifled with; doing so would be like dancing a tango with old slew foot himself.
    I take my birth certificate, passport and a credit card to get a new Driver’s License on my way to work. I also make a pitstop at the bank to withdraw more cash, since I won’t get another debit card for ten business days. I need to pay my mama back anyway, so I won’t have to hear her talking smack.
    Wednesday at the store, I’m busier than a one-armed wallpaper hanger. It’s like every housewife, girlfriend, husband, boyfriend, tourist and pervert is in La Perla to buy expensive lingerie. Six of us are kept busy right through our mid-shift lunch break, which is around five.
    Before I prepare to go on break, the assistant manager asks me to do a midpoint count to avoid a labor-intensive closeout. This means the bitch must have a date, and she wants to lock this sucker down as soon as possible after closing to get the heck out of dodge.
    I’m on the last leg of the process when I glance up to see Tristan White, standing at my counter, looking all bedhead and breathtaking in a navy blue business suit that makes his eyes pop in a way that disarms me . I lose count of the change in the till.
    The fuck is he doing here?  My attempt to avoid him until I concluded my business with Princess Danai is all blown to hell.
    “Ms. Beale. Small world.” His gaze undresses and redresses me without shifting his eyes. I think I have an orgasm right where I stand, and all cognitive function is delayed.
    “Mr. White,” I say when I find my missing wits. Then mutter under my breath, “Not small enough.”
    He cups one ear and angles his head toward me. “Beg pardon?” He feigns seriousness, but his eyes are crinkled, and there’s that perpetual smirk on his generous kissable lips. He knows he’s caught me off guard.
    My Triple-G makes the sign of the cross with her tiny little hands, but my Fairy Hoochie Mama, stands at attention, her perky little breasts jutted forward, her mouth hanging open with a sliver of drool running out the side of it. I roll my eyes at all of them, including White.
    “I usually frequent Agent Provocateur,” he says by way of explanation for being in my workplace. “But this is closer, and I need to stock up on a few—gifts for friends. Nice to see you again, Ms. Beale.” His voice is deep and husky like Barry White’s — or somebody’s.
    I try to swallow, but my mouth is dry. All of a sudden, the up-do I’m wearing feels tight and constrictive. A headache is coming on. My heart stutters in my chest and I’m both pissed off, and turned on under his gaze.
    For reasons which I can’t begin to comprehend, he looks downright ambrosial here among all this lingerie. Go figure. I regain the use of my salivary glands and join my Fairy Hoochie Mama in her drooling.
    “My name is Keisha,” I say as if reminding him of that fact will make any difference. He’s intent on calling