Smooth Operator by Risqué Page A

he’d already crossed the line of fucking up business with pleasure, and in order to redraw the line, he would have to wait until after five to correct his actions—at least that’s what he’d planned, but it was clear that his mind had a different agenda, because the mere sight of her made a flashback of last night creep into his thoughts.
    Lyfe could feel his dick getting hard as he remembered how she felt in his arms, and nothing was worse for him than standing before a room full of people and having to cautiously shift his dick so that the mountain rising within wouldn’t be noticed. He stood closely behind his black, oversize leather wing chair, slid his hands into his pockets, slyly moved his dick, and continued on with his meeting. “As we discussed last night we will be pulling files and financial reports over the next couple weeks for an internal audit—”
    “Oh, hell no, you won’t,” caused everyone to turn toward the double mahogany doors, which had flown open and revealedPayton standing there in a blue sable fur coat that draped to the floor and four-inch stilettos that made her the same height as Lyfe. Her presence filled the doorway as she stormed in with one hand on her hip and the other slamming her signature Hermès clutch onto the conference table. She stood opposite Lyfe as she looked him directly in the eyes, and said, “Everybody, get the fuck out!”
    Each of their employees were stunned and sat in complete silence, forcing Payton to slam her hands onto the table and demand at the top of her lungs, “Now!”
    Everyone darted to their feet and quickly left, the last person closing the door behind them.
    Lyfe folded his arms across his chest and stroked his box beard twice. This had to be a nightmare, so he blinked, yet Payton was still standing there.
    “Have you lost your fuckin’ mind!” Payton stood up straight and peered at Lyfe. “Pulling some shit like this without my permission! When I told your fuckin’ ass to leave it alone—”
    “You … better … lower your motherfuckin’ voice,” Lyfe said through gritted teeth, the veins in his neck and along the side of his head exploding.
    “You up in here flexing and shit”—Payton pointed her hand in Lyfe’s face—“showing your ass like you’re the goddamn CEO out this bitch, oh hell no!” She waved her hand dismissively and continued, “Get your shit. Your flight has been arranged and a car will be here to take you to the airport in the next hour. Robertson McDaniels is coming out here to take over and you’re coming the fuck home!”
    “What Robertson McDaniels is gon’ get,” Lyfe said confidently, “is his motherfuckin’ lung collapsed if he comes the fuck up in here. I wish the niggah would.” He shook his head. “You are really out of order.”
    “This is my company!” Payton pounded her fist on the table with every point she made, causing the stacks of paper to toppleover. “And this is my goddamn money! What the fuck is on your mind? I swear you are ungrateful as hell. I gave you this motherfuckin’ job and you’re doing everything other than what you suppose to be doing! If it wasn’t for me you would be adding to the recidivism rate or busting out a goddamn Crip walk and locking down one of Crenshaw’s raggedy-ass corners! You acting like you walked up in here with some motherfuckin’ qualifications. I gave you a chance, niggah, and this is how you repay me?”
    “Hold it—”
    “No, you hold it!” She pounded between each word for emphasis. “I tell you what and you better begin to understand this—you’re my goddamn man and you do what the fuck I tell you to! And I didn’t tell you to do no shit like this, motherfucker. I’m the queen bitch.” She yelled into his face and specks of spit whipped from her mouth like a wet wind. “And I don’t know who’s been gassing your goddamn head up or what the fuck you been running around here telling these people and shit, but this ain’t