Free Smooth Operator by Risqué

Feel me?”
    “Don’t ask me shit about feeling you,” Arri mumbled.
    “I didn’t catch that,” Lyfe said. “What did you say?”
    Arri paused. She knew, if nothing else, he heard everything. “I said,” Arri paused, “that you’re right … it is late.”
    “Yeah, that’s what I thought.” His eyes drifted to her breasts.
    “Do I have something on me?” she said, lifting his chin again, wanting desperately to kiss him.
    “Nah,” he said as the phone started to ring. “You’re perfect.”
    “I’ll ummm …” Arri said, “get that.” She walked toward the double doors.
    “Where are you going? There’s a phone right here.” He pointed to the center of the conference table.
    “It’s a little cooler out here.” She walked quickly out the doors and picked up the phone at her cubicle, “Anderson Global, Arri Askew speaking.”
    “Oh … this is Payton Carrington,” the caller said, taken aback. “I was trying to reach my husband. He hasn’t been answering his cell phone … is he still there?”
    “Yes, Mr. Carrington is still here, we were just finishing up a meeting for the internal audit. Would you mind holding so that I can get him for you?”
    No response.
    “Hello … Mrs. Carrington?” Arri said, and then realized the line was dead. She placed the phone back on the cradle and returned to the conference room.
    “Who was it?” Lyfe asked.
    “Your wife.”
    “My wife?” he said, as if for some reason he’d forgotten he had one.
    “Yes, your wife. She was surprised that we were still here. I told her we were finishing up a meeting for the internal audit and she hung up.”
    “Shit,” Lyfe hissed and Arri could tell he was slightly annoyed.
    “I’m sorry, did … I … do something?”
    “No,” he said, his smile reemerging, “I’ll handle it.” He flicked off the light switch. “Are you going to be okay getting home?” They grabbed their coats. “I could get a car for you.”
    “No, it’s fine,” Arri said, walking backward out of the room. “I could use a nice train ride.”
    “Sure?”
    “Yes.” She smiled.
    “All right. Well, good night,” Lyfe said. “I drove in today, so I’m out back.” He pointed to the elevator bay farther down the hall.
    “Okay, see you in the morning.” Arri slid on her coat, placed her bag on her arm, and left. Once she stepped into the all-glass lobby she watched as buckets of rain fell from the sky. “Stay dry,” the doorman said as she walked out of the building, and stood under the overhang, wondering how wet she would be by the time she ran the two blocks to the subway station. “Get in” interrupted her thoughts as she looked up and saw Lyfe in a BlackEscalade in front of the building. “Get in,” he repeated. “It’s late and it’s raining. I won’t kidnap you; I need you at work tomorrow. I promise.”
    Arri looked up and down the block and rain washed over everything in sight. “All right,” she said, sliding into his truck, “I live in Brooklyn, on Church Avenue.”
    “That’s no problem, I’m staying right off the West Side Highway,” Lyfe said as they pulled off.
    “Really?” Arri said, taken aback. “Where at?” She playfully twisted her lips. “Because I know you’re not in Harlem.”
    Lyfe laughed. “What is that supposed to mean? I can’t be in Harlem?”
    “Of course,”—she fought like hell not to give him the world’s biggest smile—“but I just expected you to be in … I don’t know … the presidential suite at some five-star hotel on the Upper East Side.”
    “Well, for your information,” Lyfe said as he blew the horn at a cab that cut in front of them, “I’m not in Times Square.”
    “So where are you staying?”
    Lyfe paused. “Downtown … the W Hotel … but still.”
    Arri snickered, “It’s okay to be a yuppie.”
    “I am far from that.”
    “Okay, honey, if you say so.”
    “Don’t try and patronize me, it’s after five