Broken

by Tia Sirrah

  "Don’t forget to lock up," he said, as the elevator door opened and two intoxicated, giggling girls stumbled out. When drunk girl number 1 got a good look at Conner, her jaw went slack. She abruptly stopped in her tracks, causing her friend to bump into her from behind. Drunk girl number 2 protested, slurring profanity at her friend, before she too, looked up at Conner. He stood there unmoved by their reaction with his hands in his pockets, as he waited for them to exit the elevator. Slut girl number 2, formally known as drunk girl number 2, belted out a drunken catcall and reached out to touch Conner before her cackling friend grabbed her hand. Tramps. Jealousy coursed through my veins as if I had the right. As if he were mine. But still, I wanted to claw their eyes out.

  "I look forward to seeing you on Sunday," Conner said as he stepped around Sluts 1 and 2, to get into the elevator.

  With a stupid grin plastered on my face, I said, "See you on Sunday."

  "Hey, wait. Don’t go. Come join us," Bitch girl number 1 slurred, resulting in Conner pushing the elevator button, causing the doors to close in their faces.

  I shrugged at Bitch 1 and Slut 2, and they glared at me.

  After locking my door, I leaned my back against it. This was the best nondate I’ve ever had. I pulled my cell phone out of my bag and sent a text to Fatima.

  Novalee, 10:45pm

  Did you make it home safely?

  I headed to my bathroom while waiting for her reply.

  Amy, 10:51pm

  Packing for Italy. The jet leaves tomorrow morning. Miss you lots! See you in a few weeks!

  Novalee, 10:52pm

  Have fun! Take lots of pics!

  After a long steamy shower, I checked my phone, finally seeing a response from Fatima. After swiping her incoming text, I pulled my hair up into a loose pineapple ponytail.

  Fatima, 11:27pm

  My bad for not replying sooner. I’m home. Again, so sorry!

  I slipped on a black cami and a pair of black and yellow happy-face emoji panties before replying to her.

  Novalee, 11:33pm

  No worries, hun. I’m almost finished with your birthday gift. I’ll get it to you later this week. Love you! Try to enjoy the last few minutes of your birthday.

  Fatima, 11:34pm

  Yay! Can’t wait. The sketch looked amazing. Thanks, cousin. See you soon. G’night.

  Before going to sleep, my hands were put to good use. Thoughts of Conner swam through my mind as I became reacquainted with my B.O.B. My battery-operated boyfriend. I was a goner, I thought to myself, as my body buzzed from my self-induced orgasm.

  ∞∞∞

  THERE WERE HONEST-TO-goodness Tumblr pages and Facebook fan pages dedicated to Conner. I scrolled through a few of them, guiltily enjoying the eye candy on my screen. Apparently, I had been living under a rock. He was quite popular, not only here in Texas, but across the U.S., his combined wealth and good looks making him a newsworthy. His professional accomplishments landed him on the front pages of many business publications. Society pages published stories about his philanthropic contributions and speculations about his love life. When he lived in New York, his "off the clock" escapades with supermodels and actresses had provided the social blogs with very salacious material.

  It was as if Conner lived three separate lives, one never crossing into the other. By day, he was a hardworking, cut-throat, innovative businessman. A chip off the old block. In the evening, he was Southern royalty, a Brathwaite who owned this town, and was a desirable choice for young, single socialites. During the late-night hours, he was a worldly bad boy, with his "New York City ways." He was a quintessential bachelor, who broke hearts and shagged more women than Hugh Hefner.

  At the sound of my doorbell, I closed my laptop and headed to the front door. I proudly exposed my septum piercing today, sporting a small black horseshoe design. I stopped hiding it from my parents a year ago, much to their chagrin.

  "Good morning, Helena," I answered, air-kissing both her cheeks.

  "Hey, sweetie!" Helena strolled in like she 0wned the place. Well, she did pay for it, so I guess it was warranted. She dressed in almost-too-short Alexis summer dress. Her slender body was incredibly toned, her daily trips to the gym paying off. Her smooth skin was the color of honey, as were her eyes. "When are you going to grow out of this hippie faze?" She scrunched up her nose as she eyed my piercing and attire. I would have gotten even more grief if I hadn’t blow-dried my hair straight this morning. Today the silky straight tresses hung down my back and were bra strap length. When in its natural state, the ends of my hair technically brushed my shoulders. I say technically, but, my curls didn’t really lay down to touch my shoulders. The silky and springy wild locks spiraled outward in an oversized afro, defying the laws of gravity.

  I looked down at my outfit. "What’s wrong with what I’m wearing? It’s called boho chic, Helena." My tribal print harem pants sat low on my hips. My white fitted crop top and brown leather flip flops completed my look.

  Helena ignored my question with a side-eye before sashaying over to my fridge and grabbing a coconut water. I kept them on hand, just for her. "I saw pictures of Amy’s wedding. You looked so beautiful, sweetheart. I’m so glad you took my advice and straightened your hair. This natural hair movement is beyond me. I mean, your curls are beautiful, nice and soft, but must you wear them so…wild? It’s just so over the top."

  "I need to grab my bag." I walked away, refusing to have this conversation. I rolled my eyes, practically to the back of my head.

  "Don’t roll your eyes at me, young lady," she called out from behind. How does she do that? "Your makeup at Amy’s wedding was flawless. Fatima did an excellent job. She and I taught you all that you need to know about makeup application and enhancing your beauty. You should wear it more often." I loved Helena; I really did. She had treated me well over the years, accepting me as her own. But her bougie tendencies were intolerable, at times.

  "You wanna go grab a coffee first?" I asked.

  "We don’t have time. Our appointment is in ten minutes," she said, looking down at her Cartier watch. "I’ll drive. I brought my new convertible."

  "Cool," I said before grabbing a water bottle and heading out with her.

  ∞∞∞

  WHILE RECLINING IN LEATHER massage chairs, Helena and I caught up on the details surrounding Amy’s wedding. She and my dad were out of town and unable to attend. As our charcoal clay face masks hardened, we exhausted the conversation about who was there and what they wore. The conversation then shifted to a more personal one.

  "So, are you going to tell me about the new man in your life?"

  "What are you talking about?"

  She took a sip of her mimosa, eyeing me inquisitively over her champagne flute. "Brenda and Dan celebrated their wedding anniversary last night. They saw you while they were out at that trendy restaurant on Louisiana Street. Brenda said you were with a very handsome young man. A Brathwaite. As in Brathwaite Hotels."

  News traveled fast. Brenda and Dan were my parents’ next-door neighbors and close friends. "His name is Conner, and he’s not the new man in my life. We’re just friends."

  "Good heavens, why?"

  "Because I don’t like him like that," I lied. "I had plans with Fatima for her birthday, but those plans fell through. I was dining alone, and he had just wrapped up a business dinner. He only joined me for coffee and dessert." I tried to sound as nonchalant as possible. Helena had the habit of making a mountain out of a molehill.

  "Just friends, huh?

  "Yes, just friends." I smiled down at my pedicurist, Janie. I avoided Helena’s scrutinizing gaze. Janie smiled back at me as if she didn’t believe me either.

  "How did you two meet?"

  "At Amy’s wedding, actually."

  Helena lowered her voice. "Did you go home with him?"

  "Seriously, Helena?" Heat rose up my cheeks, as I looked down at Janie and then at Helena’s pedicurist, Tina.

  Helena shooed her hand, lackadaisically.
"I googled him today. That man is fine. I just didn’t know he was your type. Andre was black as night. I didn’t know you had a thing for white boys."

  "Nothing happened," I stressed. "He gave me a ride home after dinner. That’s it." I downed the rest of my green tea, scolding my tongue in the process. "And you’re right. He’s not my type. I’m not dating guys like that anymore."

  "Like what, the rich kind? Oh honey, never ever say that."

  Janie belted out a chuckle before clearing her throat and focusing my feet. I pinched the bridge of my nose. "We’re done here. Please, let’s change the subject."

  "Fine," Helena said, defensively. "For now."

  "Goodness, gracious," I said, on a chuckle.

  After a few moments of silence, she said, "So…Keisha reached out. She said she’s been trying to get in touch with you."

  "Yeah, I got her messages." Keisha had left numerous messages on my phone. Messages from the television show producer confirmed my suspicions. They were in the middle filming a new season. Keisha wanted to stage a reconciliation of sorts between us as part of her storyline.

  "She miscarried," Helena said, as she studied my reaction.

  "Women like Keisha shouldn’t procreate."

  Helena remained silent, and I refused to look at her. I could feel the pity emanating from her. Helena knew about Raymond and what he did to me. I told her and my dad during a therapy session, soon after moving to Texas. Raymond was swiftly prosecuted. Even though he was now six feet under, having been murdered in prison, he still haunted me in my nightmares.

  "Living with her as a mother would have been hell on earth. Especially if the poor kid looked anything like the father." Being my father’s mini-me, I reminded Keisha too much of him. Of his inability to love her and provide her with the life that he so graciously gave to Helena. Helena, however, being a plastic surgeon, didn’t need my father’s wealth. She had a substantial amount of her own.

  Helena politely smiled down at Tina, who was busy polishing her toes. I smiled down at Janie, who gave me a wink before continuing to focus on my foot massage. "We’ll talk about this later," Helena said.

  She was met with silence. We were not going to talk about this later. I’d spent countless hours in therapy discussing my complicated and dysfunctional relationship with Keisha. She was part of my past. For my peace of mind, she would stay there.

  ∞∞∞

  A UNIFORMED MAN STOOD at my threshold, ringing the doorbell. He held a beautiful bouquet of yellow roses. "Hi." I smiled as I approached him, my keys in my hand.

  "Novalee Dumont?" he asked, his face bright with a smile.

  "Yes," I beamed. "Wow. They’re beautiful." Three dozen long-stemmed yellow roses were elegantly situated in a crystal vase.

  "If you can just sign here, Miss," he said, his brown eyes twinkling as he stared at me.

  "Sure."

  "Lucky, guy," he commented, as I signed the pad and took the roses.

  "Thank you, Damian," his name tag read. "You have a great day."

  "You as well," he said, as he walked back to the elevator.

  Upon entering my apartment, I placed the crystal vase on my kitchen island. I plucked the card from its bouquet and opened it, smiling so hard my cheeks hurt. It had been a long time since I’d gotten flowers from any man other than my dad.

  Looking forward to Sunday.

  Conner

  I picked up my phone and sent Conner a text. We had exchanged numbers over dinner last night.

  Novalee, 1:31pm

  Thanks for the roses. They’re beautiful!

  My phone vibrated almost immediately.

  Conner, 1:31pm

  You’re very welcome.

  Novalee, 1:32pm

  There’s a café down the street from my place. You wanna meet there?

  Conner, 1:32pm

  That works. 9:30 okay? I’m flying out in the afternoon.

  I pulled a long stem rose out of the crystal vase and held it up to my nose. It smelled divine.

  Novalee, 1:32pm

  9:30 is fine. I’ll send you the address. What time do you have to board the plane?

  It was a gorgeous Saturday afternoon, so I decided to grab a water bottle and head out to my balcony. I kicked off my shoes and curled up on my cushioned wicker sofa.

  Conner, 1:33pm

  My jet will wait for me.

  Novalee, 1:34pm

  Okay, Mr. Money Bags. Such a show-off. Lol.

  Conner, 1:34pm

  What are you doing right now?

  Novalee, 1:35pm

  Relaxing on my balcony. Just got back from the spa with my stepmom. What are you doing right now?

  Conner, 1:35pm

  I’m in the office. In a meeting with the VP and a few of my PMs.

  Novalee, 1:35pm

  On a Saturday?!? Man, you suck as a boss. And why are you texting me? They probably think you’re a douche. Texting during a meeting. Smh.

  Conner, 1:35pm

  Probably. Too bad I don’t give a shit.

  Novalee, 1:36pm

  You’re incorrigible.

  Conner, 1:36pm

  You have no idea.

  Novalee, 1:36pm

  Smh. Pay attention in your meeting. It’s gorgeous outside! Wrap up that meeting so they can get the heck out of there.

  Conner, 1:37pm

  Okay, okay. For you, angel.

  Angel? I like it.

  Novalee, 1:37pm

  Goodbye, Conner. See you tomorrow.

  Conner, 1:37pm

  See you then.

  I focused on the sounds of the streets below me and sighed with contentment. Tomorrow was going to be an awesome day. Yes, indeed.

  Chapter 4

  I STOOD INSIDE MY walk-in closet, scanning the various articles of clothing. I decided on tie-dye multi-colored maxi dress with spaghetti straps. My hair was pulled up in a messy bun which sat high on top of my head, in its natural curly state. After conditioning my skin with shea butter, I applied mascara, eyeliner, and clear lip gloss to complete my look.

  The streets were tranquil. Mainly dog walkers, joggers, cyclists, and early riser shoppers were out enjoying the morning spring air. As I crossed the road toward the cafe, I spotted Conner with his back to me and phone to his ear. I slowed my steps, enjoying the view of him from behind, as he faced the windows of the cafe. His short-sleeve white henley comfortably stretched across his muscular back. His tailored, faded denim jeans fit his tall, lean frame perfectly. Everything he wore, down to his low-top white Burberry leather sneakers and up to his Patek Philippe wristwatch, screamed understated wealth. I smoothed my hands down the rayon fabric of my dress that clung to my hips and tucked a few stray curly tendrils back up into my bun. Putting a little pep in my step, I headed over to him.

  Conner turned to me. I blushed as his piercing gaze drank me in from head to toe. His eyes reflected unfiltered carnality, and his typical hardened facial expression remained intact. "Just do your fucking job," his snapped at the unfortunate person on the call, his voice impatient and cross. I attempted to take a few steps back, to give him some privacy, only to have my hand clasped and pulled closer to him.

  I now stood a few mere inches from him, and he snaked his arm around my waist. I tipped my head back to look up at him. "I don’t give a shit," he said. "Tell Stephanie…" More background chatter from his phone. "Jesus Christ, when does she get back?" More background chatter. "Well, tell Receptionist…" More background chatter. "I don’t give a fuck what her name is. Tell her to overnight the files to the LA. branch." His hand lightly stroked my back as he barked commands into the phone. "Schedule the meeting," he commanded, before disconnecting the call and pocketing his phone. His hardened mask immediately softened as he looked down at me. "Hey, angel. You look amazing."

  He had an uncanny ability to switch between total douche bag to attentive gentleman, within the blink of an eye. "Hey, yourself," I said, fully aware that I hadn’t stepped back from his embrace, further blurrin
g the friendship lines. "You really call your receptionist Receptionist, and not by her name?"

  He shrugged while massaging the nape of my neck. His vivid green eyes were freakishly bright today in the sunlight. "I have no fucking idea what her name is."

  "That is outrageous," I lightly admonished. Conner’s hard body felt heavenly up against me. Instead of removing myself from his touch, I rested my hands on his bulging biceps. "You, umm, wanna go in?"

  A smile twitched his lips, completely aware of his effect on me. "Let’s go in." After holding the door open for me to enter, he laced our fingers together. A sea of women drank him in, instead of their beverages, with every step we took towards the counter. Conner seemed unfazed as lustful eyes followed his every move. Miriam, our Barista’s name tag read, didn’t even glance my way or acknowledge my presence, too busy eye-boning Conner. We ordered our coffees, and I retrieved my wallet from my bag. Conner looked down at me like I was an adorable little kitten and snorted a chuckle before handing Miriam his money.

  We decided on a small outdoor table shaded by mature trees, which shielded us from the sun. "Always the perfect gentleman," I complimented, as he pulled my chair out for me.

  "Not always," he smirked, as he took his seat across from me.

  Oh, mind of mine, get out of the gutter. "I forgot to ask you the other night. Do you know Fatima McKay? She went to high school with you and Quentin."

  He took a sip of his coffee, and I couldn’t help but notice his tan forearms. Veins were roped around hard muscle like he spent hours pumping iron. "Yeah, I remember her. Tall black chick, right? Dreads?"

  "Yep. She’s my cousin."

  "Small world. We didn’t really hang out, but we had a few classes together. I don’t think she liked me very much," he said on a chuckle. "She called me an asshole on more than one occasion."

  Laughing, I said, "That sounds like Fatima, alright. Were you acting like an asshole?"

  "Probably," he drawled.

  I realized that I was staring at his forearms, and then his long fingers as they held on to the coffee cup, for a few seconds too long. I quickly averted my eyes to his face, only to see a slight smile curving his lips. Busted.