by Nako
“I’m waiting on the address to my former assistant’s house, then we can pull off,” he told the driver.
“Would you like to get some lunch in the meantime, sir?”
Porter was kind of hungry. “Yeah, let’s do that.”
His driver was starving. “Great. I know a diner not far from here that has the best food.”
η
Mahogany was wiping down the menus. She never understood why people touched things with their sticky fingers. It was syrup, ketchup and all kinds of glob on the menus. She cleaned them and placed them back in the holder on the edges of the tables. Today was payday and the check may only be a few hundred dollars that was going straight to the light bill and groceries. She still needed a car and was hopeful that she’d have one soon. The diner was empty, and it was only her and another girl on the clock. She was taking every shift that was available. Anytime someone called out or got sick, she picked up their hours. Sleep was nonexistent right now. She was focused on getting her funds up. From one job to the next, she didn’t get tired. Two nights ago, her smiling didn’t really work in her favor as much as she would’ve wanted it to. The niggas took it as her flirting with them and wanting to fuck, whereas she wanted them to go in those pockets some more and tip, tip, tip. Nope, instead all she got was a wet ear from them running their mouths about how they could change her life in one night.
Mahogany wasn’t interested in love or even a date. She needed a check. Period.
The door dinged, and she was thankful because it had been slow all morning.
“Welcome to Lakewood, sit wherever you want, and I’ll be right over,” the saying flew out of her mouth as if she had been here for years.
She didn’t even look up to see who had walked in. She didn’t care, as long as they tipped. She grabbed a handful of menus and her notepad. Another thing that she had started doing was bringing water and a bowl of lemons. People seemed so appreciative and it boosted her chance of getting a good tip.
“Hi, my name is Nene. Here are the menus. Can I get you anything other than water to drink?”
Her eyes bucked. She thought to herself, “Ain’t no way.”
It was the rich nigga in the flesh.
“Wow,” she whispered, although he heard her loud and clear. His driver was wondering what the hell was going on.
“I’m going to smoke a cig. I’ll take a burger, medium well. Toppings on the side and extra onion. And a coke,” he added as he slid out of the booth.
Porter remembered her.
“I see you don’t smile at this job either,” he smirked.
She rolled her eyes playfully. “Here you go, sir. I’ll be back in a minute to take your order.”
He grabbed her arm, but then hurriedly said, “Don’t cuss me out again.” He was being serious this time.
Mahogany gave him the wrong first impression, she regretted it dearly.
“You caught me off guard. That was like my first or second night. I was already nervous,” she admitted.
“Why are you dancing if it makes you nervous?”
She was not about to tell this man all her business.
“Gotta do what I gotta do,” is all she could come up with before she walked off.
Porter scanned the menu and pulled out his phone to handle some business until she returned.
His driver came back in and he told him, “You mind eating at the bar?”
Porter would rather eat alone.
“Yes sir.”
“Umm, Nene, I’m ready to order,” he called out to her since they were the only patrons in the diner.
She came back over, stopping to tell the driver that his food would be out shortly.
“What can I get you today?”
For some very strange reason he wanted to tell her, “You.”
And what fucked him up was that he couldn’t believe he even wanted to tell her that. It wasn’t in his nature. Porter wasn’t flirtatious. He wasn’t one of those niggas that was also easily approachable. He was a widow.
“I’ll take a salad. What kind of fish do y’all have?”
She ran off the list.
“What do you like?”
“Uh, the salmon Caesar salad, but with ranch and balsamic instead.”
Sounded good to him. “Let me get that.”
She asked him if he was thirsty.
“I made the sweet tea,” she threw that out there.
“Not big on tea but let me try it since you made it.”
The bell rang, which meant his friend’s order was up, so she went to get that while dropping his order off and fixing him some sweet tea.
She was waiting on him to try it and he was busy emailing or doing something that seemed to be serious on his phone.
“Is you gon’ taste it?”
He cringed and had to correct her, “Are you going to taste it? And yes, I am.” He put his phone down as she handed him a straw.
He took a sip and surprisingly, it was good as hell.
“Oh yeah, it tastes like somebody’s grandmother made it. Where are you from?”
“Florida.”
“Figured it was somewhere down south, I hear it in your voice.”
“You’re not from here either,” she noted.
“Correct.”
“Why is he sitting over there?” she whispered.
Porter chuckled. “Girl speak up. Because I wanted to eat alone.”
She took that as “Bitch, get the fuck on,” so she told him, “Let me go check on your salad.”
He saw her disposition change but didn’t clear it up. He didn’t even know why he was studying her so hard. She was a stripper and a waitress…
Minutes later, she returned with his lunch.
“Here you go. Can I get you anything else?”
He shook his head no. “No, thank you. Drop the check off when you get a chance. Me and him.”
Porter added a lil’ pepper to the salad and dove in, it tasted delightful.
Nene left the check on the table and it didn’t take him long to devour his meal. Once he was done, he tidied up his area and left a one-hundred-dollar bill before standing up to head out.
“Can I have a sweet tea to go?” He came to the bar where she was wiping the counters down.
“Of course.”
She handed him the plastic cup. “Have a good day.”
“Still can’t get a smile from you, huh?”
Mahogany gave him a two-second smile. “I don’t have nothing to smile about.”
“Life, pretty girl. You’ve got your life.”
η
Jillian Diaz was one of the hardest working people Porter knew. If she was into social media and proving a point, then she’d fall into the lanes of the Karen Civil’s & Ebonee Walker’s. She was mainly known as the firecracker over there at Beauty By Bavay. If you had an artist that you were trying to break, it would be your best bet to go through Jill. She was cool with all the DJ’s and was on first-name basis with the execs at the major labels. Beauty By Bavay had standing contracts with the big-time record labels, agencies, companies and television channels. For the most part, nothing really got done and was actually successful without Porter’s company being involved. In his absence, it was Jill that had kept them hot, but she couldn’t do it by herself. Her now husband put his foot down and forced her to take an early maternity leave because by the grace of God, she had reached her third trimester with twins. He refused to lose another baby because mommy couldn’t stop working for nine months to bring life in the world.
Jillian worked from the bed, but only for a few hours a day. Mainly when her man was out. A knock came to the door. She was home alone, too big and lazy to get up.
She figured it was a package and would have her hubby get it when he got home.
The knock grew louder and then it was followed by the doorbell.
“Who is it?” she had an attitude because she was on Season three of Vikings and was way too comfortable to get up.
“Your boss.”
That title only belonged to one person. Jillian answered to no one.
She got up as fast as her belly would allow her and wobbled to the front door.
“I am so mad at you,” was how she greeted him.
She was pregnant and emotional, so the tears came, and she didn’t stop them.
Porter had tons of bags at his feet, so he picked them all up and bypassed her into the home.
“Wow, my girl done grew up. No more apartment for you, huh?”
She mumbled under her breath, “Stop acting like you didn’t buy this house. Who do you think kept your shit in order while you were gone?”
One night after leaving the office late, her fiancé called her yelling in the phone about the locks being changed on their apartment and he thought that she had put him out. Jill told him to calm down until she made it there. Her landlord informed her that someone had paid the rent and cancelled the lease. He handed her a set of keys and told her, “Congrats from some man named Porter Bavay.’”
She was extremely confused, but then remembered who she worked for and this was his style. He didn’t do anything for attention or praise.
“What about my things though?” she asked her landlord.
“He had everything moved.”
So, her and her fiancé drove to the address on the paper and their jaws dropped when they arrived on a street full of brownstones near Central Park. It was exactly what she would’ve wanted her dream home to be.
Her fiancé cried more than she did.
“We gotta pay him back,” he said for weeks, but she ignored him. Porter would be insulted if she did that. She assumed it was a sorry gift for disappearing before her wedding.
“It’s nice though, I never saw any pictures. All I did was tell Casey to get one of his chicks to handle it for me,” he told her the truth.
“What’s all that stuff?”
“Gifts for the twins and I got your man some cigars and shit.”
“And what about me?” she turned around and asked him with attitude etched across her face.
He smiled at her, Jill had grown up and he was proud.
“Your nose is huge.”
She flicked him off.
“Lock the door,” she said over her shoulder before going back into the living room.
Porter left the bags in the foyer and took a look around the house since Jillian’s lazy ass didn’t bother giving him a tour.
Once he was done, he found her and took a seat on the couch.
“When are you going to start on the nursery?”
She paused her show. “I don’t know…almost scared to.”
It was always easy to talk to Porter, he understood her.
“Walk by faith and not by sight.”
She raised an eyebrow in his direction. “You got saved over there?” she was speaking of his time in France.
He shook his head, answering, “No.”
Jillian tried to sit up and he stood to help her, but she stopped him, “I’m fine.”
He could sense her anger with him, but he wouldn’t apologize for taking the time that he needed.
“I went to see Burke today.”
She rolled her eyes. “Not a fan of his right now. Hope he’s going to take this serious because he really fucked us up,” she admitted.
“Jill, he looks horrible. Did y’all not see the signs?” He was as mad as she was, if not madder.
She shot him a look. “P, do you need me to remind you of all I had going on? It was not my job to baby sit a forty-year-old man.”
“Okay relax. Let’s change the subject.” He wasn’t trying to get her worked up.
“Nah, you came over after being here for a week, when I should’ve been your first stop. You made me last, so yeah, I think we do need to go there. Porter, you left. Ten minutes after you buried your wife and kids. Who do you think had to sign the checks for the food at the repast? Who had to shake hands and hug her family who was still utterly confused about everything? Not only was I dealing with the funeral and mourning people that I fucking loved…”
Porter wasn’t the only person that lost Kim and the kids. She loved them too and had damn near helped raised the kids when Kim still lived in the city. She was the only person they trusted to watch the children.
“I had to settle Kim’s affairs in Atlanta, clean the house out, pay the balance on the school because they didn’t care that the kids died. They still wanted their money. You have no idea of the shit I had on my plate! On top of planning my own wedding, losing babies every four months, and running your company.”
Tears of fury ran down her face. He remained silent as she gave him the blues.
The alarm signaled that a door was opening. Her husband had returned with her food.
She tried to wipe her tears away as fast as she could, knowing that he hated to see her upset. She had to remain stress-free for the twins.
“Bae, whose truck is that blocking the driveway?” he called out as he made his way to her.
Porter stood up once he entered the living room to greet him.
“Brandon...”
He looked at him, then to Jillian and saw how she struggled to conceal her emotions.
“No disrespect P, but I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”
For years he sat by and let him run Jillian crazy with his business and managing his life, but he was the man of the house. They weren’t just dating anymore. He was her husband.
“Baby no,” Jillian said softly.
Brandon shook his head, not trying to hear anything she had to say. “You’re in here crying when I left you was smiling. Yo, P, you gotta go. She’ll call you after my kids are born.” He sat the food on the coffee table.
Porter understood completely and hated that it had to be like this for now.
He looked at his former assistant who was now a grown ass woman, wife, and soon-to-be mother. “I’ll be up there when the twins come, and we’ll talk after.” He gave her a hopeful smile. Hoping that he could repair the damage he had done.
“Love you,” she told him. “And I’m happy that you’re back,” she added, sincerely.
He exited the home with her husband close by on his heels. Porter acted as if he didn’t feel him near.
Brandon closed the front door and came down the steps, following him.
“When the twins get here, I don’t want her coming back to work for you.”
Porter saved face for the sake of Jillian, but they were alone now so he turned around and said, “Nigga don’t you ever in your life put me out of some shit that your name ain’t on.”
He was happy if she was happy, but this nigga had some fucking nerve.
Brandon looked at Porter. “That’s how you feel?”
“I said it, didn’t I?”
“Yeah, she’s really not coming back, so find another errand girl because my wife is done being your slave.”
Truth be told, he was jealous of the role Porter played in her life. After he left, Brandon swore that it was the happiest they had ever been. He no longer had to compete with him. Brandon hated the extravagant gifts that he would give her and the trips she got to accompany him on. He had grown sick of it all, and so in his eyes, Porter’s wife died at the right time.
And he still was doing shit for her all the way in fuckin’ France. Not only did he buy their house, but he paid for the wedding as well.
Porter claimed in a note that he didn’t want her parents to be burdened with the task of giving her a dream wedding as if Brandon couldn’t handle it… which in reality on his salary, it wasn’t possible.
“You should be thanking me, but instead you think you’re doing something by keeping her away from me? You and I both know me treating her like a lil’ sister was the only way you were able to slide in and wife her. Don’t forget that shit, nigga. If you ever in your life step to me again, I’ll have your legs broken. See you at the hospital.”
“Mr. Bavay, you
wanted to see me?” Jillian stuck her head in his office with a big, goofy ass smile on her face. She was Dominican and African-American paired with a heavy Northern accent. He often had to figure out what the fuck she was trying to say.
Porter was on the phone and motioned for her to come in and sit down. It was her sixth month here and she loved it. Her goal was to continue performing at a higher rate than the other interns so that she could possibly be offered a job.
“What up Jill? How is everything going so far?” he asked her after he finished up his phone call.
She nodded her head. “Yes sir. I love it here. The company is thriving and I’m eager to-”
“That’s great.” He didn’t need to hear anymore, she enjoyed her job and wanted to keep it.
Perfect.
He got up and went to close the door to his office. He then took a seat on the table that was in front of the couch she was comfortably sitting on with her long, bronze legs crossed that no man could ignore her.
Jillian was cute, he wouldn’t deny that, but he was married. He didn’t cheat on his wife nor did he mix business with personal.
“What we did last night can’t happen again, do you understand?”
He looked her directly in her eyes and if he saw any hesitation, she would be fired immediately.
“Yes sir. I apologize.”
“No need. We both were in the wrong and had too much to drink. Furthermore, if I catch you drinking again while you’re on the clock or at any event representing my brand, you will be fired. Do you follow me?”
She was nervous as fuck.
“Yes sir.”
“Word of advice?” Whether she wanted it or not she was going to get it.
“You are a beautiful woman, fine as fuck. I’m sure you get that a lot, but Jillian, you’ll go really far in this industry if you don’t ever talk to any of these cats they’re not good for you. Go find you a square. The men in this industry will fuck you and tell their partners. Before you know it, you’ve got a reputation that you can’t get rid of,” he schooled her.
“It won’t happen again,” she promised. Her heartbeat was erratic, and she was so embarrassed. Last night was the best experience of her life. He fucked the soul out of her and she hadn’t slept yet because she kept replaying the moment in her head.