The Executive Boss (Billionaire Boss Book 2)

by J. A. Pierre

  Two women stood across the street, engaged in conversation. Troy called out “hello” to them and they waved at us. The windows of his car were rolled down. Inside was very clean, but I noticed there was an empty space where the radio should have been.

  Troy then told me that he’d sold his SUV when the college scholarship money his daughter thought she would receive didn’t come through. He’d bought the used car from a friend a month later. He’d gotten a good deal on the vehicle, but it had no radio. He really wanted to buy one, though, because he missed listening to the morning news and popping in a CD to rock back with, especially for long drives.

  Troy tapped the steering wheel with his fingertips and glanced at me. “I hope talking without the background music’s cool, though.”

  “It’s fine.”

  “Are you sure? I don’t want you to judge me by my radio.” Troy gave me a wink.

  I wanted to smile, but in mock seriousness, I put my hand to my breast and dipped my chin. “I’ve never judged a man by his radio.”

  A few other couples and four small families were at the beach when we planted our towels. Some people swam in the water, while others moved around near the water’s edge or relaxed on the sand. I put on the straw hat and a pair of oversized sunglasses that I had stored in my bag.

  I hadn’t gone to the beach the last few times I’d visited the island, and I was happy to feel the sun on my skin and lay there in my bikini. Looking out, the water appeared to have no end. The waves crashed against the shore, and the brief silence that came from the ocean as it swayed back, soothed me. It was nice to inhale the fresh air that somehow seemed filtered by the ocean. Tiny seashells of various shapes sporadically littered the sand. Far off, where the sand stopped, the tallest coconut trees grew in fertile brown soil.

  Troy pulled out a bottle of lotion from the plastic bag he’d brought and I thought he was going to cream his hands. Instead, he turned and said, “Would you like me to put some sunblock on your back?”

  I raised my eyebrows under the shades. I didn’t really wear sunblock, nor did I know anyone in my family who slathered on anything but moisturizer, but I wanted our date to run smoothly, so I agreed. I sat up so Troy could rub on the sunblock and jumped a bit at its coldness when he smoothed it over my skin. His hands felt firm as he rubbed in a circular motion.

  “I can tell you work out.”

  I straightened up and nodded. “Yeah, I joined a gym down the street from my condo.”

  “Oh, you don’t own a house?”

  I felt the frown line on my forehead and was happy that I was not facing him. “No, I’ve been saving up. I kind of want to wait…” and here I hesitated, debating whether or not to say the M word, “…until I’m more settled before I plop down money on such a big purchase.”

  “Okay. All done.” Troy patted my back. “You’ve got great muscle tone.”

  I tried not to blush. “I also used to do karate when I was a teenager.”

  Troy perked up. “Really?” He tilted his head. “Me too!”

  “Oh.” I smiled. “I have a green belt.”

  “I’ve got a black belt.” Troy gave me a high-five. “Having some training in self-defense is a good thing, even if you never have to use it.”

  I agreed. “But Trinidad seems pretty safe. Where do you live?”

  “I live in Chaguaramas, on Robinson Street.”

  I twisted my mouth to the side. Robinson Street sounded familiar, but I didn’t remember where it was.

  Troy read my expression. “It’s about a half an hour from your mom’s house.”

  “So you have a house or do you live in an apartment?” I leaned back onto my elbows.

  “I guess you can say it’s an in-between thing in a way.” Troy motioned his hand like he was waving to the sand, and I scooted down so that my ankles passed the towel’s border and lay on top of the hot grainy sand instead. The waves crashed and ran up the beach. The people in the water swayed with the tide, and a few children squealed in delight.

  “What does that mean?”

  “I’m renting an apartment in a basement.”

  I wanted to ask why, but opted for small talk. “It’s a nice day. If I still lived here, I’d come to the beach every weekend.”

  Troy scooted down on his towel and balanced his weight on the right side of his body, leaning on his elbow and palm. “Do you think you’ll ever move back here?”

  “I don’t know, maybe. I am getting older.” I giggled. “How old are you?”

  “Forty-six.”

  Forty-six and living in a basement apartment—not even your own apartment, I thought. But I didn’t want to judge him too harshly. According to my mom, women too often let material things get in the way of forming a connection with someone.

  She’d met my dad, who possessed little more than a primary school education, and she claimed he’d made a good life for her and our family. He didn’t even have a car when they’d met. And he’d built our home, which still got a fresh coat of paint every few years around Christmas time, and kept food on the table. Mike had long ago stopped listening to this rendition of our dad. In reality, we hardly knew the man, giving up on him after a few years of infrequent visits to the house.

  What I did remember growing up was that Mom worked longer hours as a grocery store clerk than my dad ever worked. She also put her salary into her children and home, sacrificing the desire for a new dress to buy wood and paint when our two-bedroom home was expanded. I gave my dad no credit. And my mom’s staunch refusal to tell us the reason he’d left, even after we became adults, probably made me give her less credit than she deserved. But how could one have so little faith in the people who were there? It was easier for me to leave.

  “You know, even if you could only visit here so often, I could travel to D.C. if we wanted to see how things go.” Troy took off his sunglasses.

  It was refreshing for a man to meet a woman and take a step forward to show his interest. Men never acted like that with me in D.C., where it was more of a long dance with numerous telephone calls, emails, and dates before they mentioned that they were thinking of a serious relationship.

  “Oh, so you travel?”

  “Yeah, girl.” Troy wobbled his head. “I’m an experienced traveler,” Troy said, sounding Cosby-like.

  I laughed. “Is that right?”

  “Hmm hmmm. I’ve been to Toronto for Caribana. I went to Trinidad’s Carnival in February. I’ve been going to it for years; can’t miss that! I’ve been to Crop Over in Barbados and went to Miami…” Troy glanced at the sky where a scarlet ibis flew, flapping its wings in a fluid motion, “four times now.”

  I tried not to appear horrified by this. “You must really enjoy partying.”

  “What!” Troy grabbed two bottles of water from the plastic bag. “A man like me always enjoys a good fete.”

  I eased down horizontally onto the towel and stretched my arms over my head before folding them over my breast. If that’s how this man chose to spend his money, who was I to give him advice? Still, who followed mass parties at this age? I flicked my toes. Was Troy a good prospect for me? Did long distance relationships even work? I asked myself.

  When the sun’s rays intensified, we decided to walk to the beach bar, a small hut-shaped building with a galvanized roof, located near the beach parking lot. Many buildings and houses still had galvanized roofs in Trinidad, with some homeowners collecting the runoff rain water and storing it in large bottles.

  I strolled in front of Troy and took off my hat. Birds chirped in the lush trees that surrounded us. I felt the damp ends of my hair. Another hour in the glaring sun and the curls in my hair would all fall flat.

  At the bar, I sampled the ginger-flavored Shandy with a straw, while Troy opted for two beers. I inhaled the delicious aroma of the fried red snapper and fries piled high on my plate, before I dove in. Troy ate curried crab and dumplings. He tried to maneuver the meat out of the shells while he talked. He was a decent conversati
onalist, warm and engaging. Eating a meal together created camaraderie.

  And although I questioned his affection for partying, I viewed our shared background in karate as a great positive. Dinner wrapped up and we walked back to the car. As I extended the seatbelt across my shoulder, I smiled. I’d had a nice evening. And though some women bounced details about a prospective love interest off girlfriends, I couldn’t wait to tell Orlando about this date.

  Chapter Four

  When I arrived back at home Orlando was there, chilling on the couch in the living room, watching a DVD. He was staying with my brother, Mike, who lived a ten-minute walk away. Though Mike had offered the guest bedroom; I was a bit surprised Orlando had taken up the offer since he could’ve easily afforded a four-star hotel room. Then again, that was Orlando.

  Though Orlando was white, he’d always fit in with my friends, and my family turned out to be no different. He’d grown up in a mixed-race family. His parents had adopted two African boys from Senegal when he was ten.

  Of course Mom enquired how Troy and I got along on our date. We got along fine, I told her, but I wasn’t sure he was right for me. The long distance thing could be a challenge. Mom argued that Troy traveled all the time, and I let her know that yes, he traveled, but to parties in different countries. At my age, I probably needed someone who was more serious, which brought up another issue: his waste of money to travel to those mass parties.

  “It’s not like it’s even a once a year thing,” I argued. Troy seemed to need action. And to me, there was nothing worse than a restless man.

  “He doesn’t have a woman to stay home for,” Mom said. “It’s time for you to have some fun, anyway. Troy can add that.” And what else was he going to spend his money on when he had a grown child and no wife, she wanted to know. “I have a theory on single women.” Mom watched as I filled an ice tray with tap water before putting it in the freezer.

  She had been dusting around her cherub figurine collection in the living room when I got home from the beach. Now she held the feather duster to her side. “At some point in their life, a good man came along. They either didn’t know he was a good man at the time, or they were too preoccupied with other things and told him to come back later, thinking that he would, or they simply thought they’d find somebody better.” Her tongue made a slight spitting noise when she said the word ‘better.’ “I’m sure, looking back, you remember a decent guy or two.”

  I didn’t move, not even a head nod, yet I saw a panoramic view of the men that had been in my life. Some of them were awful, some were okay, and one of them I was in love with, but he messed things up. Two additional men were from relationships I had messed up. Did I wish I’d married one of them? Yes, but I admitted this only to myself.

  “I don’t know what this world is coming to with its high divorce rates,” Mom went on. “The divorce rate and the grocery bill. They’re always increasing.” She shook her head. “I’m not saying you can’t have standards, but look at your expectations. You can’t simply pick out only the things you like and expect all these things in one man. Your Aunt Hope said she met this guy off the internet and when she saw him, he looked nothing like the man he described. People think they can click on a mouse and their soul mate will show up like that.” Mom snapped her fingers.

  I felt a headache coming on and rubbed my forehead. Walking to the living room, I told Mom that I was going to lie down and rest.

  She nodded. “Sorry, hon. Have some patience with your old mother. I know I’ve probably worn out my welcome talking about this relationship thing.” She put the duster down on the sofa. “Don’t think for a minute that I’m not proud of you, Augustine. You’ve accomplished a lot with your studies and your career.” Mom’s eyes became watery.

  “Thanks, Mom, I appreciate that.”

  Mom moved her hand across the air in front of her. “And don’t you ever forget that. You’ve made all of us proud.”

  I gave a small laugh and heard the emotion wedged in my throat.

  “Do you want me to make you some hot Lipton tea before you head upstairs?”

  “No, I’m fine. I’m not used to being out in the sun for so long.” I fanned myself with both hands, barely feeling the cool air from the ceiling fan. I badly wanted to feel an air conditioner, but Mom had refused one as a gift, claiming it used too much electricity.

  “I just need a nap. Lando, we’ll chat tomorrow.”

  Orlando nodded. He knew me well and that I’d fill him in on my latest adventure post split with my ex.

  Mom wiped her hand against her skirt.

  “Do you think you’ll go on another date with Troy?” Orlando asked. His green eyes were focused on me instead of the TV. They were my favorite feature of his.

  “People get nervous on the first date sometimes.” Mom pitched in.

  I nodded. “Sure. We’re going out tomorrow.” I wanted a clearer opinion of Troy. We were from the same culture, after all. If we spent enough time together, we were bound to find more we had in common, I thought. I figured it wouldn’t hurt to go out with Troy again. And besides, it was true that people didn’t always make the best impression on the first date.

  Chapter Five

  The morning after I heard about Augustine’s date, I left Mike’s house for the gym.

  An early workout had become an ingrained habit over the last five years. And a good sweat always cleared my head. I’d agreed to visit Trinidad after Augustine had asked me. I figured it’d finally give me the opportunity to confess how I felt about her.

  I’d always thought that Augustine was fine. She had a velvety smooth chocolate skin-tone that made me want to take a lick.

  We would be on a hot tropical island far away from the hustle and bustle of Virginia. We would get a chance to relax, sip on a couple piña coladas, and soak up some sun. But things quickly turned out different from how I’d planned.

  The wedding had been great and Augustine’s family welcomed me with open arms. But I spent more time with Augustine’s brother than with her. I’d expected her to be busy, but not because she’d met some guy.

  Though the gym was a fifteen minute walk, I jogged there. My sneakers skimmed over the pavement while I thought about Augustine.

  We’d been best friends since we met at a karaoke bar as sophomores in college. We hit it off instantly. I liked that she was open with me. Despite the fact that we were different races, Augustine and I just clicked.

  She liked to laugh, I thought I was funny. She liked to watch football. I played football. We were both foodies, though I’d been a vegetarian since age ten after my two adopted brothers came to live with us. Neither of them ate meat and I thought I’d join them to show support. But soon a meatless diet became a habit.

  I thought Augustine was cute from jump, but I was also dating a girl who I thought would be the love-of- my-life at the time. After graduation, Augustine and I kept in touch almost every week—new careers kept us busy. Time passed and our friendship remained, but we also spoke less because now both of us were in relationships.

  I was committed to my ex, until I caught her two-timing me with her boss at the real estate agency where she worked. She’d said she would be working late, and I’d wanted to surprise her by bringing her dinner. When I opened her office door, I was shocked to see that she was already being served—by her boss.

  I was furious and refused to date for a long time. Augustine was there for me, but while I remained single for the most part, with an occasional date here and there, Augustine seemed to always be in a relationship. Then she too thought she’d found the one.

  I didn’t like the guy when I first met him during a double date with a girl I met at the gym. But who was I to judge her relationship, though I did tell her once, “You deserve better.”

  Augustine was head over heels about him though.

  When she told me they’d broken up, I wasn’t surprised.

  She took it badly, but throughout the ordeal, I was there. And I don’t k
now if it was seeing Augustine vulnerable for the first time that endeared her in a different way to me. Pretty soon, I was thinking about her at work and wanted to comfort her in ways that surprised me. I kept this to myself though. I didn’t want to jump the gun or to become her rebound relationship because she was hurting.

  I knew how that would most likely end if we didn’t make it—with a ruined friendship.

  When I finally reached the gym, my shoulders felt tense. Who was this Troy guy, I thought. I’d planned on telling Augustine that I wanted us to try having a relationship. That both of us deserved better than our past. But the ‘Troy’ factor bothered me. Augustine and I hadn’t talked much and I knew nothing about him.

  It probably won’t work out anyway. Not with the distance thing, I thought. At least, I hoped it didn’t.

  I sometimes wondered whether Augustine had ever even considered what it’d be like if the two of us were a couple. I’d dated a few black women, but I’d never seen Augustine with anyone but a brother.

  Outside the gym, I walked around a few paces before I opened the entrance door.

  I’d made up my mind.

  Before I left Trinidad, I would tell Augustine what I wanted. Her.

  Chapter Six

  When Troy picked me up, he looked shiny and new. I could tell that he’d gotten his hair trimmed that day, and he was wearing nice slacks and polished black shoes. I’d decided to wear my hair pinned up because we were headed to a popular restaurant. In the car, I noticed that there was now a new radio, and a blue line zigzagged across the screen every time the song’s chords changed.

  “That’s a nice sound system you got there.”