Every Woman Needs a Praying Man

by Pat Simmons

  Flabbergasted, Tyson leaned across his desk. “Reg, focus, man. I don’t have time to think about a woman.”

  Liar. That’s all you’ve been doing since you saw Monica, a voice taunted him.

  Annoyed with his inner conscience, Tyson exhaled. “Listen, I didn’t get a good feeling about—”

  “Too bad.” Reggie slapped his hands on his knees and got to his feet. “You know she’ll make a great addition. I think we’d regret not hiring her for her expertise. Plus, Solae said they were practically family.”

  “Huh?” Tyson groaned. Did he have to be concerned about Solae having a meltdown too now? “She didn’t mention that.”

  “Something about her family tree. Wyatt-Palmer was her maiden name. Anyway, unless you have something concrete, not suspicions, I suggest bringing her in on the three months’ probation.”

  Speak now, or forever hold your peace, his mind said. Tyson opened his mouth to come clean about what he saw on the highway, but his tongue locked in position. Aggravated with his internal fighting, he conceded. “Three months. That’s all Monica Wyatt has. You contact her.” Reggie was almost out the door when Tyson added, “Oh, and make sure she gets the ten-panel drug test screening.” The standard pre-employment drug test would only catch street drugs. He wanted to know of any prescription drugs misuse.

  Rubbing his forehead, Tyson frowned. Unless the highway episode was a one-time occurrence, and he suspected it wasn’t, it would be a matter of time before the other Miss Wyatt would show up again. And Reggie would see with his own eyes what Tyson failed to tell him.

  #

  “I didn’t want the position anyway,” Monica stated, as she checked on her beef stew simmering in the Crock-Pot.

  “You’re such a liar.” Veronica hmphed, then bumped her out of the way to wash her hands in the kitchen sink. Her friend had stopped by under the guise of getting details on what happened when she really came for the food.

  Their friendship was based on Monica’s cooking skills and Veronica’s decorating genes. Friends since grade school, they were closer than sisters and each other’s confidant. Veronica knew things Monica dared not share with her mother—the worrywart.

  Besides getting a job, her mother had started hounding her about grandbabies. In order for that to happen, she wanted more than a donor, she desired a man who loved her first and his family second.

  She and Veronica were single and not satisfied. That’s why they had added double dating on their New Year’s resolutions list. Actually, it was nothing more than a ruse for her friend who could be engaged or married with children by now if she and Monica’s brother’s hearts ever aligned with the planets.

  “Well, I hope I’m a good one, because my brain is starting to hurt every time I think about being in the same room with Tyson Graham.” She spat out his name as if she had tasted expired milk. “It’s a wonder seeing him didn’t ignite a full-blown anxiety attack, because that man creeped me out.” She shivered.

  Veronica twisted her lips as she removed bowls from Monica’s cabinet. “Ah, the tale of two strangers. I can’t believe a man—in your words, handsome—so caring to stop and help a stranded motorist would be so cold. Maybe he was having a bad day.”

  “Believe me, I can understand having a bad day, but not on the day of my interview.” She pulled rolls out of the oven as her cell rang. “Can you get that?”

  “It’s an unknown number,” Veronica said, then answered. “One moment please.” She handed Monica her phone and mouthed, “I should be having dinner with him.” She grinned. “He sounds hot!”

  Rolling her eyes, she snatched the phone. “This is Monica.” She held her breath as the caller identified himself as Reggie Dyson.

  “If you’re still interested, we would like to offer you the position.”

  Monica’s heart dropped, and so did her mouth. She was speechless; after grabbing the nearest chair, she floated down. “I got the job,” she mouthed to Veronica.

  Her friend began to dance around the kitchen with an invisible partner. She froze and squinted. “Take it!” she threatened in a low sweet soft voice.

  Reggie was in her corner. Was Tyson playing hardball with her, or did he cast a no vote? While Monica debated the unknown, Veronica grabbed a piece of discarded aluminum foil, bunched it into a ball, and bounced it off Monica’s head.

  She gave Veronica a “what’s wrong with you?” scowl.

  “Take it.”

  Closing her eyes, Monica took a deep breath. “I accept your offer,” she said, then exhaled, thanked him, and ended the call. “I start on Wednesday” —she stood and pointed her finger— “and you’re paying for the foil.”

  “Nope.” Veronica lifted the lid to the Crock-Pot and inhaled. “Now that you’re gainfully employed, you can afford to buy your own.” Reaching for her bowl, she scooped up a hearty portion, grabbed a roll, and sat at the table.

  Monica joined her with her own serving. She whispered a quick prayer, and added a thanks for the job.

  “Since you’ll no longer be stressed out about finding a job, your panic attacks are probably over.”

  “You’re probably right.” After high-fiving with Veronica, Monica ate without a care in the world.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Two days later, Monica awoke with a feeling of doom. Considering what she read about her symptoms on the Internet, she was experiencing nothing more than morning anxiety.

  The good news was the feeling of dread would dissipate as the day went on. After giving herself a pep talk while she dressed, Monica’s confidence had bounced back by the time she headed out the door to her first day on the job.

  Less than thirty minutes later, she drove into the company lot and parked. Making eye contact with the rear view mirror, she checked her makeup. She patted perspiration off her forehead and stared at her reflection. “Let’s do it.” She stepped out of her car with her briefcase and purse. She took a few minutes to study the building where she would spend her days until she decided to work elsewhere, if the time ever came.

  Pleased with how everything turned out, she walked with a purpose through the front doors.

  ”Welcome back, dear, and congratulations,” the same receptionist greeted her in the lobby. “I’m Maggie, but everyone calls me Mrs. Coates.”

  Seconds later, the door opened behind her and a cold blast propelled Solae inside. “Hey, I tried to beat you here so I could show you around.” She seemed out of breath.

  “Our office has seven rooms,” Mrs. Coates said, planting a fist on her hip. “I doubt she’ll get lost.”

  Solae chuckled. “Come on, I’ll take you to your corner office.”

  “Great.” Monica wanted to dance in place. She was so excited to have an office again. Besides saying grace and a quick prayer when in distress, she wouldn’t call herself a praying woman, but at the moment, she thanked God for putting Solae in her path.

  If you call on Me, I will answer, a voice whispered.

  Her steps slowed. That wasn’t her imagination or conscience. She definitely heard a voice. Turning around, Monica saw no one; even Mrs. Coates had disappeared.

  On the left, they passed two closed doors. “Across from Reggie and Tyson’s offices is the conference room where you had your interview.” Solae walked and talked.

  They turned the corner to a large room with four spacious cubicles. “You’re the last one in the back.”

  Monica grinned at her “corner office.” She had the best view to a small park nearby. After waiting for Monica to store her things, Solae introduced her to the small staff: another designer, a copywriter, and an intern. The most interesting room was the kitchen with one side reminding her of an ice cream parlor.

  Retracing their steps to the hall, Solae stopped at the first door and knocked before opening it. Reggie stood from his desk and extended his hand, walking toward her. “Mr. Dyson—”

  “Please call me Reggie. We’re informal around here.”

  “Okay.” She smile
d. “Thank you for the opportunity.”

  “Thanks for accepting. We’re excited about adding your expertise in growing our company.” Leaning on the corner of his desk, he folded his arms and chatted a few minutes.

  When Solae backed out of the room and knocked on door number two, Monica’s heart pounded. She wouldn’t consider seeing Tyson again as saving the best for last, but she was ready to dismiss their first impressions and start over.

  Hiding behind Solae wasn’t an option when the woman stepped aside and Monica came face-to-face with him.

  Where Reggie stood immediately to greet her, Tyson hadn’t even shifted in his seat as he removed his reading glasses. He seemed intimidating, serious, and almost annoyed at the interruption. Monica refused to let her disappointment show. The decision to hire her must have been all Reggie’s. Well, she was there now and wasn’t going anywhere. By default, he had seen her vulnerable side. Beginning today, she would show him her backbone.

  Ignoring his display of bad manners, Monica showed him a smile she didn’t feel. “Thank you, Mr. Graham, for the opportunity.”

  “You’re welcome, Miss Wyatt.” Evidently, he didn’t feel like smiling.

  The silence was becoming uncomfortable when finally, as if he remembered his home training, Tyson stood. If wearing black made a woman appear thin, it did the opposite for Tyson, who was dressed in a black shirt, pants, and another eye-catching tie. With each step toward her, she tried not to shrink under his imposing stature and build.

  He seemed to begrudgingly extend his hand, then swallowed up hers. It was strong, yet gentle, and his cologne begged her to take a deep breath. Their point of contact caused a chill down her spine. She refused to succumb to whatever effect he was trying to have on her.

  Lifting her chin in defiance was a mistake. Close up, she was drawn deeper into his hypnotic eyes. She saw uncertainty in them, or maybe it was a reflection of what he saw in hers.

  Solae cleared her throat, breaking the frozen moment between her and Tyson. “Ah, Mrs. Coates has forms for you to sign. I’ll go get them.”

  On cue, he released her hand and stepped back. If only she knew what he was thinking? If—another if only—they had met under different circumstances, she could see herself being attracted to him.

  Gnawing on her lips, Monica wondered if mentioning what happened would clear the air or make matters worse.

  Don’t you dare! She could hear Veronica’s wise council.

  “How was your weekend?” Tyson’s question seemed forced.

  Not one to engage in small talk, she didn’t answer right away, considering it was Wednesday and she had to think what she did—nothing. “Nice.”

  Tyson stuffed his hands in his pants pockets. Although he said nothing more, he didn’t take his eyes off her.

  “Got them,” Solae said, reappearing and waving forms in the air. “See you later, Ty.”

  Thankful to escape his presence, Monica didn’t exhale until she reached her desk. Once she signed her w-2 and other paperwork, she scanned through the company’s brag book. She was surprised and proud Tyson & Dyson Communications had been the agency behind some recognizable billboards. It appeared the company had some impressive leads. She began to study the numbers to interpret the demographics for the marketing campaign her bosses would present to a client. Reggie said the best training was to dig in, and he wasn’t exaggerating.

  Monica had been soaking in information until Solae announced lunch. As they ate in the “parlor,” Solae chatted away, “My husband is a fire captain and sometimes he’s gone days at a time, so I’m here on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays. I’m a full-time mommy the other two days.”

  To Monica, Solae had it all—a husband and children. She admired any woman who somehow had beaten the odds to snag a loving family man.

  “I don’t have any sisters,” Solae said, keeping Monica’s mind from drifting again. “But my best friend, Candace, married my hubby’s brother.”

  “I don’t have any sisters either. My best friend, Veronica, dated my brother off and on for what seems like forever. He’s finishing up his tour in the Middle East.”

  “Girl, we are too much alike. If we’re not blood-related, we could always be sisters in Christ, if you ever decide to come back to church. No pressure.” She smiled and Monica believed her.

  After lunch, she sat with Solae and Dennis, the other ad designer, and watched them create some mock campaigns for existing clients. At times, they asked for her input. Monica saw why her position was so important. Location was everything. A billboard ad for million-dollar homes would be pointless in a depressed neighborhood.

  The afternoon sped by and soon everyone said their good nights. As if her mother had a tracker, she called before Monica dropped her keys on the counter. Ollie was so predictable. “I thought I was supposed to call you?” That had been the consensus from their chat the previous evening.

  “It’s about time you caught a break,” her mother said when Monica gave her the good news about the job. “Your dad and I’ve been praying for you. We thought you might have to give up the condo and move back home. Do you need me to spend the night and help you pick out something to wear for your first day or do your hair?” Her mother had been giddy with excitement.

  “Mom, I’m good. This isn’t my first job. It’s just a new one. I know what to wear and how to style my natural hair. I’ll call you and tell you all about my first day.”

  “Okay, I’ll be waiting by the phone.” After exchanging “I love you’s,” they ended the call.

  “I knew you would take too long, so how did it go?”

  “Typical first day, trying to learn the job.” She described the building, her “corner cubicle office” and her coworkers. There was no need to mention Tyson and his peculiar behavior, which had to be a result of him witnessing her under distress, something she dared not mention to her mom anyway and cause her to worry. As a stats expert, she ran the numbers in her head. Remove the stress from not paying bills from the equation and the odds were in her favor. “Mom, I’m tired and hungry, so I’m going to go so I can cook dinner.”

  Minutes later, Monica had barely changed out of her clothes when her doorbell rang, and Veronica was on her doorsteps. She walked in, removing her coat with each step. “What’s the scoop?” She sniffed. “And what ya cookin’?”

  “Spaghetti, if you and my mom let me. At work, a little weird. I only came in contact with Mr. Graham once when he handed me a proposal for a small black-owned hair supply chain that wants to expand into the St. Louis area.” She took a package of hamburger out of the refrigerator, opened it, and began to season it. “Make yourself useful. Boil some water for the spaghetti.”

  She thought about Tyson. “He wasn’t mean to me, but the few times we passed each other in the hall, it was like” —she paused, trying to find the right words to describe their brief encounters— “feeling he knows something about me and he’s dangling it over my head—blackmail.”

  “Girl, forget him.”

  “If you saw him, you would see why that would be a hard task to accomplish.” That’s like telling a child not to watch cartoons and as soon as the mother’s back is turned, the child sneaks a peek.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Tyson had survived three days with Monica on his payroll, mainly by avoiding her except when absolutely necessary. Her soulful eyes would bring a man to his knees, which was why he restrained his glimpses into hers during the interview.

  That morning, he caught a flash of her speed walking past his office. It wasn’t fast enough for him not to notice her shapely legs in ankle boots. Suddenly, red was his favorite color of the day inspired by Monica’s dress. The moment had served as a subliminal flirt, but he refused to take the bait and go after her for some idle conversation.

  This was his workplace and he wasn’t about to jeopardize his own code of conduct. Attractive women always seemed to have an agenda, wanting something from him he wasn’t willing to give—a ring, his mon
ey, or his heart. Monica was no exception. She wanted this job and for him to overlook her mental breakdown. He rubbed the back of his neck. That image was hard to forget.

  He had to keep reminding himself Tyson & Dyson Communications had hired Monica for her brains, not beauty. She had impressed him with both. He hadn’t expected a one-day turnaround on the black hair chain analysis he had requested from her by Friday morning. She handed it to him midday Thursday and his professional persona almost slipped. He thought about complimenting Monica on her hair, but he knew better than to let his tongue take control.

  Tyson and Reggie reviewed the report. Reggie had verbally congratulated her on the depth of her initial findings based on demographics, including nearby salons, strip malls, and other stats to drive business to the client. Tyson felt obligated to compliment her as well. She made it difficult to act natural around her. He wished he didn’t know her secret, but knowing was a reminder to stay on the sidelines.

  It was unusual for him to stick around the office until five on Fridays, but he and Reggie were determined to win the bid on the black hair chain. When he opened his door, Solae and Monica had their hats and coats on and were coming his way.

  He waved. “Have a good weekend, Solae and Miss Wyatt.”

  As he turned the corner, he heard Solae’s hushed voice. “I don’t know what’s going on with Tyson. He acts like he really doesn’t like you.”

  “He doesn’t,” Monica replied.

  That stung. Tyson cringed, but kept stepping as if he hadn’t heard their whispers. Otherwise he would have turned around and corrected Monica. Liked her? What man wouldn’t find her attractive? Plus, as an employee, she did superb work. He didn’t trust her working for him. The loophole was if she displayed any signs of instability during her probationary period, he wouldn’t be liable for recourse by terminating her.