by Pat Simmons
On Saturday, the sting was still lingering in his head when he visited his parents. It bothered him to be labeled as the bad guy.
“One thing I can’t stand is a moody man,” Earline Graham fussed, wagging a serving ladle at him. How could Tyson zone out at the dinner table in front of his mother and sisters?
“Yeah, what’s going on with you, bro?” Kim, his oldest sister, chimed in.
Tyson hunched over his second bowl of chili and cleared his throat. He carefully chose his words. “This woman—”
“Ha.” His mother slapped the table. “That’s all I needed to know.” She grinned. Although her long hair was completely gray, her smile always cast a youthful glow on her face. “I’m finally getting me a daughter-in—”
“Hold it right there, Momma.” He held up his hand. “There will never be a love connection between me and the crazy woman. I don’t trust her.” Tyson scowled and reached for his can of soda.
“Crazy? What did this chick do? Slit your tires, tried to burn down your house, or send harassing texts? Do Gail and I need to have a chat with Miss Crazy Lady about our brother?”
As the only son, his older and younger sisters seemed to think he needed protection instead of the other way around. Countless times, the pair had instilled fear into a female who was interested in him and Tyson didn’t return the sentiment.
“Nothing like that. I think she has some mental condition going on. Her drug tests came back normal, but this woman isn’t. One minute she’s okay, but I’ve seen a different side of her.”
Earline squinted. “Start from the beginning and don’t leave anything out.”
So Tyson confessed the burden he was carrying.
“If she’s a threat to your company, why did you hire her?” Kim asked.
“Reggie did.” He twisted his lips. “I could’ve fought harder, but Miss Wyatt’s assets were impressive on paper, and frankly, she was the best candidate.”
Gail, his baby sister, who had quietly listened, raised her hand as if she was sitting in one of Kim’s classes. “As usual, you’re overthinking this. Just because she was scared doesn’t mean she’s crazy. I’m scared of barking dogs. Something spooked her and evidently, you haven’t made her comfortable to share those fears with you,” she reasoned with him. “Poor Miss Wyatt. How old is she?”
“Thirty-one.” When his mother and sisters exchanged glances, then grinned, he asked, “What?”
Clearing her throat, Kim took on a serious tone. “Does this Miss Wyatt look scary?”
“It depends,” he answered. On the highway, definitely. At the office, anything but. Monica had plenty of hair in its natural state. He wondered how long it would be if the curls were straightened out. She had nice legs and an enticing shape. She was the complete package.
Kim tapped the table. “I’m exposed to some form of mental illness in children frequently. If they don’t get help, it will manifest itself when they become adults. Maybe she went through some trauma,” she said softly. “I read somewhere one in twenty-five or -six people deal with mental illness in a given year. Chalk up what you witnessed as Miss Wyatt’s year.”
“For some reason, you were meant to meet on that road before she came in for the interview, son.” His mother nodded with a worried expression. “There are no coincidences with God, and speaking of the Lord. It’s been a while since you came to church.”
Oh no, she wasn’t about to ambush him. Pushing back from the table, Tyson had to get away from the Graham women’s scrutiny. “The chili was good, Momma. I’m stuffed.” He patted his stomach and excused himself to the living room where his father was watching a game.
“Hey, Pops.” He sat on the sofa and stretched out his arms. Why did rescuing a damsel in distress have to come with baggage? He focused on the flat screen until his mind synced with his eyes to follow the game.
“I heard your mother and sisters in there give you a hard time.” Craig Graham chuckled without taking his eyes off the television. “My advice is to guard your heart and business. Women have hormones I still can’t understand after all these years.”
Hormones? Tyson had two sisters. He didn’t even want to recall their meltdowns as teenagers.
On Monday morning, Tyson was about to enter his office when Solae blocked his path.
“Can we talk in private?” She invited herself in. “Monica told me what happened between you two.”
“I see.” Tyson laid his briefcase on the floor and removed his coat. Solae scooted a chair closer to his desk and flopped in it. He leaned on its corner and folded his arms. “And?”
“What she described isn’t normal behavior.” Tyson knew that, but he wanted to hear Solae’s take. “Do you know what I think she needs?”
“Medication,” he stated.
“Maybe,” she said with a touch of pleading in her voice and disappointment draped on her face. “Is that why you acted like a bully around her?” Solae lifted her chin in defiance, daring him to deny it, which he did.
“I’m the one who is scared of the chick,” he defended.
“You’re six feet something and she’s five feet something else, and you’re terrified of her?”
“For the record, I’m six feet four and she’s about five feet five without heels.” He had summed up his calculation when they shook hands. “I’m concerned about her brain not functioning at a hundred percent. If her data analysis is off, we could miscalculate a campaign.”
“Instead of being scared of her, you need to be concerned and pray for her.” She folded her hands in demonstration as if he had never asked God for anything. His company was built on his mother’s prayers and a loan from his dad, which he had just finished paying back.
“Hershel and I have been inviting you to church for a while and you always have an excuse. Now you have a reason. Monica—your employee—needs praying people around her. This is serious. God can heal her. It wasn’t an accident she came to my church, or you met her on the side of the highway. Her condition is no accident.”
“You lost me on the last part. Monica told you it’s hereditary?” As a matter of fact, Solae had gone into very little detail about what was said.
Solae smirked as she got to her feet. “Service starts at eleven.”
“Uh-uh.” Tyson shook his head. “Stop right there. Do you realize Sunday is the Super Bowl? I’ll say a prayer for her before and after the game.”
“Men, hmph. I hope the rapture doesn’t come while you’re waiting for a touchdown, because you’ll miss it. I’m holding you to pray for her.” She gave him a game face, then left his office.
Tyson took his seat and spun around to look outside his window. He frowned, thinking on Solae’s request. He prayed as much as the next person, but somehow his employee felt that was what Monica needed from him. An odd request, but one he would fulfill from his spot in front of the television.
A knock interrupted his musings. Twirling around, he found Mrs. Coates peeping her head inside. “Yes?”
“Mornin’. Fresh fruit and bagels just arrived.” She was about to back out then stopped. “By the way, I like Monica. She’s sharp.”
Did someone mastermind a Join #TeamMonica billboard? Did everyone know what was going on with her besides him?
His intercom buzzed. “Ty, the webinar is about to start. Your office or mine?” Reggie asked.
“I’ll be there in a sec.” He was glad to talk business instead of hearing others’ opinions about Monica. While making a beeline to the kitchen for juice and bagels, she was heading his way.
“Good morning, Mr. Graham,” she stated with little eye contact and continued strutting. He watched her disappear into the ladies’ room. Yeah, he had work to do. Mr. Graham was his father, who had thirty years on his thirty-six. Even his business associates called him Ty. She was a project he would begin to work on later.
Once he was situated at the round table in Reggie’s office, they chatted about possibilities for the black hair chain. “I think Mr. Free
man’s concept of buying in bulk is going to set him apart from his competition,” Tyson said. “I didn’t realize Koreans owned more than sixty percent of the market.”
Reggie nodded. “I know. Based on the numbers Monica crunched, the black hair care market is almost a seven hundred million-dollar industry.”
“I think we need to bring Solae, Mrs. Coates, and Monica in on the campaign,” Tyson suggested.
Reggie wore a lopsided grin. “I’m glad you’re warming up to Monica, because the sister is fine and single.”
Not Monica again. Tyson put on his poker face. He was well aware of her physical assets, but along with them came the mental madness, for lack of a better term to describe it. “And you’ve got a girlfriend in Florida.” He lifted an eyebrow. “Or has the long-distance relationship ran its mileage?”
“Nope. Tracee and I are solid as ever. Just lookin’ out for my bro.”
“You should know I don’t mix business with pleasure,” Tyson reminded him.
“Maybe if you had more pleasure in your life, you wouldn’t be so uptight.” Reggie stopped and snapped into business mode when the two presenters logged on to discuss strategies for out-of-home advertising to reach the seventy-plus percent of consumers who are away from home in the day time.
During the hour-plus webinar, he and Reggie made notes and emailed the presenters questions about new trends. People were taking notice of ads with personal messages paid for by family and small groups: tributes to a soldier killed in active duty, or requests for donations to an agency in the name of a child who died of cancer.
Afterward, Tyson stood and stretched. “That info couldn’t have come at a better time with the launch of the black hair care campaign underway.”
Reggie agreed. “We could include testimonials of before and after using their hair products. We can put Dennis and Solae to work on a mockup.”
Walking out of Reggie’s office, Tyson heard a burst of laughter. It could’ve only come from Monica’s lips. He chuckled at the genuine sound of amusement. He wondered at what triggered the uncontrollable bark. He stepped closer to the kitchen and hid in the shadows. When his cover was blown, he strolled in under the guise of getting a bottled water, but not before catching a glimpse of a smile on Monica’s face.
“Hey,” Solae and Mrs. Coates said in unison. Monica didn’t acknowledge him.
“Hey back, Monica, Solae, and Mrs. Coates. Enjoy your lunch.” Their laughter ceased as he strolled out the room. Without a backward glance, he could feel eyes on him, because they were all too quiet. Tyson hoped one pair was Monica’s.
CHAPTER SIX
Monica sensed Tyson’s presence before she spotted him in her peripheral vision.
“Tyson acts like he doesn’t like you.” Solae had stated the obvious as they headed to their cars last Friday.
“He doesn’t. I made a bad first impression.” And she explained.
“Did you two discuss this during the interview?”
“Nope.” She shook her head. “He didn’t mention it directly, but his body language hinted he remembered me and the incident and would hold it against me.”
“The best solution is seeking the Lord. When we met at church, it wasn’t by chance.” Solae beamed. “God set you up for this job. Everything is going to be okay, because once the Lord speaks, even the demons tremble. To be blunt, it sounds like you’re wrestling with dark spirits in high places. The fear you experienced comes from the devil.”
Great. Monica didn’t do scary movies or read suspense novels. “How am I to win a battle against an enemy I can’t see?”
Solae responded with a prayer, “Lord, in the mighty name of Jesus, please shield Monica’s mind and body from the devil’s attacks.”
Monica silently added an addendum: Lord, just take them away.
The prayer must have worked over the weekend, because today Monica felt rejuvenated and carefree. Her attitude was now one man would no longer intimidate her in the workplace.
Well, sort of. How long had Tyson been standing in the shadows outside the doorway as she, Solae, and Mrs. Coates watched a funny video on Facebook?
When he made his presence known and greeted them, his tone was gentler. Absent was the clipped inflection when he said Miss Wyatt. Briefly, his persona was a glimpse of the man who came to her rescue. She halted any kind of whimsical thinking. Memories of that dreaded day reminded her why there was an invisible line between them. Even though she best not forget that, Monica no longer felt caged.
Too bad he judged her based on that first encounter, because he was irresistible to behold, dressed well, smart, and his cologne was like a welcoming air freshener.
“Don’t think we didn’t notice he said your name,” Solae said with a smug smile and the elderly woman winked in agreement.
As Mrs. Coates stood, she gathered her trash, humming the old Destiny’s Child tune “Say My Name.”
Solae gasped. “You know that song?”
“I ain’t that old,” she sassed over her shoulder, leaving them alone in the kitchen.
They burst out laughing until Solae’s eyes watered and Monica’s stomach ached.
Her work week ended drama-free. Plus, she received her first pay check in three months. In good spirits, Monica shut down her computer and reached for her purse when she felt a familiar presence again. Tyson was standing at her desk. “Do you have a minute?”
The softness in his rich voice could make a woman close her eyes and dream she was on a beach, the wind blowing through her hair, and the sun kissing her skin. However, she didn’t feel the security of one of those moments. It was quitting time and her boss was at her desk. Was he about to fire her?
Take a deep breath and don’t let him see you sweat. “You’re the boss.” Folding her hands, she braced herself.
“Can we call a truce?”
She blinked and remembered to exhale. Not only was she not expecting that, Monica was suspicious of it. Why all of a sudden? But who was she to challenge him? “Sure.”
Watching him, she waited for his next move or statement. Did Tyson want to talk about the highway incident? Was he expecting her to bring it up? There were too many questions, and he didn’t open his mouth to say more. Actually, he was making her nervous.
“Well.” She stood and gathered her coat. He took it from her and helped her put it on. Monica thought she would faint from shock. “Thanks,” she whispered to mask her shaking voice. On unsteady legs, she hurried past him, taking the scent of his cologne with her. “Ah, have a nice weekend.”
“You too, Monica.”
She smiled, liking his husky voice saying her name.
#
Tyson watched Monica go. His mother and everyone would be proud he had extended an olive branch, although it took him all week to come up with five words to form a sentence.
He had watched Monica with interest. She was intelligent, beautiful, and grew more vocal in her work every day. He actually admired her, but on the flip side, he found himself attracted to her too.
Rubbing the back of his neck, Tyson sighed as he walked back to his office. What was he going to do about it?
“Absolutely nothing,” he mumbled, reaching for his coat. With his keys already in the car, he headed for his SUV. He had more pressing matters.
On Sunday, Tyson and other fellow sports junkies descended on Reggie’s house to watch the Super Bowl. He hosted the event last year at his loft. This year, the chips fell on Reggie.
He had been hyped all weekend, waiting for his favorite Sunday of the year. The addiction had been in his blood since high school, but Monica’s soft features kept insinuating into his mind when he least expected followed by Solae’s subtle reminder to pray for her.
And he did when he blessed his breakfast and even while dressing, which was a task, listening to the sports commentators on radio and television. Pulling for the Kansas City Chiefs, Tyson donned the team’s jersey and cap before he left.
He parked in front of Reggie
’s West End home and smirked at the New England Patriots team flags anchored on the front and back windows of a black SUV. Another friend, Jimmy, had beat him there.
When it came to sport teams from the East Coast, Jimmy lost his mind.
As he climbed the steps to the front door, loud voices on the other side meant Jimmy had brought Patriots reinforcements. He didn’t bother knocking and opened the door. He was jeered and cheered on by the guys as if he had entered a playing field. Getting caught up in the spirit, Tyson bobbed his head and gave them high fives, stepping his way down a Soul Train line. Yes, this was his type of party.
The last of the invitees arrived. Fred was another Patriots cohort who strolled through the door outfitted in gear as if the party was outside: skullcap, jacket, and—once it was removed—sweater, and gloves. If that wasn’t insane enough, Fred opened a thermal lunch box to display his own Patriots eating paraphernalia: plastic tumbler, bowl, plate, and other unidentifiable items.
Tyson and Reggie had never laughed so hard.
Despite the chilly temperature and an inch of snow on the ground, Reggie had meat on the grill, their tradition, but a few times, through business connections, they hit the road after securing complimentary Super Bowl tickets.
But Reggie had compromised their male-bonding tradition this year. Of all the fifty-two weekends, Tracee picked Super Bowl Sunday to visit. He and the others would do their best to be respectful. Otherwise, their host would put out every last man if they offended his lady.
Reggie had lost his mind over Tracee, no, he had freely handed his heart over to the woman. If she called, Reggie jumped with the excuse, “My woman needs me,” or “she’s missing me.” How long would their long-distance relationship last? For Tyson, that wouldn’t work. He would have to see his woman on a regular basis. Definitely more than a few times a month Reggie got to see Tracee, and that’s if they could manage to get away.