The Never List

by DL White

  Miller's face brightened, then frowned, deep lines forming between his eyes. He sank into a chair. "That was you? So you… are you alright?"

  "I'm fine," she answered. "And ready to work." She sat, then clicked a pen and hovered the tip over a blank page in her notepad. "Shall we?"

  Miller cleared his throat and pushed his chair forward. "Trey, I've retained the services of Benning Mergers & Acquisitions Consulting. I don't want to leave anything on the table. No loopholes. Ms. Whitaker will work with you to paper a deal that benefits both sides. I've made my negotiable and non-negotiable terms clear. I expect I'll be conferencing with her from time to time."

  He clasped his hands, gazing at me with an arrogant stare that made my fists clench, then throb. I wanted to pound on Thomas Miller like I'd pounded on Esme's assailant last week.

  "Once the bid comes out, we'll take some time to put together a proposal and submit. So long as we paper our deal before then, we're in the clear. If we don't have an agreement on terms before we submit…"

  Miller unclasped his hands to spread his arms and hunched his shoulders in a helpless gesture. "We have no deal. I can't waste more time on this. Miller won't go under if we don't get to the proposal stage. Neither will Pettigrew. I won't sign an agreement that isn't beneficial on my end. I've spoken to my board of directors, and they're not inclined to sell the company over my objection. This is your last chance to pull this deal together, or it goes down the drain."

  I fixed my gaze on Esme. The upturn of her lips was a dead giveaway–she was enjoying this. Not only was she working for the other side, but the knowledge that she stood between Pettigrew Construction and a lucrative contract must have turned her crank.

  I unclenched my jaw, glanced at Miller, then at Esme and back to Miller. I gave a single, resolute nod.

  "Let's get started."

  Vincent's high pitched hyena laugh carried out of his office and, I was sure, down the hall to the offices of the other company executives and the area where our Executive Assistants worked. I didn't see what was so funny, but as I joined Vincent in his office for our afternoon taste, his laughter had risen from an amused chuckle to a brash, loud cackle.

  "So, to recap," he got out amid gusts of laughter. "You met this woman last week when you played Captain America. Come to find out, she's working with Miller? Boy, you don't have no kind of luck!"

  He slapped his knee and wheezed. I worried that he'd stopped breathing for a few moments. He pulled at his tie, loosening it at the neck while taking a healthy swig of Scotch.

  "Are you done?"

  "Sorry, sorry." He brought his glass to his lips and tipped it back while he tried to regain composure. "I'm trying to imagine you working with this woman who isn't your biggest fan to start with. Then having to update Saul when you tank this deal because she's got a vendetta against you."

  "It's not a vendetta," I argued, pointing with my glass. "It's a misunderstanding."

  "Mmmmm," he hummed while he sipped more liquor. "She didn't misunderstand that you thought you had turned on the charm, and instead, you turned on the hose."

  "Don't you have any work to do, Vincent?"

  "Your father asked me to keep an eye on you. I'm doing my job right now. We should have nipped this in the bud last week. Speaking of Saul, what are you going to tell him?"

  I got up and paced the space between Vincent's desk and the windows, squinting into the rays of the evening sunset. I'd come back to Pettigrew after my meeting with Esme and Miller and headed straight for Vincent's office to download the day's events.

  "I'm not going to tell him anything," I announced.

  "Not your best idea, Trey."

  "I'll tell him when we're about to file ownership papers. It'll be a funny story about a bump in the road."

  He turned, leaning forward and grasping the edge of his desk. "Trey…"

  "It's well and good for you to want to stress my father out, but I'm not going to do it. Not a word. He'll get worked up, and I'll never hear the end of it from my mother."

  Not to mention that he wasn't impressed by my heroics, claiming I'd stuck my nose in where it didn't belong instead of following orders. If he heard that last week's distraction was working to Miller's benefit, it might send him back to cardiology. After which, he would throw me off of the project, if not out of the company. And destroy any hope for my future.

  Chapter Seven

  Esme

  * * *

  "O'Neal, when you get out from under… or over… or… out of… dammit, when you're unentangled, call me! I have an update you will not believe. I hope you're having a good time!"

  SiriusXM Hot 100 tuned back in when I pressed the end key on the steering wheel. I was still giggling about my day. I had been prepared to work into the night, but soon after Thomas left us to our negotiation, Trey picked up his copy of the proposed agreement and said he'd take it to his office to read and make notes.

  "I'll be in touch," he said, before stalking from the room and down the hall. A few minutes later, Thomas came back.

  "Well. That was interesting." I relaxed, leaning back in the cool leather chair. "How do you gauge his reaction to the wrench you've thrown into the process?"

  "I knew he'd be unhappy. I don't know what the repercussions will be. He might pull out."

  "Hmmm…" I mused, thinking it over, then shaking my head. "He'd have given up already if he could."

  "You're right." Miller paused, then smiled, but he tried to tamp down his apparent joy. "Senior must still run the show from his sickbed."

  "I'd say that you should expect something underhanded, but you've already predicted that he'd try to go around you. Knowing that he can't go above you to buy out the company was the final blow."

  Thomas nodded, rubbing his bottom lip with his thumb, his forehead creased. "I hope you're right. I want this deal, but only if we do it the right way, which isn't the cheap way."

  "I agree." I closed the lid of my laptop and began gathering up notes, files, and supplies. "I expect Pettigrew to come back tomorrow with a marked-up document. And he'll be ready to fight."

  "Are you ready to fight?" Asked Thomas. "I watched that attack last week."

  "No worries, Mr. Miller," I assured him. "I'm fine and ready to fight."

  "Good. Very good." He nodded, then pumped his fist before walking out of the room.

  I had stopped at the neighborhood grocery, put away the food, and was putting together a homemade pizza when O'Neal returned my call from his hotel room in L.A. I waited until he left on a trip to do the grocery shopping, because while we split the grocery bill and shared food, O'Neal ate more in a day than I ate in a week and somehow stayed slim enough to rock the hell out of that Delta uniform.

  "Was he surprised? What did he say when he saw you? Were you nice to him, Es?"

  "I think it shocked him to see me. And I was very nice," I added. I sprinkled a few diced vegetables around a pre-made crust covered in sauce and a layer of cheese. " I was cordial. Polite. Businesslike."

  "You mean dry. You didn't give him anything to work with."

  "He said it was nice to see me again."

  "I told you that man was flirting with you. Was he nice to you?"

  "He was ok. I think he's used to getting his way, and Miller isn't rolling over."

  "Just remember... eventually, this deal will be over. Think about what comes after that and treat him accordingly. Don't kill the vibe."

  I laughed. "What vibe?"

  "The I need a man vibe!"

  I laughed again. "Technically, I don't need a man."

  "You're right. Technically you need dick."

  I opened the oven door and slid my pizza inside. I shut the door, then set the timer and settled onto a stool at the counter with a glass of Stella Rosa that I liked and didn't cost me $20.

  "You're talking like I'd let him get near me."

  "You don't have to date him, Esme. You just need him to do a job."

  "I don’t want to not d
ate him, either. I don't need a fuck buddy."

  "Why are you trying so hard to be difficult, Es?"

  "Why are you dictating who I should fuck? You've never thought twice about anything? You're just… fearless, out in these streets?"

  "Fearless, my ass. I'm a Black man in America. Fear is a feeling, and I don't live by it. I do what I want."

  "I'm never going to believe that you get scared, bungee jumper. Roller coaster rider. Airline attendant. You love giving up control and letting whatever happens happen. I can't live like that."

  "Because I don't see it as giving up control. Yeah, I get scared. And then I get over it. I get up and get on that plane every day, knowing it could be my last flight. I take control. I don't let fear keep me from a great job that I love. And the benefits I love more."

  His sinister cackle made me laugh.

  "By the way, I won't be over, under, inside my Italian Baddie until Wednesday. Tonight, I'll be with Roxane."

  "Who's Roxane?"

  "A honey I met on the leg from Houston to LA. She has a long layover, so we're going to… layover."

  "Well, damn, player. Is she cute?"

  "Puppies are cute. Kittens are cute. This girl? Nah, shit. This woman? She's got those Michelle Obama arms. You know what I mean?"

  "I tap out when you bring the forever First Lady into your sexcapades. So you're going out with Roxane tonight, then spending three days with what's her name in Milan?"

  "Giorgi is her name. But yeah, I'm kicking it with Roxane tonight. We're about to get something to eat. Before I get a bite to eat, know what I mean?"

  "O'Neal!" I scolded through laughter. "I'm telling your mother."

  "She don't wanna hear your gossip about her baby boy. But for real, though, Es. You don't have to jump out of an airplane or anything but decide that you're going to stop being scared of shit. Make it a goal, or a part of that intention setting thing you do. Make a list of things you need to stand up to before you turn forty. Find a way to live your life."

  “Eh. I will think about it."

  "Mmhmm. I feel you rolling your eyes at me through the phone line. I nag because I care."

  "Yeah, yeah," I responded, though I was rolling my eyes. "Love you. Fly safe and wear condoms."

  "Always, Cousin. Love you."

  We signed off, and I pulled the earbud from my ear. While waiting for the pizza to cook, I basked in the silence of the house since O'Neal was gone. He had been getting on me a lot lately about all the things I'd never done.

  I asked him to do so, but he didn't have to go that hard.

  I had never been to Six Flags over Georgia because I was afraid of roller coasters and heights.

  I didn't go to waterparks or the ocean because I couldn't swim. I couldn't swim because I was afraid to go underwater. O'Neal had even offered to take me on a buddy pass to an exotic locale of my choosing, but I couldn't muster up enough courage to get on an airplane.

  Ten things I've never done, I mused.

  I reached for a notepad near the phone and humored O'Neal and myself. I already knew what number one would be… so I started at ten.

  Twenty minutes later, I munched on pizza and went over my list.

  Then laughed at it, tore it off of the notepad, and shoved it into my pocket because that list would never see the light of day. When O'Neal was home next week, I would show him, and he'd be proud. I would pretend to be ready to knock some of them off. Then he would leave on another international flight, or he'd be occupied by another woman, and we would let the conversation fade into the atmosphere like always.

  After dinner, I put away my leftover pizza. I loaded my plate and wineglass into the dishwasher before heading upstairs. Aside from the usual creaks and moans of an old house, it was dark and quiet. Just how I loved it.

  I hit the second-floor landing and walked down the hall, touching each of the photos that my mother had left hanging on the walls. Portraits of my sisters, twins who were ten years older than I was, my parents, our extended family, including O'Neal and I were evenly spaced visual mementos of the Whitaker family.

  My parents had planned for one more child after my twin sisters, but despite trying for several years, nothing happened. As soon as they'd settled into parenting and had considered childbearing days to be over… oops.

  I could admit that I was a spoiled baby and an overprotected child. By the time I was old enough to want things, my sisters were old enough to indulge the baby. I played the baby of the family card expertly. I wasn't naturally adventurous, and they never pushed me to explore.

  Raising two children had taught my parents a few things. Namely, that they were tired. So the easier my life was, the easier their lives were. But working hard for things builds character and I learned early that the easiest way to not make mistakes was to not take risks.

  Which is how I had ended up with a ridiculous list of things I had never done and was too afraid to try.

  In the past few years, though, my life had changed. Encouraging my parents to sell their house to me, and the chain of convenience stores they owned to a conglomerate, then buy that RV they'd been eying for years, and take the tour of the country that they had always dreamt of taking were among the first steps.

  Soon after I bought the house and my parents set off on their cross-country adventure, I invited O'Neal to move in. He was always in the air, and it didn't make sense for him to have an apartment. And I wouldn't have to live in a big house by myself.

  I entered my bedroom, painted a sunny yellow that took up half of the second level of the house. The room used to be smaller, but once Jada and Jewel moved out, my parents had the second level remodeled, expanding the master bedroom. On one end, floor-to-ceiling bookcases and an old but so comfortable chair flanked a gas fireplace that I loved to curl up in and read. Much to O'Neal's annoyance, I was perfectly happy to spend a weekend in the corner of my bedroom, a fire over my shoulder and a book in my hands.

  The other side of the room housed furniture− bed, mirrored dresser, five-drawer bureau, TV stand, and a flat-screen TV. If I didn't have to leave my room to eat or go to work, I would live there. This also annoyed O'Neal, who was rarely home even if he was in town. If we weren't cousins and hadn't grown up together, I wasn't sure if we would even get along.

  I roared a loud yawn, pulling off clothes as I aimed for the bathroom. The folded list that had been my dinner entertainment popped out of the pocket of the jacket I'd worn that day. I picked it up, unfolded it, laughed at it again, and tossed it into my bag.

  Maybe I could stand to knock a few easy items off of the list.

  I reached into the shower and turned on the hot water, letting the room fill with warmth and steam before stepping under the pulsating shower head. Grabbing a bottle of my favorite gel, I lathered up a bath puff and, as was my habit during my evening shower, reviewed my day, mentally picking out the high marks as I scrubbed the day away.

  Trey's face, full of shock and surprise? A high.

  I rinsed off, pulling the shower head off of its holder to spray the suds from my legs and feet.

  My conversation with O'Neal bubbled up again, and his assumption that I would let Trey Pettigrew do anything to me, let alone share my first sexual experience, since I would sit on the opposite side of the negotiation table, standing between him and several million dollars. Sex would be the last thing on his mind.

  Well, it should be the last thing on his mind.

  I'd be lying if I said it was the last thing on mine.

  Damn you, O'Neal.

  I pushed away a nagging desire to see Trey outside of that windowless conference room for reasons that had nothing to do with work. It wasn't appropriate to imagine his muscular frame, his long face, his beard, those soulful eyes that seemed to say so much, even more than those lips that might feel nice as they moved down my neck, across my shoulders, down my body…

  I shook my head to clear it, but my overactive imagination did not obey the command. I pulsed at the mental
image of him kneeling before me, one of my legs hung over his shoulder, the soft curls of his beard tickling my inner thighs. I could almost feel the flutter of his lips against the delicate skin at my core, inching closer to where my heartbeat thumped a powerful rhythm.

  The power of the mind was… strong. My daydreams produced images and sounds, causing my body to convulse and a jolt to speed down my spine. My knees buckled so quickly that I reached out for something… anything to hold on to. I nearly pulled the wire shower caddy off of the wall.

  In a few moments, I regained my composure. When my lustful fog had cleared, my resolve had returned: Trey Pettigrew was, technically, the enemy.

  No matter how many orgasms my daydreams about him produced, I absolutely could not even entertain getting close to him.

  Chapter Eight

  Trey

  * * *

  Miller had thrown me for a loop.

  I wasn't ashamed to admit that. Not even out loud, as long as I was alone. I hadn't expected an additional person to be added to negotiate terms, let alone the warmth that washed over me when I walked into the room and got an eyeful of Esme.

  Esme with the halo of loose curls that had pulled from the bun she always wore.

  Esme with the deep brown, silky tone, and the long lashes, and the lips that pursed just so when she smirked at me in that way that said she knew she was under my skin.

  Esme, with those patently dangerous curves that carried the feather-light scent she wore.

  Esme… who was working with the enemy.

  Pops would surely lecture me about trusting people before they'd earned it, about not predicting a sideswipe. I thought we could settle up together, but Miller was more wily and agile than I'd taken him for. I wasn't Saul, who slept, ate, and breathed this business. Miller knew that.

  It didn't matter, though. I wasn't a fool, and I never made the same mistake twice.

  I returned to my regularly scheduled mornings— a Peloton ride while I watched the sunrise over Atlanta. Time spent reviewing the markets and business news while downing a mug of coffee. After a shower and stepping into a new suit and uncomfortable dress shoes, I arrived at Miller Design before the front doors were unlocked. I was punctual, and I had a point to prove. I could roll with this change, let Miller play this game, think he's winning, and still get what I wanted.