by DL White
"Then I'm not the only one whose ass is on the line," I responded. "Real talk? I've been at Benning M&A for over ten years, but I had to almost sue to get the promised raise and promotion after I got my MBA. Ethan is pissed that they had to promote me. This assignment…"
I wrinkled my nose. "It stinks. I don't mean that it's terrible, but… something's off. Maybe they hope I'll fail so they have a reason to get rid of the troublemaker? If this deal tanks and they don't fire me, I doubt I'll be seeing any more negotiations. They'll kick me back to pushing paper in the same tiny cube on the low rent end of the floor."
I paused to breathe. And collect myself. Had I said all of that out loud? To a man that I didn't even know?
"Anyway…" I sighed, folding my arms and leaning onto the table. "I can't walk away either, Trey."
"So we understand each other. I've got an idea for how we can make this mutually beneficial. I make sure you win. You make sure I win."
I let my head tilt a little, to let him know I was suspicious. But I was also curious, so I nodded, prepared to listen. "If it means that you'll pull out that yes you have in your pocket, I'm interested."
"Good. I don't want to get down to brass tacks in here, though." Trey glanced around the room, frowning at everything from the décor to the built-in screen to the plain slate grey table. "This room bugs the shit out of me. How do I know Miller isn't watching and listening?"
I tensed and sat up straight. Right. How did we know that he wasn't watching this entire exchange and monitoring the progress from some secret lair like a cartoon villain? Then I told myself that it was silly. This was a design firm. But still…
"Where do you suggest we talk? In the parking lot?"
"How about neutral territory?"
"Such as?"
"Do you trust me?"
Chapter Twelve
Trey
* * *
It took little arm twisting to get Esme to take a ride with me. Truthfully, I was hungry, I hated that room, and I hadn't prepared what I was going to say yet. I needed the extra time to gather my thoughts.
"Order whatever you like," I told her as soon as the hostess seated us at a small table in the corner of J. Christopher's, a casual breakfast and lunch diner with locations around the city. I'd frequented all of them. "You eat breakfast, right?"
"Yes, I eat breakfast." She glared, picking up the laminated, oblong menu. "Although, I'm more of a Ria's Bluebird kind of girl."
I knew the place. Ria's was the type of spot where you could get a stack of pancakes the size of your head with a side of eggs, bacon, and a hot buttermilk biscuit with fresh homemade jam for under ten dollars.
"Consider it an adventure. I'm starving, which is unusual for this time of day, but I eat when my body asks for food."
I watched Esme in my peripheral vision. She studied the menu section by section, item by item. Meticulous, this woman. She scrutinized the menu like it was a contract.
"I've had everything here. The food's good, that's why I come here a lot. What are you in the mood for?"
"Uhm…" She laid the menu down on the table and lowered her hands to her lap. "Honestly, I'm out of my element. I'm wondering why we are ordering breakfast instead of working. Miller is paying a pretty penny for my time—"
"Don't worry about Miller's pennies or your timesheet. If this deal goes through, his bills become my problem. And it's my goal to make this deal go through."
A slim woman stopped at our table, a brown apron bearing the restaurant's logo tied around her waist. "Did y'all have time to check out the menu?" She asked, a southern twang accenting her husky tone.
I glanced at Esme. She shook her head. "I'm not hungry. But go ahead and order."
"Can I get you some coffee?" Asked the waitress. Esme nodded. I placed my order for a breakfast skillet with steak, eggs, fried potatoes and a glass of orange juice.
She rolled her lips inward, then took a slow look around the homely, country-style restaurant. It wasn't much to look at, but I ate at J. Christopher's for the food.
"Tell me why we're here, Trey."
"I will. First, though, let's talk about that piece of paper that fell out of your bag the other night when you left the office."
She chuckled, appearing calm, but I caught the slight dip of her head and tensing of her shoulders before she forced them back to natural position. "What about it?"
"Is it a list of stuff you want to do? Like a bucket list?"
"Bucket lists are morbid. But… similar. It's a Never list. Things I've never done. I want to make a huge dent in that list before I turn forty next month. What's it to you?"
"What's it to you? You're defensive and evasive about it."
"You're unusually curious about something that isn't your business."
"True," I acknowledged. "But it is important to you. Am I correct?"
After a beat, Esme nodded. "You are correct. So?"
"Why do you have a list of things you've never done that you need to?"
"It's a long story."
"I love a long story. I've got nothing but time. I'm waiting for my breakfast."
"Trey…" She sighed, thrusting herself back against the chair and rolling her eyes to the ceiling, dramatically. "Maybe I don't want to talk about it with a stranger."
"I've spent more time with you than I've spent with my mother this week. We are not strangers."
"I'll be more succinct. I don't want to talk about this with you."
"Ahhh." I nodded. "Now we're speaking truth. What if I say that I'm interested in helping you clear up that list?"
Esme froze. The temperature between us, which had been rising to a comfortable level, dropped like a rock. "You're interested in… what?"
"You heard me. Let's knock some items off of your list."
Esme tried to speak, but her lips flapped; no sound came out. When her eyes rose to mine, they were blazing, her bottom lip trembling.
"Uhm…I was just starting to like you, so please tell me that this isn't your cute way of offering to fuck me so I'll give in to all of your concessions on this contract. Tell me that, Trey, so I don't have to beat you upside the head with my damn purse."
My brain flurried with thoughts, rolling my words back to me, analyzing each syllable. I hadn't said that at all.
"Uhm, I was starting to like you too, so ok. This isn't my cute way of offering that. Why would you assume that was what I meant?"
"You said you'd like to help me knock some items off my list."
"Yeah. So... you think I'm the type of person to ask for sex to get what I want? This… this is what you think I'm about?"
"You saw the list, Trey!"
"I saw two lines. You threw your little tantrum and snatched it back before I could see more. What's on that list?"
"None of your business!" She snarled.
Gratefully, the waitress took that moment to bring Esme a ceramic mug and poured a steaming cup of coffee. She rambled about the progress on my breakfast skillet, either not catching the thick blanket of tension over the table, or not caring about it before leaving packets of cream and sugar and bouncing away.
"Look, I apologize," I blurted. "I didn't mean to insinuate that you should sleep with me for contract concessions. That wasn't what I was trying to say."
"What were you trying to say then, Trey?"
"I was trying to say that maybe we can help each other out. For every item that I help you cross off of your list, you help me cross off one of mine. I need Miller to do some serious retooling of his proposal. He's in his feelings about his company, and his numbers don't make good business sense. You have his ear. He trusts you."
"And you think that helping me clear my list will mean so much to me that I'll walk into Miller's office and fight for what you want?"
"Not in so many words. But if he budges even a little bit on half of the items that I need him to revise, I'll consider it a victory."
"This sounds very close to unethical, Trey."
&nbs
p; Esme stirred cream and sugar into the dark brew and lifted the mug to thick, deep red lips. She sipped, then smiled, hummed a beautiful tone from the bottom of her throat, and sipped again.
"I know it sounds unseemly, and I don't mean it to be. I wanted it to be more of an incentive. A little give and take. Some back scratching. I'm not asking you for sexual favors."
She didn't say another word for a few minutes. Sat there and sipped coffee and stared at the empty sweetener packets next to her mug of coffee. There's no way she didn't hear me, so I didn't repeat the statement.
She ended the long pause by asking, "Why does it even matter to you?"
"Being honest? If it wasn't a big deal, you'd have told me to throw it away. You almost beat my ass to get it back. It matters to me because it matters to you. And I'm hoping that if I help you with this, that you'll —"
"Help you with this contract," she finished.
I nodded. Then leaned back as the waitress arrived to set a sizzling dish in front of me. The scent of a medium rare steak, crisp potatoes, toast, and two fried eggs wafted from the mini cast iron skillet, making my stomach rumble.
"Are you sure you're not hungry? I don't fuck with toast. You want mine?"
Without a word, she took the toast halves and laid them on a saucer, then poked through the container on the table for toppings. She chose strawberry jam and a pack of peanut butter, spreading one on each half.
"Let's say that I feel like risking my job to help you. How would it work?"
"I hadn't thought that through," I said, wielding a steak knife to slice my steak off of the bone. "But I'm serious about the reciprocity. I do something for you. You do something for me. If you feel weird about that, or it's not going to work, we can call it off now and go back to fighting each other in that conference room."
"That does not sound appealing." She bit off a piece of toast with peanut butter spread.
"Tell you what," I began, spearing a slice of steak and scooping a potato wedge with the edge of the fork. "Let's try a couple. One. See how it goes, all the way through. If you're not going to be able to change Miller's mind, it's a waste of my time and yours."
"Well, not mine." She smiled, holding the second half of her toast slice aloft. "I intend to clear that list, with or without you."
My brows shot up. "Go-getter, huh? Felt the need to remind yourself of all the life you haven't lived yet?"
Esme's smile was sneaky and small, but it was there. I ached to pry, but resisted, reminding myself that she didn't respond to aggression. I had to let her meet me in the middle.
After a few bites of toast from her and thoughtful chewing from me, she answered. "I wrote the list to humor my cousin, who thinks I haven't lived enough. I planned to bullshit through some of them, then let it go because my cousin is flighty. He'll forget. But the more I think about it?"
She bobbed her head side to side. "The more I feel like I need to do what I said I would do."
"So we'll give it a shot? See how it goes?"
"Sure." She popped the rest of the toast into her mouth and chewed, then washed it down with coffee. "It's worth a test run, at least."
"Good." I speared another slice of steak, then potato and paused before taking a bit. "Then the next question is… what do you want to tackle first?"
Chapter Thirteen
Esme
* * *
"Esme, wait! Back up! You are where? Doing what?!"
Jada had never been able to keep alarm out of her voice. If something bothered her, she couldn't hide it. Both of my sisters were tall, over 6 feet in heels. Both were an average size 14, and bottom-heavy like our mother. Both were chestnut toned women with pointy chins, chiseled cheekbones, and large, expressive brown eyes.
That was where the similarities between my twin sisters ended.
Jewel, the firstborn, was the cool, calm, and collected twin. She liked the blues end of Rhythm & Blues, the dulcet tones of smooth jazz. If Jewel showed an emotion other than irritation, shit was serious. Jada was younger by nine minutes, and it showed. She was excitable, sensitive, and emotional. She liked Drake and Tamia, but also Three 6 Mafia and JCole, and was very much an empath, as evidenced by the high pitch of her voice through the phone.
I was the one about to face one of my fears. I needed her to keep it together.
My phone had buzzed in my bag as we left J. Christopher's, but Trey and I were talking. Chatting, as if we were friends who got along, had gotten along the entire time we'd known each other, instead of snapping at one another. I didn't want to cut off the conversation or be rude as we rode into town. And, if it was Miller calling, I didn't want to talk to him, considering I'd just agreed to conspire against him.
Before I climbed out of the truck, I pulled the phone from my bag to peek at my messages, almost wincing with the expectation of a glut of missed calls and messages from Miller, but… nope. He must be used to employees dipping out for hours at a time.
Instead, it was Jada that had called, probably out of worry about the incident from last week. There was likely a mess of punctuated messages in the family WhatsApp group that I shared with my sisters and O'Neal, separate from the WhatsApp group we shared with my parents. Some things were not for the eyes of Jonas and Carol Whitaker.
Jada had left a message, demanding an immediate callback. She needed to hear your voice, to talk to you to know that you were ok. I dialed her back, and she asked where I was because it sounded like a carnival in the background.
"Funny you should say that. I uhm… I'm downtown. About to go on the Ferris wheel."
My eyes skimmed the parking lot, focusing on the mid-sized crowd milling around downtown Atlanta; some headed toward Centennial Park, some toward the Georgia Aquarium and the World of Coca-Cola. Most people, however, were gathered in the ticket line for the main attraction.
My eyes floated up toward the gigantic wheel in the middle of Skyview Park and the focal point of the area, especially at night when every light was illuminated. Every day when I drove past it, I entertained an irrational fear that it would somehow break free from its base and roll toward me, crushing me in the car.
I was about to break my personal rule of keeping one foot on the ground at all times.
O'Neal would have been so proud of me if I could reach him to tell him. He hadn't checked into the WhatsApp group since he left on his trip, and his phone was going straight to voicemail. Knowing my cousin, he was somewhere drinking Prosecco while being manscaped in an Italian spa. I was almost jealous.
"Hear me out," Jada was saying. "You got punched in the head last week, and now you're at the Ferris wheel, an object that makes you shake with fear. Tap one time if you're being held hostage."
I laughed because if I didn't, I might cry. "I'm fine. I promise. But I am about to get on this wheel."
"Are you sure you don't have a concussion? Brain damage? O'Neal said you didn't go to the doctor or anything. Who's the President of the United States?"
"Bill Clinton." I snickered.
"Esme!"
"Barack Obama is my forever president. I told you, I'm fine."
"You cannot be fine if you're about to get on that Ferris wheel! You hate things that leave the ground."
"I'm just, you know, being adventurous, I guess."
"Adventurous? All those times that we tried to take you on rides, and you screamed like we were trying to murder you? Now you're being adventurous?"
Trey was approaching, tickets in hand. He'd gone to pay for admission while I stowed my purse in the trunk. I wished I could have changed into flat shoes, but my Sam Edelman pumps would have to do.
"Hey, I've got to go. I'll call you later to let you know I'm alive."
I hung up before Jada could reply as Trey reached me. He'd been looking at me funny all day, like he wanted to ask questions but refused to do so. I expected him to pry into my business, but he didn't.
I shoved the phone into a side pocket of my bag, then pushed it back into the corner of the
otherwise empty trunk. I stepped back while Trey fished his key fob from his pocket and pressed a button. The trunk closed, then latch on its own. He pressed another button, and the muted click let us know that the vehicle was now locked.
"Ready for this?" He asked.
"As I'll ever be, I guess."
We walked a few paces to the end of the line to get on the Ferris wheel. There weren't many people in front of us, and it was a nice afternoon, so the wait wasn't altogether unpleasant. It wasn't what I thought I would be doing with my afternoon.
We both stood, awkwardly glancing at one another. Like I did whenever I was nervous, I launched into inane small talk.
"Nice day," I lobbed.
"Mmmhmm," he responded, with a single nod.
"Seems to be warming up. Might be a nice day, not too hot."
"Might be."
He did not want to talk. So I didn't want to talk either.
But I was nervous, so I needed to talk, or sing or dance or take my mind off of the constant chant of what the fuck am I even doing?
"I'm a little surprised I haven't heard from Miller. Aren't you?"
"No," He replied, super casual and quiet. He stared ahead of him, eyes trained on some object in the distance.
"No?" I glanced up at him, using one of my hands to block the sun so I could see him. "Why not?"
"Because I told him we'd be offsite today. I told you not to worry about Miller's pennies." He glanced over at me. And smiled. "Or your time. You're about to earn your paycheck."
I groaned, my eyes catching the slow movement of the big white wheel with the enclosed gondola baskets that didn't look so sturdy. I was sure a person could fell out of one.
"Hey, I didn't mean to scare you." Trey grabbed one of my hands and tucked it into his elbow. "I'm sorry. I should be more considerate."