The Never List

by DL White

  When I got inside, my phone, which I had left on the charging pad, lit up with text messages.

  Good luck, man. Haven't seen you this crazy over a woman in a long time. Get the deal done first. I'll cater the wedding, ha-ha.

  "Don't even play," I mumbled aloud. I set the phone back on the mat and headed to the shower, peeling off my clothing as I went.

  I already knew though… the first opportunity to get closer to Esme that presented itself, I'd likely take it. Damn the consequences.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Esme

  * * *

  I woke up tired. A good tired. A worn-out tired.

  I drove home in a horny fugue, pulled off all of my clothes and fell into bed. I drifted to sleep while watching one of my favorite Black romance movies, Love Jones, for the millionth time. I watched the action on the screen, in my mind flipping the scenario with Trey and me, that he showed up at my door like Darius showed up at Nina's place. That I let him smooth talk my boy shorts right off my body, then rode my vibe on the highest level while I imagined Trey taking me to places I've never been. Literally.

  The Roku screen saver lit the still-dark room with a purple glow. My sheets were rumpled around me, my nightshirt was bunched up around my hips, and my headscarf was on the floor next to the bed. Apparently, I had a fitful night of sleep.

  Naturally, my mind drifted to the evening before. And that man. And, being honest, his dick, which I hadn't stopped thinking about since it made its presence known. And since I was beginning to consider letting him get very close to me, very soon.

  Did Trey sleep naked? Did he let his erection fly free? Did he restrain himself with briefs? Boxers? Boxer briefs? Was he thinking about me, the muscles in his arms and chest rippling, his breath catching while stroking himself lazily in the bed? Or would he hop in the shower, breathlessly pumping to orgasm under the spray of water?

  More importantly, when I saw him today, would he act like last night was an anomaly? A one-off? That those kisses never happened, that we weren't vibrating off of each other's energy and that both of us decided to go home because if the situation were different, we'd have had sex?

  Or... were tempted and primed to have sex until he found out that I was a virgin. Then he'd pull back and beg off, insisting that we should just be friends because what grown ass man wanted to stumble through a virgin's first time?

  "Stop it," I mumbled aloud, tossing the light comforter back and rolling out of bed. "You're getting ahead of yourself."

  I paced myself through my usual morning routine: a few minutes of deep breathing and intention setting on the yoga mat, a shower, and a yogurt, berry and flaxseed smoothie.

  And then two chicken sausage links because that smoothie didn't do anything for me but keep me regular. I'd be chewing off my arm by 10 AM, and Trey was probably not taking me to breakfast two days in a row.

  I wondered if Trey could cook. He seemed to eat out a lot.

  I dressed with care in a rose gold, drape neck shell, pairing it with a black, asymmetrical hem skirt and a short blazer. I fastened the ankle straps around a pair of low heel sandals that showed off a pink pearl pedicure and still looked fresh and grabbed my bag.

  What was Trey wearing today? Did he take as much care in looking casually seductive as I had this morning? I liked him in blue. His undertone made him striking in shades of blue.

  I hopped in the car, fuming at myself because I didn't leave time to go to Brew Bar. I could be late, but I hated lectures on being late. Besides, I prided myself on being a professional, which included arriving on time. I'd have to make do with the hot brown water that they called coffee at Miller Design. At least they stocked flavored coffee creamer.

  Did Trey drink coffee? He never brought a travel mug or a to-go container with him. At breakfast, he'd had juice.

  I turned into the parking lot at Miller Design with a few minutes to spare. Trey's dark maroon Acadia was parked right up front, clear of the trees that dropped flowers and branches on the other cars. His truck was spotless down to the rims and gleamed with the shine of a recent wax.

  "Good morning, Jenny," I called, pulling open the front door and digging my security badge out of my bag. Trey wasn't in the lobby, as I'd expected him to be. "Is Mr. Pettigrew already here?"

  "Yes," she answered, angrily pounding keys while cutting her eyes at the closed door a few steps away from the front desk. "He must get here at a ridiculous time because he's always waiting when I pull up. Then he paces in front of the desk, back and forth and back again, and takes calls on speaker, and pounds on his laptop until you get here. Yesterday, I gave him dirty looks until he took his phone call outside."

  That made me want to laugh, but I stifled it.

  "So today," she continued, "I let him back there to sit in the room you usually work in. He had a bunch of stuff with him anyway. I told Thomas that he's driving me crazy, and if they decide to keep me when they take over, I want a raise for having to deal with him."

  "I'll see if I can work that into the deal," I told her, then swiped my badge across the reader. When it beeped, I pulled the door open and stepped through, waiting until it closed behind me to giggle.

  I was still chuckling to myself as I approached the conference room that Trey and I used for our discussions. The scent of something wonderful almost bowled me over as soon as I walked in.

  Two tall cups from Brew Bar were on the table, alongside a box of mini cappuccino muffins. Napkins, sugar, cream and stir sticks were piled on a short stack of small plates.

  Trey was in his usual spot, his head bowed over his tablet.

  I strode into the room toward the chair that I usually sat in. "You're wearing out your welcome with Jenny. She's threatening to demand a raise if you take her to Pettigrew."

  "The goal was to be enough of a pest to get me back here," he said, not looking up.

  "This is that only-child behavior that I was talking about." He didn't look up, but I did see his cheeks round with his smile. "Remember, she knows where the bones are buried. All the secrets of how the company really works. How the invoices get paid, who works the longest, the hardest—"

  "Alright, alright. Point made. I'll be good."

  "What's with coffee and muffins?"

  Trey looked up finally, pulled a pair of drug store readers from his eyes, then flipped the leather cover of the tablet closed. Even if they were for fashion, he looked great in glasses.

  "Yesterday, I noticed that you had coffee from Brew Bar. If I hit Peachtree on the way to Pettigrew, I pass them. I always wonder how their coffee tastes. Since you must like them—" He paused to level a questioning glance at me.

  When I nodded, he continued, gesturing toward the little feast on the table. "I decided to give it a shot. I didn't know what you'd like, so I got vanilla. Everybody likes vanilla. They had mini muffins on special, and the girl at the counter caught me in a good mood, so I grabbed a dozen."

  "A good mood," I crooned, reaching for one of the tall cups and a couple containers of cream. "Mr. Pettigrew is in a good mood today. So you're making this an easy Friday for me?"

  "See, your sarcasm is ruining this moment."

  I laughed. "This is very nice, Trey. Especially since I didn't get a chance to stop. I thought I would have to suffer through the coffee here."

  I glanced up, grimacing. I caught Trey doing the same.

  "That is not coffee," he said. His lips made the saddest but funniest downturn while he slowly shook his head. "That is…"

  "Hot brown water," I finished, laughing. "I wasn't sure if you drank coffee because I never see you with a cup."

  "In the morning before work. Any later than noon, and I'm up all night. Early on in our negotiations," he said, picking up the cup in front of him as he spoke, "I accepted coffee from Miller. Black, like I usually drink it at home."

  He shook his head. "Mistakes were made. I vowed to never drink the coffee here again."

  "Same," I said, using the stir stick to tur
n the brew into a creamy brown.

  "I typically only drink coffee at home. I'm not saying I'm a connoisseur or anything, though I order my beans online and grind them myself. Coffee shouldn't taste like broken dreams."

  "I have my beans ground at Kroger, but I agree." I took a sip from my cup and smiled. Perfect. "How do you like Brew Bar, then?"

  "Not bad," he answered, sipping too, pleased that I smiled. "Agreement is a good place to start the day, don't you think?"

  "Are we transitioning to work talk now?"

  "Not before I tell you that you are fine as hell today, head to toe. And yes, I caught the toes."

  I felt myself blush and dipped my head to hide the flush on my skin. "Thank you, Trey. But we should probably not talk—"

  "Did you think about me last night?"

  He lowered his voice to just above a whisper. Miller couldn't hear him if he was seated in the chair next to me.

  "After you went home to your cozy south Atlanta home, took off those tight ass jeans and that cute t-shirt, and that bra that must have cost a fortune because it had your titties sitting up just right, did you think about me? Did you wonder if I was thinking about you? Did you hope I was thinking about you?"

  "I—I don't know what—"

  "Because I thought about you. All of you, from the tightest curl on your head to those hips that rocked the beat with me last night, to the very last painted toe, have been on my mind nonstop. I thought about you all night. All morning."

  Either I was having a hot flash or it was the electricity in the room, but I was parched suddenly, and near breaking a sweat. Trey was barely audible, but my body heard him loud and clear. My thighs involuntarily clenched, and I prayed that the hardened nubs of my nipples weren't poking through my bra.

  "Trey, we cannot have this conversation right now," I told him when I had gathered myself enough to complete a sentence. "Definitely not here. We have a job to do. Thank you for the coffee and the muffins. Let's get to work. I have an appointment this afternoon, and I want to make some headway before then."

  "You're right."

  He pushed back from the table and picked up his tablet, sliding the cover off again. The face of the device lit up with activity.

  "Work conversation, boring chit chat. Safe. I get you but understand something, Esme Whitaker. I'm committed to getting this contract signed because when neither of us has an ethical obligation to stay away from each other, I plan to pursue the shit out of you. If you don't want that, I need you to let me know now."

  I cleared my throat, then cleared it again. Still parched. I reached into my bag to unpack my laptop, notebook, pens, highlighters and a well-worn, dog eared, marked up, and sticky note covered copy of the contract.

  "We really need to get to work, Trey. So we can get this deal done."

  "Is that your way of saying you'd welcome a pursuit?"

  My face blazed fire-hot, which was no match for my galloping heart and everything happening below my waist and in my head. I wanted this man to do more than pursue me. I wanted him to conquer me. To possess me. To make me his in a way that no man had ever done.

  "Yes. That's what that means."

  I swallowed hard, then sucked down a lungful of air. I gave this man the green light to come for me. Did he know how much of a head start he already had?

  "Which section would you like to work on today, Mr. Pettigrew? Several points are ripe for discussion."

  "We're back to that? You call me Mr. Pettigrew when you're—"

  Boldly, I flicked my eyes up to his. In the seconds that passed, I watched his facial expression morph from amusement to... something else. I hoped he caught the tendrils of smoky attraction that I tried to radiate across the table.

  Trey rolled his tongue across his teeth under closed lips and nodded. "I got you," he muttered quietly. Then at a normal volume, said, "Stock options. I think we're close to an agreement. I have a few notes that I'd like you to consider."

  I strolled into Jada's Beauty Boutique & Spa at three o'clock on the dot. I never needed an appointment—the perks of being related to the owner—but I always gave Jada a heads up that I was coming through. I'd texted her earlier that morning, and she'd responded, good because we need to talk. I wondered what that was about.

  "Aunt Esme!"

  Jada's daughter, Layah, squealed as she hurried around the reception desk to wrap her arms around my neck. She was tall and slim, already 5'10" at fifteen. She also reaped the benefits of being related to the owner. Her deep brown skin was flawless, her brows and lashes immaculate, and a fresh set of box braids cascaded down her back.

  I beamed. I hadn't expected to see one of my nieces today. "Hi, sweetheart. You have practice today?"

  I stepped back to eye her uniform of black knee-length shorts and a sleeveless t-shirt with the Atlanta Women's Hoops logo in the center. Hoops was a privately funded, city team that gave Layah more opportunities than the basketball team at John Lewis High. The city teams play year-round, not just in the winter, and play wasn't tied to her grades or attendance, though Jada wouldn't let Layah play unless she kept both in line.

  "Tonight. I told Mama I would help out this afternoon since we had an early dismissal."

  "Did you really have an early dismissal, or did you get bored and leave school?"

  Layah cringed. She had to know that I'd bring up that time my gifted and grown niece was so bored with the material being taught that she left school in the middle of the day. After that, Jada looked into switching her to advanced classes and put her in basketball—anything to occupy that enormous brain. Her brother, Courtney, was on the same path.

  "Why you gotta bring up old stuff, Aunt Esme? Let it go."

  "Because I'm your auntie, and it's my job." The phone trilled a ring throughout the airy, sunlit salon. I tapped Layah on the shoulder. "Get back to work. Where's your mom?"

  "Out on the patio," she said, before picking up the line and crisply delivering the standard greeting.

  I weaved through the salon, saying hello to Jada's long-time staff. Some were at their chairs creating art with hair, some were in the massage rooms working out stress, and some were at the nail bar. She ran a tight but fair and profitable ship, so she didn't lose staff often, and when she did, the seat didn't sit empty for long.

  At the back of the shop was the business office, the storage room where she kept her stock, and the break room, which housed two washers, one dryer and a full kitchen set up. She was open six days a week, so she liked the back office to feel like home. There were many nights that I'd bring dinner, and we'd sit in the kitchen together and eat.

  A set of French doors were propped open, white sheers fluttering in the afternoon breeze. I stepped out onto the stained wood deck that Jada's husband built behind the salon, turning an ugly, unusable concrete pad into usable space. Customers could wait up front or on the patio, grab a drink from the bar cart, and relax in the lounge area.

  "Yeah, she just got here. I'll tell her."

  Jada pulled her phone from her ear and watched me approach her spot at a patio table under an umbrella. A full glass and a plate of cheese and crackers sat in front of her, and she looked cozy casual in a grey Nike Sportswear shorts romper and sneakers.

  I grabbed the mason jar and took a sip, frowning as I set it back down in front of her. "Vodka lemonade before you put your hands in my hair?"

  A face that was more like mine than her twin returned my smile. "I always have a sip before I do your hair," she answered, flipping her own set of braids behind her shoulder. Hers had bubble gum pink hair weaved into the braids, and they looked amazing on her. Benning prohibited unnatural hair colors; otherwise, I'd be tempted to do the same.

  "Mmhmm," I hummed. "Does your husband know you got your thighs out?" I gave her flesh a meaty slap then dropped into the seat next to her. "Tell me what? Who was on the phone? Your sister?"

  I chuckled, reaching for two Ritz crackers from the sleeve she had opened.

  "You haven't ch
ecked into the family chat since you got on that Ferris Wheel. The people need the update, and you haven't delivered."

  "I lived, obviously." The buttery cracker melted in my mouth as I shrugged my shoulders. "I talked to you right after. What updates do the people need? And by the people, do you mean O'Neal, who hasn't answered any of my texts?"

  "Oh, he got on another leg from Milan to Dubai, I think? Somewhere far away with no cell service for a minute. He'll probably hit you when he gets to wherever. Or back home."

  "Weird how I live with him, and you know his schedule better than I do."

  "It wouldn't be weird if you checked WhatsApp ."

  I rolled my eyes and reached for my phone. I opened the app and scrolled. And scrolled. And scrolled. Random chit chat. Jewel was buying an air fryer. My mother was raving about Palm Springs— they'd pulled into the resort late the evening before and were settling in for the next few weeks. Jada asked about getting bubble gum out of towels. Kids loved to stick their gum in salon towels.

  "What am I looking for, Jada?"

  "Conversation! We just be talking in there."

  I closed the app and put the phone away. "I don't have time for conversation."

  "Don't even tell that lie. You have plenty of time for conversation between all those tv shows you watch and those books you read."

  "Well, I might not have free time like that for the next couple of weeks."

  Jada leaned back. Then leaned in again. "Is this a super casual way of updating me on the guy at work?"

  "Maybe." I shrugged. "Ask me where I was last night."

  "Where were you last night, Esme Whitaker?"

  "The rooftop at Ponce City Market."

  "The what?" Jada screeched. "You got on somebody's roof? After the Ferris wheel? Was Shonda Rhimes up there?"

  "Y'all are gonna stop picking on my love of Shonda Rhimes shows like you don't watch them too."