by DL White
I suppressed a sigh, turning to face her. "Hello, Missy. Sorry, I'm… busy."
"Mmhmm." Her lips formed a surly frown. "You always think your shit is more important than anyone else's."
"Are you serious right now, Missy? I'm actually working, and I'm here to see my boss. I don't have time to cater to you.”
"Fuck you, Trey!" She spit from across the room.
"No, fuck you!"
"Melissa! Trey!" My mother's sharp tone cut off whatever Missy had planned to say in response. "That's enough! You two do nothing but fight like cats and dogs, and I'm done with it! Trey, go talk to your father."
I left the room, escaping the heavy blanket of tension. Missy and I hadn't had a good conversation in a very long time. I recognized that, like my approach with Esme, I wielded certain personality characteristics like weapons. However, they didn't always serve me well. Once this mess with Miller was over, I vowed to make that therapy appointment that I'd been telling myself to make.
I turned into the study, rapping my knuckles on the open door. Pops lounged on a dark chocolate leather couch, feet up on an ottoman, the TV blaring SportsCenter. A loud burst of laughter ripped from his throat as he pointed at the television.
"That Stephen A. Smith is a fool. I tune in to watch him stick his foot in his mouth." Pops reached for the remote, muting the sound. "Hey, son. Didn't expect to see you. You saw your sister?"
I had to fight to not roll my eyes. That wouldn't go over well with Pops. "Yeah. We spoke."
"You spoke?" He chuckled. "Sounds like you picked a fight."
"Pops, I actually had something I needed to talk to you about. Can I pull up?"
He gestured toward the couch, but I opted for the chair opposite him, made of the same leather. Uneasy, I lowered myself into it, exhaling a long breath.
"Sounds heavy," Pops commented. "What's going on?"
"Well, what's going on is that uh… I'm not sure that the acquisition is going to move forward."
I watched his expression change, growing darker. He was seething inside, obviously holding back.
"Miller hasn't been forthcoming with the financial status of his company. Today, we ran the reports that I think we should have run on our own to protect our name and reputation. And it's a good thing we did. The outlook is not good."
"I'm not surprised. He was trying pretty hard to get me to buy his company. What are you getting at? He cooks his books?"
"I don't know that his books are cooked so much as the numbers that he provided to you at the beginning of this process are no longer current. He's deeply in debt, likely pretty far behind with no hope of catching up without an infusion of cash, but his stance during negotiation is…"
I shrugged, puzzled even as I said the words. "Pops, he acts like his business has an A rating and that it's worth millions. It's just not. He likely owes far more than he brings in—"
"Like I said, Son, what the hell do you think an acquisition is about? It's taking the best and leaving the rest. That's what I told you to do."
"I understand that, Pops. But the deal that you drew up with Miller is different from the deal he's presented me with. This new deal says we take everything. Income, liabilities, expenditures. Debt."
Pops paused. "How much debt?"
"Not sure yet. We need actuals, and no one answers the phone at the accounting firm he says represents him."
A line of confusion formed across his forehead. "How do you know that he's in debt if you don't have updated numbers?"
And now I had to come clean about the entire ordeal with Miller.
How, when I'd rescued Esme from being mugged, it threw a wrench into the process and changed the game. How, when she was introduced into the equation, it became more about getting Miller to bend my way than to close the acquisition. How, after getting to know Esme and feeling the spark of something real and meaningful for her, I dreamt up a plan to get Miller to agree to my terms. And when I expressed concern about the project, she'd offered to run the reports.
How, despite not wanting her to risk her job, she had done so, and revealed important information that I wouldn't have known until the papers were signed. And that she was likely now unemployed over her decision to help me.
Pops quietly fumed, breathing deeply and evenly as he listened. His jaw was tight, and his eyes cut at me at various points of the story, but he waited for me to finish, sit back against the soft leather and await his response.
"Just to be clear," he began, "I asked you to close the loop on a deal that should have been cut and dry. That's all I asked you to do. Correct?"
"Yeah, Pops, but—"
"That was a yes or no question," he said, his index finger in the air. "That's what I asked you to do, right? Just to be clear."
Yeah," I sighed, dejected. "Yes, Pops. That's what you asked."
"And then you decided to do your own thing and fucked it up!" The last three words roared at a decibel that I hadn't heard since before Pops' heart attack, and frankly, it scared the shit out of me.
Pops stood, so I stood too. He had a few pounds on me, and we weren't quite eye to eye, but I stood my ground.
"I asked you to do one thing, Trey. One thing! For the future of this company. You come to me with your hat in your hand about how you fucked it up, running after a woman! Am I supposed to be impressed? Am I supposed to be proud?"
My mother appeared in the doorway. Her jaw was set, and her lips curled.
I raised my hands in surrender. "I didn't— I told him what was going on and he—"
"Trey, why don't you go ahead and go?" My mother waved a hand toward me, gesturing me out of the room. "Let him calm down. Call tomorrow. Or… something."
"Mom, I can't just leave when things get uncomfortable. We have decisions to make."
"No, I have decisions to make!" Pops roared, moving toward me. "Vincent has decisions to make. You have no more decisions to make, Trey. You want to run your own division, but you couldn't complete this simple transaction, and now we have no chance at that bid."
He waved a hand in my face and turned away. "Trey, just go."
"Pops, I get it. You're pissed. But we need to—"
He turned on a heel and ended up back in my face. "Get. Out!" He bellowed.
Missy snaked around my mother, flew into the room, and grabbed my arm. "Let's go, Trey," she muttered under her breath, pulling me out of the door. "Give it a rest."
Stunned, I allowed myself to be escorted out, straight through the house to the front door. Behind us, I heard my mother talking to him, using calm, soothing tones.
By the time we made it to the front door, I had regained clear thought and yanked my arm from her grasp. "Why did you pull me out of there? I still need to talk—"
"You need to go home. Or to work. You need to let him think. You need to let him calm down. He can't make rational decisions in a heightened state. Ask me how I know."
I glared at Missy, but where I expected animosity, there was exhaustion and a knowing expression. Finally, I nodded and reached for the door handle.
"Fine. I guess I'll go wait for my punishment."
"Trey." Missy's voice stopped me, yet again. "You did the right thing. He doesn't see it yet but give it time."
An eyebrow rose. She smirked. "I'm nosy. So is Mom. We listened at the door."
She lifted her shoulders in a shrug. "I'm always jealous of how Pops has so much faith in you. He took you into the business and showed you the ropes and let you run his company while he was out. You can do what I can't, and no matter what he feels right now, I know he's proud of you. And I know we don't get along, but I'm proud of you, too."
She frowned, then. "Not that you care."
"Missy, don't… don't say that. I care. It's just that we—"
"No, it's fine, Trey. I honestly don't need well-meaning platitudes and I don't expect much more than I get from you. You're a dick," she said, adding a laugh that I knew she didn't mean, but it helped to lighten the mood. "But...i
n a little brother way. And you're the only person real enough to be a dick to me. You're never fake nice to me. Everyone puts on kid gloves like they're afraid I'm going to grab a knife and go at them. I'm not an ax murderer."
I almost laughed. Then I actually did laugh, because Missy burst into laughter.
"I guess I'm glad you can laugh about it."
"Gotta find joy somewhere, right?"
"Right. So..." I glanced around, noticing her Mini Cooper parked on the street in front of the house. I'd been so focused on talking to Pops that I hadn't noticed. "What are you doing out here, anyway? I thought you had like… therapy."
Missy shook her head slowly, sucking her teeth while she leaned against the doorjamb. "I live a whole life that you know nothing about, Trey. I got a job, actually. Mom was making dinner to celebrate. It's part-time, but it's work."
My jaw dropped. "What? For real?"
She grinned, nodding. She seemed proud. "The grifter got a job!"
Now I felt even more like shit. "Missy…"
"Whatever, it's fine. The place where I used to go to therapy needs someone to answer the phone and direct people. I can do that. My therapist recommended me. After he transferred me to another therapist."
"Transferred you." I folded my arms over my chest, suddenly protective, responding to a flare of emotion on her behalf. I remembered that the therapists at Brownwood moved her from therapy to therapy, doctor to doctor. "What's that about?"
"Oh, it's just a better therapist. A whole new routine and different meds and intensive treatment and weekly sessions. So far, it's working. When Pops had his heart attack, I got really, really scared. It must have changed something for me. It's sticking so far. So, I'm going to ride the wave."
"Good," I replied. "Really good for you. Stick with it, if it's working. If you need anything, you have my number. I know you have it because you send me to voicemail when I call you to come to help me with this yard."
She chuckled. "You might regret telling me to call you."
"Let me worry about that." I hugged her, probably for the first time in double-digit years. "Love you. I'm headed back to the office to see if Vincent has any ideas on what to do next."
Chapter Twenty-Five
Esme
* * *
"Yep. Let's do it."
I was covered in a smock in Jada's salon chair with the Beauty Boutique logo across the front, a towel catching drops of water from freshly washed hair. I gave her a confident nod in the mirror, though I was still very close to changing my mind about dying my hair.
"Wait, do you think I shouldn't?"
"Honey, it's up to you," she said, holding a container of purple-tinted wax. "It don't matter a bit what I think."
"You've been trying to get me to dye my hair forever. Now I want you to, but you're hesitant. Am I too old for purple hair?"
I scrutinized my face for signs of old age—crow's feet, wrinkles, a dull pallor— knowing full well that I would not find them. I had the supple, flawless, youthful skin of a woman with an expensive skincare regimen and, like my mother and sisters, would continue looking young far longer than I would ever appear old.
"I am over fifty with pink hair, so I'm not hearing that, but you marched in here bright and early and demanded that I dye your hair purple. Right after you marched in here, talking about Ferris wheels and dancing on rooftops. I'm checking that you haven't lost your damn mind."
She had a point. I was acting a little crazy lately. "Jada, I'm good. Promise. I want to do it. It'll be cute. I think."
"Will your man like it? That is the question."
"Mmmmm. Good thought. If I had one, I'd ask him."
Jada's jaw dropped. She screwed the container open and dropped the cap on the counter in front of me. "What happened to Trey? Did you tell him about—"
"No," I said, cutting her off. "I haven't told him. And nothing happened to Trey. He isn't my man."
"Did you or did you not roll up to the house at sunrise after being with him all night? He said he wanted to pursue you. Sounds like serious pursuit to me."
"I did do that. And Trey did say that. It's probably still true, but nothing is official, and I don't want to get caught up. Anyway, we're not at a point where I'm not going to dye my hair purple because he might not like it."
I craned my neck around so I could see her face. "Do you care if Joe likes your hair?"
"Joe is obsessed with me. He likes everything." She shrugged, then grinned.
"You two make me sick." I turned around again. "The color of my hair doesn't matter anymore, so let's do it."
"So, yeah. Let's talk about you quitting your job, young lady. What the hell is going on over at Benning?"
While Jada worked the wax through my towel-dried hair, I gave her the rundown on the last few weeks with Benning, Miller Design, and Pettigrew, including the enormous reveal that Miller was probably hiding debt and trying to get Pettigrew to buy his company before they found it. I hadn't heard from Trey since he sent me a text late the evening before. His conversation with Saul didn't go well, and he'd been talking with Vincent most of the night.
My heart grew heavy reading those words. I sent him back some encouragement, but he didn't respond. I'd hoped that his father would understand that he had Pettigrew's best interests in mind and that it wasn't that he couldn't or wouldn't close the deal.
I also couldn't help thinking that there was no longer a barrier between Trey and I growing our relationship, a thought that both exhilarated and terrified me. Trey was different from the men I'd dated before. I got past the second date before he demanded sex and didn't act put out when I could have given in and didn't. Instead, we made it work, openly showing affection and exploring each other in the best way possible.
I didn't want to scare him off with my feelings. Or the assumed meaning assigned to my virginity. I wasn't presenting him with a precious gift. I didn't want my time wasted, and I wanted my first time to be enjoyable for both of us. I had a feeling that Trey could give me the experience of a lifetime that I'd been purposely waiting for.
"You know Ethan is a dick, been a dick, always gonna be a dick," I told Jada, rounding out the story. "I am fine with using my savings so that I never have to look that man in the face again. I'm honestly more worried about Trey."
"His family is rich. What are you worried about him for?"
"He said his dad is pissed that the deal didn't go through. I know he feels bad that he let his father down. And he needed this deal for his dad to let him do some other things with Pettigrew. That's pretty much dead now."
"What, like to prove himself? It's not like his father will fire him. Right?"
"I don't know Saul at all. Trey paints him as a tyrant that is benevolent when he wants to be. I'm sure Saul is upset, but did he really want Trey to blindly sign those papers and commit Pettigrew to a ton of potential debt?"
"Probably not. Maybe he needs to regroup. Tell me that you love this purple so far."
Jada had pulled the tinted wax through half of my hair. I tossed my head from side to side, watching the tint catch the light. Ethan would lose his mind if he saw me.
And, in fact, he might.
I'd typed up and emailed my letter of resignation, effective immediately, then turned off my business mobile phone and powered down the laptop. I still had to go to Benning and clean out my cubicle. On my way home from the salon, I would drop off the company assets, clean out my workspace, and happily never set foot in that place again.
"It's amazing," I said, swooning. "I love it! What do you think, Jada?"
She stepped back, nodding and smiling while looking at it from all angles. "It suits you. You're giving me Justine Skye vibes. You know her? Layah listens to her. Young sangin' gal."
"Yeah, with the purple hair. She's why I wanted to try it."
"Ooh, hang on a second, Es." Jada left and came back with a jar of bright pink wax. "What do you think about mixing some pink in there? Maybe on the bottom, a little in
the front, give it an hombre look?”
I shrugged. "I can do what I want, and this stuff washes out in a few days, right?"
"Sure does." She unscrewed the lid, scooped wax into her hands, and began to work it through sections of my hair. "So, you haven't talked to Trey about… you know. The conversation y'all need to have?"
"Not yet. But I have to do it soon. Since there's no contract holding us up, his expectation is going to ramp up. He hasn't been pushing, but now there's no reason to say no if he does. And if he doesn't push, I will. I don't know how much longer I can hold out."
I felt my phone vibrate in my pocket, so I dug it out to check the screen. The way I smiled when I saw his name, and my shoulders relaxed the tiniest bit? You in trouble, girl.
Trey Pettigrew: Hey, girl. How you doin'? So sorry for the radio silence. Been crazy over here. You good?
I'm good, I typed back. You?
Trey Pettigrew: Rough. I'm struggling. I know it's late notice, but are you free tonight? I need to see you.
A few short weeks ago, I would have had to check my show schedules to see what was airing that night. Then I'd have to decide if I wanted to watch it live and decline an invite, or if the company was good enough to watch it back on DVR. My, how times change.
Yes. What did you have in mind?
Trey Pettigrew: Honestly, I'm exhausted and stressed. Feeling down. Those lips of yours would make me feel better.
Trey Pettigrew: Need to rub on your booty and tell you that you're pretty.
That made me laugh so hard I almost dropped the phone.
That would make you feel better?
Trey Pettigrew: Almost immediately. Please?
Come over. I'll cook. You'll chill.
Trey Pettigrew: Bet. What time is good for you? What can I bring?
7? Let me know you're on the way. Just bring that booty so I can rub on yours too :)
Trey Pettigrew: Ain't gotta tell me twice. Text you later.
"Speaking of not being able to hold out, somebody finessed an invite to Netflix & Chill."