by Nia Arthurs
“My mother developed these hair products to help people in our community. I don’t know of any corporation who gives a flying butt crack about helping anything outside their own bank account.”
My lips twitch. “A flying what?”
“Cobie!” A voice cuts through the tension and draws both our gazes away.
An older woman with luminescent dark brown skin, a flared nose and wide, red-stained lips sashays toward us. Her long, floral skirt flips and dances with each step and she drags a teenager behind her.
Cobie lets out a frustrated breath. “That’s my next appointment.”
“Hello!” The woman smiles as she nears me. The air fills with the scent of spicy perfume. She stops and stares at my face. Her jaw drops. “Damn, boy. What soap opera did you escape from?”
Is that a compliment or an insult?
“Girl, this your new man?” Without missing a beat, the stranger wags a wrinkled finger in Cobie’s face. “Good for you. I’m sure you’ve been dry as the Sahara down there. You know what they say about the scrawny ones?” She winks and points to my pants. “It’s a lie. The muscled guys are the good time.”
Cobie cringes. “Ms. Shirley. Hi.” She checks her watch and, with the downward tilt of her head, brown curls feather her cheeks. “I didn’t expect you until later.”
“I know, but I’m taking care of my granddaughter for the week and I was hoping you could fit us both in.” She turns to me, dark eyes sparkling with mischief. “You sticking around, suga?”
“Me?” I point to my chest.
“He was just leaving.”
“Actually, you’re the most important meeting on my schedule. I don’t mind waiting so we can finish our conversation.” I look pointedly at Cobie. “If that’s okay with you?”
She smiles sweetly. “Of course.”
“Lovely. It’s been so long since I’ve seen a face like yours up close. Do you mind if I sit in your lap for a minute, suga? I just want to bounce around.”
Ew… lady…you’re old enough to be my grandma.
“Look!” Ms. Shirley barks out a laugh that sounds part hyena and part creaky door. “His cheeks got so red. Don’t tell me you’re that innocent.” She shakes her head with an intense look in her brown eyes. “Boy, if I was twenty-years younger, I’d be all over that. Mm-mm-mm.”
My gaze skitters away, landing on Ms. Shirley’s granddaughter who is currently smacking her forehead in shame.
Given that reaction, this isn’t her grandma’s first proposition nor will it be the last.
“I’ll just… sit over there.” I point to the sofa and try to escape from the loud woman as fast as I can.
“If you’re staying,” Cobie smirks, “I could use your help.”
“Help?”
“You wash your own hair, right, so you’re familiar with the general process?”
My gaze bounces around the room.
Where is she going with this?
Cobie crooks her finger, beckoning me with her glittering, brown eyes.
“Me?”
She nods.
The beckon. The moment of being chosen. It’s following the script of every dream I’ve had of her.
Except, instead of taking my hand so she can lead me behind the bleachers of our old high school, Cobie takes my hand and puts it on top of Ms. Shirley’s hair.
“Have fun,” she whispers evilly.
“How wonderful!” the old lady claps. “Are you taking care of me this afternoon, suga?”
I yank my hand back. “Cobie!”
“What?” She blinks thick lashes. “You’re welcome to leave if it’s too much.”
My Adam’s apple bobs. I turn back to the flirtatious grandma and grit my teeth. “Where’s the shampoo?”
“Over there.” Cobie points to the shelf lined with her natural-hair products. “And make sure you do a good job.”
I stare at her smile in fear. How can a woman hurl threats with such a sweet expression on her face?
Something’s wrong.
I’m one hundred percent sure Cobie’s not all there in the head.
Neither is her client.
“Come on, big guy.” Ms. Shirley caresses my wrist. “Let’s get wet.”
I shudder.
I have to close this deal. I have to close this deal.
Rigidly, I walk over to the shampoo and wait for further directions.
Cobie positions the granddaughter in the salon chair. She glances up when she’s good and ready and simply chucks her chin in the direction of the kitchen.
“This way, suga.” Ms. Shirley links her arm in mine and leads me like a sacrificial lamb to the slaughter.
There’s a special chair waiting in front of the sink. I take hold of the hose while Ms. Shirley gets seated and eagerly tilts her neck back.
Awkwardly, I turn on the faucet and rake the water over her forehead. Black curls streaked with grey grow limp and heavy. Taking the shampoo, I slather it over her scalp and try to remember how I got myself into this ridiculous situation.
“Oh, oh! That’ so good. Right there, baby. Deeper.” Eyes closed, Ms. Shirley trembles like she’s about to die.
I bite down on my bottom lip and keep going.
After all this humiliation, I’d be damned if I let Cobie Simmons go without her name on that blasted contract.
Chapter 3
Cobie
I’m surprised he stayed. If his pride and annoyance hadn’t kicked him out the door, Ms. Shirley’s inappropriate remarks should have had him running for the hills.
But Griffin is sticking it out.
In fact, he turns the tables and has us all panting when he rolls up the sleeves of his white shirt to prepare for the shampooing.
Time slows.
Light glows behind his back and a strong wind starts blowing out of nowhere. I swear.
Pretty sure, Ms. Shirley’s granddaughter snaps a photo.
I, for one, take an extra peek at Griffin’s strong forearms covered with dark hair that travels over his pale skin to blunt fingers.
My thighs tighten when I study those hands.
I’m a big hands kind of girl. I’ll admit it.
More drool dribbles from the corner of my mouth.
Ms. Shirley just about explodes.
Can anyone blame us? Someone that gorgeous shouldn’t be allowed to walk around sans an entourage and a couple beefy security guards.
Yet, Griffin’s here.
In my cramped studio apartment-slash-business space.
I’m not sure how I feel about that.
He’s enjoyable to look at and he’s lending me an extra hand, but something about him—I don’t know—it unsettles me.
Not in a creepy, Lifetime movie way.
It’s just… he looks at me like he knows me. Like we’ve met before. There’s a hint of familiarity in his voice and softness in his eyes when he speaks to me. It seems out of place for a business proposition between two strangers.
I’d put my life on the line to say I’d never met him before. If I’d passed a face like Griffin’s in the street, you’d best believe, I’d be doubling back to take a second look. Maybe even a picture.
It’s bothering me.
He’s bothering me. Why should a perfect stranger—who probably has a load of girls on speed dial—get under my skin like this?
“Cobie?” he calls for me.
I frown.
That’s another thing. The way he says my name, like it’s a delectable chocolate on the tip of his tongue. Like it’s something precious and rare and beautiful. Like he’s said it in the past, long before today.
“I think I’m done,” he adds, stepping away from Ms. Shirley. Water drips from his hands to the floor, licking at the pale skin I’d been eyeing since he folded his sleeves up.
I clear my throat. “Just a second.” Bending down, I grip the back of Melanie’s chair and whisper, “We’ll let that treatment sit and then I’ll add the conditioner.”
M
s. Shirley’s granddaughter nods shyly.
I stride to the kitchen a few steps away and analyze Griffin’s work. Ms. Shirley’s hair looks clean and free of suds and dandruff. I part her thick hair to see her scalp. With an approving nod, I say, “You did a good job.”
I watch his face light up, brown eyes dazzling me.
He’s proud of himself.
It’s puzzling. The cockiness I’d sensed when we first met… is that a front? Or am I just seeing things because he’s insanely hot and I want any reason to like him?
Pulling my lips in, I help Ms. Shirley out of the chair. “Let’s get you under the dryer for a few minutes.”
“Sure thing.” She presses two fingers to her mouth and blows Griffin a kiss. “That was the best I’ve ever had, suga.”
I cover my chuckle with a fisted hand.
Griffin takes it in stride and winks at her. “Same here.”
Ms. Shirley staggers a little.
Somehow we make it to the dryers while she’s half-conscious and love-struck. I put her under and return to Melanie. She’s popped ear buds into her ears and is playing a game on her phone.
After my first client’s chattiness, I’m glad to indulge in the silence. For a moment, all I hear is the whirr of the air dryer and the flip of the magazine in Ms. Shirley’s hands.
My mind trips into ‘the zone’. I’m focused on the texture of Melanie’s hair and the treatment it needs given her hair’s porosity and ability to retain moisture.
Eventually, something tears me out of that headspace.
A presence.
A manly fragrance.
The fine hair on the back of my neck stands to attention.
I look up and meet Griffin’s eyes in the reflection of the mirror. He’s standing behind me, close enough that I can feel his warmth but not totally penetrating my personal space.
There’s a curiosity in him that’s pure and sweet, which I find surprisingly alluring. His eyes shift from mine. He’s staring at Melanie’s hair like it’s an alien skull that’s been cracked open in a science lab.
In that moment, I realize he’s probably never seen a black woman’s hair up close and personal like this.
He clears his throat. “Is that… real?”
“Yup.” I nod and spritz some more water in the middle of Melanie’s head. “Do you see her texture? It’s looser and wavier in the middle but tighter at the back, so I’m going to stretch the bottom for more length. She’s a 4b/4c mix like her grandma.”
“What’s 4b?”
“It’s a natural hair term.” I section Melanie’s hair. It’s easier to manipulate than I expect which means she washed and detangled it before she came.
“I got that.” He looks at me, his eyelids hooded in an unintentional smolder. “What does it mean?”
My fingers stall in Melanie’s hair. Looking directly at Griffin is incredibly distracting. “Uh, Type Four hair in general is the ‘kinky’ texture. It means the curls are tighter than, say, a Spanish or white person’s. The 4b curl pattern is extremely coiled.”
“I didn’t know you had terms like that.”
“I can tell.” I study him from the corner of my eye. “How could you choose my conditioner as a product and not understand the intricacy of black hair?”
He backs away from me and I find I miss his presence.
Smoothing a hand down his tie, Griffin turns defensive. “According to statistics, women of color spend a disproportionate amount on hair and beauty than any other ethnic group. We’d be shooting ourselves in the foot if we didn’t find a product to offer this segment of the community.”
“So we’re nothing but an untapped cash cow to you?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“You didn’t have to.” I coat Melanie’s hair in my conditioner. “To black women, our hair is tied to more than just our style. Our identities, our history, it’s all wrapped up in these locks.”
Griffin blinks, taking me in silently.
He must think I’m nuts, but I don’t have the energy to care. I’ve climbed on my soap box and I’m not getting down until I’ve said my piece or the box breaks beneath me.
My voice rises with passion. “Our mamas told us our natural hair was ugly by insisting we burn it with hot combs. Society hammered in the point by only promoting black people with straight hair in their commercials. Kids were called all kinds of horrible names if they didn’t look like the women in the magazines and those girls never looked like us. We’re just starting to emerge from the brainwashing. People are only beginning to understand that they are beautiful, no matter what curl pattern they happen to have.”
“If that’s your message, then why are we here?”
My nostrils flare. “What does that mean?”
“There’s a world out there waiting to be changed, but you’re satisfied with only helping a handful. It seems counterproductive to me.”
My jaw drops and my voice cracks in disbelief. “Are you lecturing me right now?
“No. I’m just saying…” He shrugs. “I can’t pretend to understand what it means to be a black woman, but I know that if an opportunity presents itself to change the narrative, you should take it. Wallowing in the past will stroke your ego and make you feel special, but it won’t make a difference in anyone else’s life.”
I can’t believe he just said that.
Him, the privileged white male, scolding me about the impact I was making on my community?
I glare at him, struggling to catch the reigns of my temper that are slipping out of my control.
Freaking annoying, egotistical, pain in my…
The air dryer clicks off.
Ms. Shirley scrambles up, her eyes on us. “That damn thing was so loud I couldn’t hear what you were saying. What’s going on?”
Melanie pops her ear buds from her ears and glances up, her eyebrows shuttling high when she sees the way Griffin and I are staring holes into each other.
I ignore both of them. My entire body is on fire right now.
I’m so freaking pissed.
I’m so freaking turned on…
“Get the damn papers,” I bite out.
Long eyebrows hover of espresso-colored eyes. “Why?”
“Because I’m going to sign.”
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