by Willow Aster
She pouts. “But I want to get on the list for the condo.”
Is this woman for real?
“You’re already on the list. Jesus. You don’t have to sleep with me to get on the damn list. Is that what this is about?”
“No.” She shakes her head fervently. “I mean, I saw you last week when Tara showed me the building. You were walking in and she pointed you out, and I was salivating at the sight of you.”
I rub a hand down the back of my neck, feeling the need to get out of here quickly.
“Listen. No hard feelings. I wish you the best, and I’ll call you when we have an opening, all right?”
“Yeah, sure. Call me if you want to get a drink next week,” she says.
The girl is on send as my sister Pen likes to say. She doesn’t take anything in, she just keeps talking.
“I’ll call you when we have an opening in the building. We won’t be getting drinks again. Take care.” I knock on the bar before walking away.
The cool air engulfs me, and I suck in a long breath. Happy to be out of there.
That was by far the worst date I’ve had in a long time, and the highlight was a run-in with a certain vixen who hates me.
So much for ending my dry spell.
Chapter Four
Emma
I didn’t sleep well, because I was still reeling from my run-in with Spence. The man gets under my skin, and seeing him with that woman—it did things to me. She looked at him like she wanted to devour him, and I’ve been sick to my stomach ever since.
Which makes me hate him even more.
The man had some nerve coming over to “save me” like I was some sort of damsel in distress. It pissed me off and melted my heart all at the same time.
And I don’t do sappy melted heart crap.
Damn you, Spence Taylor.
And the way he looked in those dark jeans just angered me more. The way his muscles rippled against his white button-up. Disgusting. I hate the man. But when I think about those thighs and the way I wanted to run my hands down those thick...
“You look deep in thought,” Arwin says in his typical pervy voice. A senior partner at the law firm where I work, the man is a walking, talking HR violation.
My Uncle Jack, AKA Whack Jack, would lose his shit if he heard the way Arwin Swim, Senior Partner Extraordinaire, speaks to Mya and me. He asked me early on how it was going with Arwin and told me to let him know if I had any trouble. He didn’t specify what he meant by trouble, but I assured him I could take care of myself. I’ve never wanted him to feel like he has to babysit me.
Our office is located in Williamsburg, which means Mya and I can both walk to and from work. We intentionally chose apartments that were nearby, so we wouldn’t have to deal with the traffic in the city. And this is where I grew up, so it’s all familiar, which has made the move back home from Chicago easy.
“I’m always deep in thought. It comes with being an attorney, right?” I move away when I feel his breath on my neck.
He follows me into my office and I drop my briefcase on my desk. Why is he still here? I set my Starbucks cup down and look up.
“Did you need something?”
He drops to sit in the chair across from my desk and lifts his legs so they are resting on my desk.
Make yourself comfortable, you pretentious prick.
“So, I know you’re taking the lead on the Millington case, and seeing as I’m senior partner, I thought I’d allow you to benefit from my experience. How about drinks tonight?”
Did I mention that his creep factor is a solid ten?
The man is married with children, but he’s hit on both Mya and me several times since we’ve come on board. I don’t want to tell my Uncle Jack as it would turn into a big deal, and I like to handle my business on my own.
“Why wouldn’t we just meet here, seeing as we both work here?” I ask, but my heart is racing as I speak. Ignoring his advances has not made him back down, it’s only caused him to come on even stronger. More obvious. I’m used to guys backing down when I push back, but that hasn’t happened.
He’s stopped his gross, flirtatious ways with Mya because her boyfriend Jesse stops by with lunch or flowers often. But seeing as I am currently the lone single woman at the firm, he’s been turning all of his attention in my direction. Even Paige, our coworker who was maintaining single status alongside me, has met someone she’s all swoony over. Insert my massive eye roll here.
“I’m a busy man, Emma. I have my own cases. I scratch your back and you scratch mine.” He leans back in the chair and winks.
Winks.
I’m sure his back is hairy and disgusting if his ears are any indication, and the thought makes me want to hurl.
He is barking up the wrong damn tree.
“Ah, I see. What do you think Jack would say if he found out we were having drinks after work?” I ask, crossing my arms over my chest.
“I’ve had drinks with Jack and every partner at this firm outside of work.” He leans forward and pulls his legs down, studying me intently. “If you want to make partner someday, I recommend you don’t make waves. And if that means you do a little ass-kissing, then so be it. I’m here to help.” He leans closer. “I volunteer as tribute.” He snorts out a laugh fit for a pig while I stare at him.
I grip the edge of my desk with my fingers because the urge to kick him in the balls is strong, but I’ve also learned that part of making it in a male-dominated profession means not losing my cool. Not showing fear or anger.
I nod. “Thanks for that life lesson, Katniss. I already have plans tonight.”
“Hot date?” He smirks.
“Yep. I’m dating a big, arrogant hothead. He’s a very jealous man, if you know what I mean?” And now I wink at him. Two can play this game, asshole. “I don’t think he’d like me going out for drinks with a man after work.”
He smiles. “We’ll have to work around that. Call it a work dinner.”
Now we’re going to dinner?
“Hey,” my best friend says as she stands in the doorway. Her dark gaze bounces from the perv to me. “Did I miss a meeting?”
Arwin pushes to his feet. “Just a little catch-up. Let me know what night works for you, Emma.”
Just then, the music pauses over the speakers and the intercom crackles. It’s not the newest building on the block and one of the more grating aspects of office life, the Muzak and the static whenever an announcement is made. Miranda, the front desk receptionist, also likes to announce a few too many things.
Her voice comes through now, surprisingly clear. “Arwin … Swim to the front desk. Arwin … Swim to the front desk.”
Mya and I giggle and Arwin shoots us both a disgusted look. I’m totally bringing Miranda a box of doughnuts tomorrow for her genius inflection. Makes me laugh every damn time.
I roll my eyes so dramatically when he turns his back to me and exhale a breath I didn’t even realize I’d been holding once he’s out the door.
“What was that about?” Mya closes my office door and moves to sit in the chair that Merv the perv just vacated.
I wave my hand in front of my face. “Nothing. The man is just relentless.”
“You don’t think you should report it to Jack?”
“What? And risk looking like a woman who can’t handle myself? Do you think the male attorneys go to Jack when they’re being bothered by an employee?” I raise a brow and shrug.
“That makes no sense. You’re being harassed by a senior partner.”
I hold my finger to my lips and my eyes grow wide. “Shhhhh. I do not need any rescuing. Do you seriously not think I can handle that jackass?”
“You shouldn’t have to. You know you don’t always have to be so strong. You can ask for help every now and again.”
I chuckle. “Not happening. Did you tell Hot Hair you’re coming with me to Yaya’s tonight?” Hot Hair is the name I dubbed Mya’s sexy boyfriend, Jesse. Obviously I have a thing for nicknames, a
nd I’ve given all of the brothers one.
My grandmother, Wanda Kingsley, is one of my favorite people on the planet. She lives just a few blocks from the apartment that I grew up in, and we’ve always been very close. She is a strong old bird, her words not mine, and now that I’m living back in the city, I agreed to have dinner with her once a week. I’m dragging Mya along with me tonight because Yaya loves my best friend. She gave herself the name Yaya when I was born, because she thought Grandma was for old bats, again, her words not mine. I love spending time with her. She’s the only female role model I had growing up and the woman has my mad respect. My mother had a fall out with her parents long before I was born, so I’ve never met them. I tried to find them once, but my efforts led nowhere.
“Yep. You know I love my Yaya time. Jesse’s going with his brothers to Mean Mug for dinner and drinks.”
I groan. “Ugh. I saw that asshole Spence there last night. He was out with some hoochie who looked like she was charging by the hour.”
Mya cracks up. “I heard. She actually propositioned him for a threesome with James from the bar.”
I shook my head. “Nooooo. Old Solemn must have lost his shit. He doesn’t strike me as a threesome type of guy. I’ve seen that girl around. She needs to learn to read her audience. Spence is an alpha. No one is tying that man up and having their way with him.” I realize I’ve put a little too much thought into the annoying man and I quickly right my ways. “The girl is clearly clueless when it comes to men.”
Mya studies me. “Not everyone can read people quite like you, Ms. Kingsley.”
“It’s a gift.” I shrug, before taking a sip of my triple, venti, half sweet, non-fat, caramel macchiato. Yes, it’s a high maintenance order, but I know what I want, and I’m not afraid to ask for it.
Mya heads to her office, and I’m buried in work until it’s time to head to Yaya’s. I’m starving because I worked straight through lunch, and I’m thrilled when my best friend stands in my doorway and tells me it’s time to go.
I slip into my cream coat and grab my purse.
“What is she making tonight?” Mya asks. My grandmother is a fabulous cook, and I’m looking forward to a home-cooked meal.
“Pasta and garlic bread, and lots of red wine,” I say, as we both step onto the elevator.
Mya fills me in on the research she’s working on for my case, and we are knocking on Yaya’s door in no time.
“Hello, gorgeous,” my grandmother says when the door flings open.
The woman is as eccentric as one can get and she’s the funniest person I know. She gives Betty White a run for her money. There is no topic that’s off the table, and she’s not afraid to put you on the spot.
“Hey, Yaya. It smells so good, and I’m starving.” I slide off my coat, and Mya does the same.
Yaya hugs my best friend before turning to me. “You sure are. You’re skin and bones. What’s happening here?” She starts at my waist, squeezing every inch of me before rounding second base and cupping my breasts.
Welcome to my life.
“Yaya,” I shriek for dramatic effect because nothing else works with this woman. “Sto-o-op!”
She shakes her head and rubs her hands together. “I did not pass on my glorious breasts for you to let them shrivel up and die at the young age of twenty-six, my dear. We need to plump those ladies back up.”
I roll my eyes as Mya bellows out in laughter, and Yaya leads us to the table.
“My breasts are just fine, thank you.”
She has a large bowl of spaghetti and meatballs, a big green salad, and garlic bread set out. She leans over and fills each of our glasses with a hearty pour of her favorite Cabernet and drops down in her seat.
“Her breasts do garner her a lot of attention,” Mya says, egging on my crazy grandmother as I glare at her.
“Damn straight. My ladies landed me two husbands, God rest their souls,” she says, touching her forehead, her chest, and then each shoulder. Yaya hasn’t seen a church since Truman was in office, so we all know where I get my theatrics from.
“Your husbands are not dead, Yaya—they’re hiding.” I laugh so hard I have to dab at my eyes. “They’re both alive and well and living in the great state of New York.”
Mya and Yaya burst out laughing and I scoop a healthy portion of pasta onto my plate and bite into a piece of garlic bread.
The smell of basil and garlic fills the air, and I’m so content at the moment, I may just never leave. I’m with my two favorite girls and ready for the Yaya show.
“Well, Al was a drunk.” That’s my grandfather. He didn’t stick around to raise my father, and I’ve never met him. But I know he still lives in the city because my grandmother makes it a point to know where he is. “And then Benny, well, he should be dead after the beatdown he took with my wooden spatula. You know the one, little missy. I tapped your hiney with it a time or two when you tried to get fresh with your Yaya when you were young.” She’s full of P and V, piss and vinegar, another Yaya term. She’s never laid a hand on me, but God knows she threatened the infamous Benny beatdown spatula when I was young. I never met him either, because they were long finished by the time I was born.
“Did you really hit him?” Mya asks, eyes wide.
“You bet your hot boyfriend’s patootie I did. I found lipstick on his collar and that son of a biscuit maker admitted he’d been sleeping with Mrs. Wells in 2B. Yaya does not play when it comes to sharing her men. Wanderers be damned.”
Hysterical laughter fills the air, and I close my eyes and groan as the flavors burst in my mouth. “Damn, this is good.”
“Don’t you be groaning like a little horndog at my dinner table, Emma Rose. What’s going on with you? Do I need to have a talk with Jack about working you too hard?”
“Oh, my gosh, no. I’m not working too hard, I just had a busy day.”
“Back in my day, ladies didn’t even work. We took care of our families and our men, so I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t pleased as pudding that you two are out there paving the way for all women.”
“Thanks, Yaya. We try.” I chuckle.
“These ladies used to be my meal ticket.” She points to her boobs before looking down at her generous cleavage that’s impossible to miss in her vibrant silk caftan.
Like I said—eccentric.
“No more breast talk, please,” I say, as I dab my mouth with my napkin.
“There’s no shame in a woman’s body,” Yaya says.
“I agree. You rock the caftans, Yaya.” My best friend smiles at my grandmother and I brace myself, because she is in for one of Yaya’s favorite stories with that kind of flattery.
Nipplegate.
“Well, you know, I couldn’t always wear low-cut tops, because my ladies set up residence down by my waist like low hanging fruit.” She pauses and runs a hand over her chest before taking a sip of her wine, as if we didn’t know what she was referring to. “Yep, I took the girls down a few sizes and had them hauled up like those of a teenager in her prime. This is why I’ve always told Emma to sleep in a brassiere. You need to keep them high and tight for as long as you can.”
“So what did you do? You had them lifted?” Mya asks as if my grandmother is telling her that she cured cancer. She had a breast reduction and a lift, she didn’t get a robotic hand. She didn’t travel to the moon. But this is her claim to fame, and I do love hearing her tell the story.
“I sure did. I had them vacuumed out to a more reasonable size, you can see I’m still very well-endowed.” Yaya squeezes her tatas together to show off her impressive cleavage that looks more like an old man’s ass than a woman’s rack at the moment.
“They are plenty big,” Mya says and her cheeks flush pink. I don’t know if it’s because she’s on her second glass of wine, or if it’s because Yaya won’t stop flashing her voluptuous boobies in our faces. “Did it hurt?”
Here we go. She lives for this question.
“Is a frog’s ass watertight?”
she asks.
I lean back and take another sip of wine and prepare to enjoy the next bit of information that is sure to traumatize my bestie.
“I suppose so, or it would sink, right?” Mya asks, looking between me and Yaya. I love her for considering frog’s asses.
“Good to see all that money on college and law school hasn’t robbed you of your common sense. Yes, of course, it hurt. But it was worth it, even if it means I have to live with Louise Hightower’s nipples on my breasts for the rest of my life. I can’t complain. There are worse nipples in Brooklyn, although I would have preferred my own.”
Mya spews wine from her mouth and I fall back laughing before handing her my napkin. Her cheeks are bright red and her eyes are watering. I pat her back as she laughs hysterically.
“Who is Louise Hightower?”
Yaya is stone-faced and serious as ever. There is no joking around when it comes to Nipplegate.
“She’s the butcher’s wife. She was at the same surgeon’s office getting herself some big bosoms, because the woman was as flat as a pancake. Well, she got herself some big knockers the same day I had mine upgraded. And I came home with these perfectly round nipples. I knew Dr. Ross was going to take my nipples off while he completed his masterpiece, but I never thought there could be a nipple switch.” She shakes her head and shrugs. “Can’t say I mind them. They are very ... responsive.”
Mya has tears streaming down her face and I reach over for another helping of salad, because this is not anywhere close to my first time hearing about the amazing nipple switch-up with the butcher’s wife.
“I didn’t know they removed the nipples when they gave someone implants?” my logical bestie asks.
And she’d be correct. They do not. But there’s no convincing Yaya of this fact. A million internet searches and the woman won’t consider the idea that these are her own nipples simply trimmed down as Dr. Ross explained they would be.
“Does a bear shit in the woods, sweetheart? They can do whatever they want when you’re under. I think ole Dr. Ross got greedy and he overdid it. He had so many procedures that day it’s a miracle I didn’t come home with a penis for a nipple!”