by Xyla Turner
Fuck him.
Fuck both of them.
Fuck them all.
3
Jonah West
Three years later.
The hustle and bustle of Manhattan always fueled the competition in me. As I walked down the busy lower east-side streets, I took in all the sights of people, traffic and the fast-pace atmosphere. It also smelled of opportunity and, of course, taxi fumes. However, opportunity was the loudest. Besides the high-pitched woman on my arm, Brooke, a chick I had been seeing. She was talking about some business deal she hammered out, and a lack of pride was not something I could drum up for the shark. She was a cold one. She loved the smell of blood in the water and was very calculating. I guess her father was to blame, but she was a woman after his own heart. Seriously, the fucking woman was more ruthless than me. I was an investor, yeah, but she was the complete opposite. She got off on how to rip people and companies apart.
Still, opportunity was in the air. I could smell it, hell, just reach out and touch it, as it seemed so near my grasp. That was how I survived or even made it. I trusted my gut. I went with my intuition and I won every time. Well, except for this woman on my arm. That wasn’t intuition; that was my fucking dick and thinking I wanted a strong woman. I actually did want a strong woman, but not a man too. I wanted a woman that was independent in her own right, but who had room for me to be a man in the relationship, outside of the bed. I swear, if Brooke could, she might try to flip me over and fuck me. If I was into that shit, I would not be surprised if she wouldn’t try it.
BOOM.
Someone hit me.
“Fucking Manhattan streets,” I cursed.
“Damn, watch it,” I heard a familiar voice. “People are walking.”
New Yorkers, I thought as I turned around to realize that I just was bumped harder than I should have been. I saw hazel eyes, glaring at me on the busy street. I swear though, time, space, and the rotations around this great sun stopped as we stared at each other. It was Dakota Bowers, living and breathing. When recognition hit her, that glare turned into surprise, then back to a grimace.
“Dakota,” I called.
I think she growled, but who knew in the craziness of New York. It was probably a dog.
“How…” I took a step closer. “How are you doing?”
I found myself moving towards her, despite something pulling me back. Turning, I saw it was Brooke with her arm looped in mine.
“Come on,” she urged. “We have to go.”
I shrugged her off of me and said, “Go without me.”
“What?” she exclaimed as I turned towards Dakota.
Dakota’s eyes were on Brooke, but the grimace was still there.
“Jonah,” Brooke exclaimed.
“Go on,” I urged her. “I know her.”
Those hazel eyes moved back to connect with me, then she echoed, “You can go on, too.”
It was a sneer, almost a dare, but she must have forgotten. I had no shits to give. Moving into her space, I said, “How are you doing? I thought you were in South Dakota.”
She stared back as if she would not dare engage in my question and answer session. So, I changed tactics.
“Still walking around with a chip on your fucking shoulder,” I taunted.
She simply growled through her teeth, then she looked down, which changed her countenance.
“Come on,” I held out my hand towards her. “How are you?”
“Why do you care?” she said through clenched teeth.
“That’s a stupid question,” I quipped back. “Of course, I care. We spent months together watching you develop the next beauty product for women.”
The woman flinched, at my words, then she covered it up.
“You should go,” she urged.
“Why won’t you tell me how you’re doing, or at least your product,” I asked. “I’ve been looking for it.”
“What?” she whispered as her face morphed into outright shock. It was an open but vulnerable look.
“You made a fucking vow that we’d see your name again. I’ve been looking, Dakota Bowers.”
We were in our own cocoon on the streets. I thought Brooke left, but I really did not care if she did or not. People had to walk around us and none of their staring, grunts, or annoyance got through the bubble we were in.
Yet, something seemed off about her. This wasn’t the same woman. Me taunting her should have had her cussing me out, not growling.
“Well, you can stop looking,” she finally said.
“That would be a shame,” I countered, as I swear defeat was in her eyes. It didn’t belong because she was fierce, determined and driven. Why the fuck did she stop?
“How can I help?” I found myself saying, as I went to fetch my business card.
“You could have helped by voting for me three years ago,” she didn’t hesitate in replying to that question.
“You weren’t ready then,” I told her straight up. “It wasn’t your time. You needed more than what you presented. It needed to expand. How can I help, now?”
The question was put out there again. She was too prideful, I knew, but something had changed. Life could do that to you sometimes, turn you inside out. But this fierce woman, she had changed.
“I don’t need your help,” she replied with a firm nod.
It was determined, like she was, but determined on the wrong thing.
“Dakota,” I began. “You haven’t learned shit, huh? I’m offering you help, and you still will not take it.”
This woman baffled me and got under my skin. I do not offer help for free. My consultant’s fee is through the fucking roof and people secure me from all over the world to help them get their business to be the most successful venture there is. Here I stood offering help with my knowledge and services for free and she wouldn’t even take it.
“Oh, I’ve learned a lot,” she answered with a chin lifted in defiance.
“But you haven’t learned the lesson,” I countered. “My consultant fee is in the tens of thousands, and instead of you taking advantage of this opportunity, you’d rather hold on to some fucked up hate and continue to struggle.”
“Who said I was struggling?” her posture changed, revealing that she was on the defensive. “I’m doing fine. I don’t need your help, so keep your charity for those that want it. Now, go on.”
This gotdamn woman.
I moved into her space, with her chest poked out, head held high as she stared at me and refused to back down.
“Sweetheart,” I hissed because she was getting to my nerves. “The victim role doesn’t suit you. You told me I’d see your name again, and I expect to.” I slid my card in her pocket and was about to continue talking when I felt something hit my shin.
Did she just kick me?
Looking down, I saw a little angel staring up at me as she pushed my thighs with her tiny hands.
“Leave my mommy alone,” she urged with those same hazel, light coffee, eyes.
Fuck.
“Ella,” the woman warned. “Stand down.”
The little girl, with braids, intricately pulled up in a ponytail, continued to give me her little glare. Though, she went back to her position behind her mother’s left leg.
“You have a daughter,” I found myself saying.
Dakota didn’t answer me, as I realized that I was still staring at the little girl. She was a replica of her mother, clearly. Spunky attitude as well. The little tyke had kicked me.
My eyes moved towards the woman who still had the potential to get me out of character.
“She’s beautiful,” I told her. “Looks just like her mother.”
This disarmed her, but not for long.
“Bye, Mr. West.” She was still standing her ground, but now it was for another reason.
“Yeah,” I nodded. “Dakota, despite what you may think of me and what happened three years ago. I am interested in how you’re doing, your idea and would like to help. You have my card
and I hope you let that pride go for just a moment and let someone in.”
“I did, Mr. West and that only leads to disappointment and let downs,” she countered. “Thanks, but no thanks.”
Her hand moved swiftly down, extending for the little girl. Ella, her daughter, automatically grasped onto the waiting hand and they turned to leave. It was so natural like the mother and daughter duo had a routine.
Just like that.
“Use the card, Dakota,” I called after them, but she didn’t turn around.
She wouldn’t use it. This, I knew. She was too stubborn.
After meeting up with Brooke, I called us quits after the event and decided that the type of strong woman I wanted would be one with a sassy mouth, that I could turn sweet. It was a vow and though I was barely looking for a woman, per se, I knew it wasn’t Brooke. Something told me that this woman that I needed, well, she didn’t want to be found.
Yet.
4
Dakota Bowers
Two Years Later
Odd jobs are what I called them. They put food on the table and though my Brooklyn apartment was right next to the above-ground train, I was proud of what I could do for Ella and me. She went to a high-performing charter school, which was free and elite. She was enrolled in an afterschool program, that went over her homework, and taught her how to use musical instruments and read music. Next year, the plan was to focus on athletics, if that is what she was inclined to do. Her interest at that moment still remained in music, but I wanted her to be well rounded, so she just did not have only one niche.
“Mommy,” she called from the living room, which was only a few feet away from the kitchen.
“Yeah, honey,” I answered.
“I strongly believe that we need to take the road trip to Canada this summer. This is my final decision.” She picked up the conversation where we had left off last night about what adventure we would do over the summer.
“What about the Poconos?” I called back.
“The temperatures there are a bit rigid,” she replied, causing me to shake my head.
If my father was alive, he’d pass out with this child’s vocabulary.
“What about Massanutten? Indoor water parks.” I tried to entice her.
“Mommy, there is no use in going to a water park by yourself, when you won’t do it with me because you do not want to learn how to swim.” She said this as she continued to color in her book of continents.
This caused me to give my daughter the side-eye because she knew why I had not learned yet. However, she constantly brought it up. A near-death experience kept me away from the water and too scared to learn.
“Fine,” I answered. “Canada, it is.”
“Splendid,” she said with no enthusiasm at all.
As a mother, this bothered me because she was making rational decisions at the age of five. She was smart and independent, but I still wanted her to be a kid. I would make it up to her, I promised myself this every chance I got. One day, we’d go to Disney World. This was where her classmates went on their vacations. They spent summers far away and we were taking road trips. She had no siblings and I didn’t allow any fraternization of friends outside of school. I didn’t know those people who were in their houses or anything. We kept to ourselves.
Ella and me.
It sounded like a plan, but she was five. She needed to be five.
Not thirty.
It was time for us to go to school. We had the Echo Dot, with pre-set alarms to signal when we needed to get going. The third chime, meant, Ella should be ready and by the door. She was there, as usual, with her school uniform and Doc McStuffins’ backpack on, waiting patiently.
Once I dropped her off at the front of the school, I caught the train to my job. It was temporary employment, but they all were. Making a few dollars above minimum wage, with no college degree, I did not have a lot of choices. I thought back on my entrepreneurial days and nearly choked with laughter. The coming of Ella blew that out the water because she became my new project. She had all of my attention, even if that was because I needed to provide for us. Those ideas of trying to be the next self-made billionaire seemed frivolous and lofty now. They seemed like they never existed.
Only dreams.
Walking into the high-end coffee shop, Beans-N-Things, I immediately clocked in and assumed the position. I put my head down to mind my own business and began to go through the mundane bullshit to get a paycheck. I also kept my hair down because once in a blue moon, someone would recognize me from Invest in the Best tv show. It only lasted for two seasons and I was season one. It didn’t really catch on like that, but many think that had to do with Mr. West not signing on for another season. I really didn’t care.
Around two o’clock, as I was on my break, near the back of the storefront, I sat alone, eating my pastry and sipping on the iced coffee. Then, I heard my name being called with emphasis on the ‘ko’ in the name and only one person did that.
Mr. West.
“Dakota?” he called again, causing me to slowly turn around and see him moving towards me.
“I thought that was you,” he was smiling, but I wasn’t sure why. I was not. “Fancy seeing you here,” He was showing actual teeth, as he pulled up, and took a seat right across the table from me.
“Can I help you?” I asked.
He closed his eyes and shook his head. “You didn’t use my card,” he put in.
That was not a question, so I continued to stare, making it clear that I had not welcomed him, did not want to have small talk, and kicking myself for sitting out here on my break.
“How are you doing? How’s Ella?” he asked, causing me to pay closer attention.
“Fine,” I responded.
“Glad to hear it,” he replied but made it a point to look at my Beans-N-Things branded shirt and nod. “So, are you saying I should stop looking for your name, turn off my Google alert for Dakota Bowers and Skin for Her brand?”
He was taunting me again.
Instead of falling prey to his ridicule, I answered, “I have other priorities.”
“I see,” he looked at my shirt again. “What if I told you, I’d fund the entire project?” He was back to taunting me.
“I call bullshit.” I took a sip of my iced coffee, feeling the chilly drink run down my throat.
His head nodded as if he expected my response, which I’m sure he did.
“This isn’t you,” Mr. West said and waved his hand around the place. “It’s killing you softly and you and I both know it.”
“So, what if it is,” I countered. “I got to do what I got to do. It’s an honest living, I can pay my bills and take care of my daughter.”
West leaned in, like he did when he didn’t like something I said.
“So, you chose to slowly die every day?” he asked like he didn’t want anyone to hear him. “You just give up? That’s not who you are.”
“You don’t know me,” I countered.
He chuckled and leaned back. “Dakota, you are me.” He shook his head and pulled out another card and began to slide it to me.
“Keep your charity,” I told him.
“Stop being so fucking stubborn.” He shook his head and turned up his lip, as if he was truly disgusted in me. “I’ll give you the same offer. Call me or my secretary, set up an appointment and present to me your plan, if you want. Then we’ll draft up a contract together, so you can make history. You were made for more than this, Dakota. So, even if you don’t believe that anymore, take it from someone who sees the potential. Don’t squander it for pride. Shit.” He stood up like he was leaving. “Your daughter deserves to see the woman I saw years ago. Fearless, bold and with the steel backbone of five-thousand armies.”
Mr. West looked around the coffee shop, then pinned those brown eyes on me. “This isn’t you.” He began to walk away, but called back, “I expect to hear from you, Dakota.”
It wasn’t a request; almost a demand. It was in the same way t
hat he told me to listen so many years ago. His words hit something deep within me and though they were right, I could not bring myself to that place again of vulnerability to be open, free, daring and carefree. I no longer had that luxury because I had Ella. She deserved stability. She deserved more than her momma running around town, trying to get her product off the ground.
However.
Mr. West was so right. He was right, because not only had I been feeling down, the flame of discontent was burning bright and I had nothing to quench it. My fear was seeing that in Ella. She was so practical, but she was five. She needed to be five.
I mulled over that business card for a week, as I placed it over the fake fireplace with the other card Mr. West gave me two years ago. It was a typical card, but on both, they had his personal numbers written on the back. His company, Innovate, Period, was a worldwide, multi-billion-dollar company.
Logically it made little sense for him to pursue this. There was nothing on the market like it. Skin for Her was a facial steamer, but so much more. It cleansed the skin, moisturized it, added primer for makeup in various hues for black women and at the end of the day or event, it cleaned the face of all makeup and moisturized it again. There was nothing like this even remotely on the market.
Outside of my own curiosity, could I even fathom what Mr. West was proposing and act on it? Nope. Hence, a week passed, and I did not lift a finger to make any contact with Mr. West or Innovate, Period.