by Arthurs, Nia
“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, shuga?”
“He was just leaving.”
“Actually, Ms. Simmons, 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, shuga? I just want to bounce around.”
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.” She shakes her head. “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.”
“With what?”
“You wash your own hair, right, so you’re familiar with the general process?”
My gaze skitters 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.
Ms. Shirley giggles. “Are you taking care of me this afternoon, shuga?”
I yank my hand back. “I’d rather not.”
“You’re free to leave then.” Cobie lifts an eyebrow in challenge.
I turn to the flirtatious grandma.
Grit my teeth.
“Where’s the shampoo?”
“Over there.” Cobie points to a shelf lined with natural-hair products. “And Mr. Bech?”
“Yes?”
“Do a good job.”
“Come on, Big Guy.” Ms. Shirley caresses my wrist. “Let’s get wet.”
I shudder.
After this level of humiliation, I’d be damned if I let Cobie Simmons go without her name on that blasted contract.
3 Griffin
“This way, shuga.” 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. She gets seated and eagerly tilts her neck back.
I advance slowly.
Shampooing should be easy enough, right? Like Cobie pointed out, I’ve been doing it all my life.
But when I pick up the hose, I realize I’m way out of my depth.
Stick me in a marketing conference with a crowd of hundreds and I’ll shine. Right now, I’m like a kid learning how to ride his bike without training wheels.
Awkwardly, I turn on the faucet and rake the water over Ms. Shirley’s forehead. Black curls streaked with grey grow limp and heavy.
Taking the shampoo, I squeeze a dime-sized amount into my hand.
Is that enough?
Another squeeze.
I weigh the shampoo bottle. Set it down. Try to figure out how I got myself into this ridiculous situation.
My hands are slathered in white goo, but I can’t seem to lower them into her hair.
“Having a little performance issue, darling?” Ms. Shirley asks.
I redden. “Cobie!”
“What?” She glares at me from across the room.
“Come here.”
“That a request or an order?”
“Just come.”
“I’m busy.”
“And I’m lost.”
Cobie sighs like I’m the bane of her existence, but she stalks toward us. “What’s the problem?”
“How should I swing this?” I wave to Ms. Shirley’s head.
“Just put your hands in.”
“How?”
Cobie sighs again.
Snatches my arm.
Twining her fingers around mine, she jerks me forward.
I lose my balance. Slam hard into her back.
The weight of my body thrusts her into the sink.
Her round behind cushions my fall.
Sends all my blood rushing south.
She releases a gasp—part pained, part feminine.
My throat burns.
Heat flares every nerve.
She’s soft beneath my hard body.
Something that smells like flowers drifts from the back of her neck. From her black curls that are frizzier and bouncier than they seemed at first glance.
Man, she feels so good.
“Ehem. Can you back up?” She nudges my chest with her elbow.
A flush of red creeps beneath her brown cheeks.
I shuffle back. Yank my hand away. Adjust my pants. “Sure.”
To my surprise, Cobie snatches my wrist again. “Like this,” she says softly, her voice a soothing cadence to the frantic beating of my heart. Her fingernails dig slightly into my knuckles as she guides me to massage Ms. Shirley’s scalp. “Move up and down in a circular motion.”
My forearm bumps against her torso, the side of her chest.
She twists her neck to look at me.
A springy coil falls against her chin. Thick lashes bounce up and down, fanning the flames beneath my skin.
I’m about to lose my mind.
Damn.
How is she still so beautiful after all this time?
“Do you get it?”
No. Stay here and teach me some more, is what I want to say.
But I don’t.
Because I’m here on business and hitting on the woman I’m trying to sign a contract with is not a good look for me or the company.
“Yeah. I’ve got it.”
She pulls back immediately, as if her fingers are divers and my hands are the springboards. “Great. Keep going.”
Cobie returns to the girl waiting in the living room.
My eyes linger on her back, the gentle sway of her hips.
My lips curl up.
Cobie always walked like a legend, like she was worth something. It was the first thing I’d noticed about her ten years ago.
That and her apple-shaped behind.
I’d dreamed about how that particular body part would feel against me.
Today’s sneak peek was way better than those fantasies.
Ms. Shirley clears her throat, her hair pasted back with water and suds. “You still here, shuga?”
“Yes, ma’am,” I say, glancing at Cobie again.
I’m here and I have no intentions of leaving until I get what I came for.
4 Cobie
I’m surprised Griffin Bech 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 he’s sticking it out.
My eyes veer to him again.
Land on his folded shirtsleeves. Strong forearms covered with dark hair. Blunt fingers.
My stomach coils when I study those hands.
I’m a big-hands kind of girl. I’ll admit it.
Heat gathers at the back of my neck when I remember the way he’d accidentally crushed me against the sink.
It was the best kind of agony.
Feeling him.
Against me.
Behind me.
And I shouldn’t be thinking that.
But can anyone blame me? Some
one 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 a softness in his eyes when he speaks to me. It seems out of place for two strangers who’ve just met.
I’d put my life on the line to say I’d never seen 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.
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?
“Cobie?” He calls for me.
I frown.
That’s another thing.
The way he says my name, like it’s 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’ve been eyeing since he folded his sleeves up.
“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.”
Ms. Shirley’s granddaughter nods shyly.
I stride to the kitchen 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, shuga.”
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 hooded dryer 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 curls and the treatment it needs given her hair’s 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.
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.
I pretend I’m not affected by his proximity.
Pretend he’s not even there.
And then he smiles.
My world tilts wildly.
I shuffle back.
Drawn to him.
Wanting him.
Closer.
Much closer.
Just like we were at the sink.
Except our colliding bodies wouldn’t be an accident.
And we wouldn’t be clothed.
A vision of being wrapped up in him, tangled in him, rasping my fingers against his wide chest—flashes in my mind.
I cross my thighs.
Dig my fingernails into the back of the chair.
Get it together, woman.
“Cobie?”
“Huh? What? I wasn’t thinking anything.”
He smirks, the kind of manly, I-know-you-just-pictured-me-naked look that makes me want to crawl beneath a rock.
Thankfully, Griffin doesn’t tease me.
Which is an act of maturity I find 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.
“Is that… real?”
“Yup.” I nod and spritz more water in the middle of Melanie’s head.
My composure returns slowly.
A smirking Griffin is way too much for me.
A Curious About Natural Hair Griffin?
I can handle that.
“Do you see her texture?” I point to the section. “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 part 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. “What does it mean?”
“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. Shouldn’t you know this?”
“Never heard of it.”
“I can tell.” An uncomfortable niggling starts at the base of my skull. “How could you choose my conditioner as a product and not understand the intricacy of black hair?”
“We chose based on the potential for sale.”
“What potential?”
“Women of color have been underserved and overlooked by our brand when they’re one of the biggest consumers of beauty products. We’d be shooting ourselves in the foot if we didn’t rectify that.”
“Are you insinuating black women are nothing but an untapped cash cow?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“You didn’t have to.” I coat Melanie’s hair in my conditioner.
“It wasn’t my intention to offend you.”
“I’m not offended by what you said. I’m just annoyed with the mentality in general. To you, it might seem like an opportunity. To black women, our hair is tied to our identities, our history, and our stylistic expression. It’s meant to be cared for, not exploited. ”
Griffin takes me in silently. “You’re blaming corporations for that injustice?”
“No. I’m blaming everybody.”
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.
“Our mamas told us our natural hair was ugly and hard to handle. They burned it with hot combs and relaxers. Society told us ‘the lighter the better’. They only promoted a certain type of black ‘beauty’. 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 we’re on the same side.” His eyes burn into me. “There’s a world out there waiting to be changed.”
“You want to change the world?”
“I want to give you a platform.”
“By sneakily raking in the cash while stirring up black senti
ment? I don’t think so.”
“And your way is better?”
“Excuse me?”
“You’re satisfied with only helping the handful that trickles through your door. It seems counterproductive to me.”
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.
So calmly.
So succinctly.
Man, I hate this guy.
I glare at Griffin, 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 at 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 papers,” I bite out.
Long eyebrows hover over espresso-colored eyes. “Why?”
“Because I’m going to sign.”
5 Griffin
For the second time today, I find myself on the opposite side of Cobie’s apartment door while she slams it in my face.
Except this time, she’s got the papers for the contract in her tightened fists and she promised she’d send it after looking it over with a lawyer.
I got what I came for.
Mission accomplished.
Um…
How?
I’m so confused I’m debating whether I should go back inside and ask what changed her mind.
I don’t, of course, because I’m not an idiot and I can’t risk her getting angry with me again.
But… the last thing I remember is arguing with her and thinking that I’m definitely never going to get the contract now.
I, honestly, don’t recall what I said that made Cobie’s mouth tighten like an old lady sucking on lemons, but it gave me the distinct impression she’d rather sack me in the balls than scribble her signature.
