Every Woman Needs a Praying Man

by Pat Simmons

  He and Reggie were old buddies who lost touch after high school, but reconnected eight years earlier while enrolled in an MBA program at St. Louis University. Despite Tyson’s education at an Ivy League Brown University and Reggie graduating from the prestigious HBCU Hampton University, they both found themselves disenchanted with advancement of blacks in higher management positions in Corporate America.

  After two years of grant writing and networking, the two invested in outdoor advertising or out-of-home advertising (OOH), which seemed to be the most lucrative when it came to bringing in the big bucks. To them, in-home advertising, such as circulars, were old school. As the chief executive officer, Tyson was the driving force behind thinking and doing business outside the box. Reggie was the chief financial officer and watched their money with his undergrad degree in accounting.

  He refocused on business. The demonstration at the conference was impressive, but he and Reggie were psyched about digital technology being more than a pretty picture. The webinar they were anticipating would showcase a digital billboard in Peru, which fused with technology to pull moisture from the air with a mechanism installed inside the billboard to create about twenty gallons of water a day to a drought-stricken village in Lima.

  Tyson signed into his email account only to learn the webinar had been rescheduled. He pounded his fist on the desk. Could his day get any worse? First, his plane from North Carolina was delayed, then a deranged damsel nearly got him killed on the side of a highway.

  He rubbed his forehead. Nothing was going his way. Leaning back in his chair, he spun around and was drawn into the light snow shower outside his office window. His mind drifted back to the crazy woman, and the haunted expression on her face. Was she on drugs or intoxicated? Under different circumstances, he would have been intrigued by her eyes—a rich brown, but the fear in them was intense and he was afraid for her, not knowing what kind of help she needed.

  “Hey, Ty,” Reggie said, walking into his office without knocking. “You want some good news?”

  Swerving his chair around, Tyson faced him. “Yep. Whatcha got?”

  “The applicant who didn’t show up just called. She apologized, said she had an emergency, and wanted to reschedule if we hadn’t hired anybody.” He grinned.

  Tyson nodded with a smirk of his own. “I’m sure you accommodated her request.”

  “You know it. She’ll be here Monday at ten, so don’t be late!”

  “Yeah, right. You’re the one who’s going to Florida for the weekend to see Tracee. Make sure you make it back.” Tyson chuckled, wondering how his friend was going to survive this newfound long-distance relationship. The two friends had made a pact to always put business first. He hoped Tracee wouldn’t cause them to add an addendum. Clearing his head, he dismissed unnecessary worry. If Reggie slipped, Tyson would be there to pick up the slack. Nothing would distract him from the success of their company, not even a woman.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Monica said two quick prayers Monday morning: one that she would get the job and the second that she would get there without delay. She climbed into her car and gunned the engine before leaving her condo complex. Unafraid, she exited on I-170 and cruised with the flow of traffic. When she passed the shoulder where her meltdown had taken place, she lifted an eyebrow and smirked. “Not today.”

  She pulled into the parking lot of Tyson & Dyson Communications fifteen minutes early and entered the lobby. A petite woman with short black hair and gray eyebrows greeted her with a big smile. “Good morning.”

  “Hi, I’m—”

  “Monica!” Solae Kavanaugh said, rounding a corner. The woman who was about the same age as her had been a godsend. Actually, their chance meeting had been a result of a visit to a random church as part of a New Year’s resolution between her and Veronica, but her friend bailed out. During a potty break in the ladies’ room, she noticed the slender woman could be a stand-in for Nia Long.

  After Monica complimented the mother and daughter on their matching outfits, Solae had introduced herself, eyeing Monica’s visitor badge. Things got interesting when Solae learned her last name.

  “I have Wyatts in my family. I knew I felt a kindred spirit.” And just like that, Solae coerced out of Monica her parents’ names, age, and where she lived and worked.

  “I’m between jobs. I got laid off recently. I guess there isn’t a high demand for a marketing researcher with ten years experience.” She did her best not to sound discouraged.

  Solae’s face brightened and she grinned. “God is good. The company I work for is expanding. You might want to give them a call.”

  They both dug into their purses and pulled out business cards.

  “Wait a minute, Hershey,” Solae said quietly to her daughter, who was vying for her attention, before turning back to Monica. “I’ll definitely put in a good word. After all, we could be cousins, and please come back to our services.” They left the ladies’ room together, but headed in opposite directions. Excited about the lead, Monica hadn’t heard a word of the sermon.

  Seeing Solae again made her feel guilty about skipping church the day before, especially after she told the woman she would return.

  “You’ve got this.” Solae’s eyes twinkled as she gave a thumbs up. She stepped back and the waiting receptionist ushered Monica into a conference room. It was medium-sized with a rich dark executive table for at least eight. Her shoes sunk into plush tan carpet. A cabinet countertop laden with treats was on one end of the table. A flat screen hanging on the opposite wall seemed to act as the focal point for the head of the table.

  “Please feel free to grab a water, if you like,” the receptionist said before closing the door behind her.

  After removing her coat, she did, and took a seat. The door opened and a tall muscular man filled the room with a commanding presence. He was clean-shaven and had a boyish look about his face. His hair was faded on the sides with short twists on top—trendy. Although he was definitely a head-turner, he reminded Monica of her ex. There was no crush coming from her.

  He extended his hand. “Monica, it’s nice to meet you. I’m Reginald Dyson.” She stood and accepted his shake. “Please call me Reggie. You’ll meet with my partner, Tyson Graham, after we chat.”

  They took their seats and Reggie opened his file and nodded. “I’m glad your emergency was resolved and we’re able to talk. Your skills are impressive, and out of the forty applicants, your background stood out.” He pushed back from the table and crossed his ankle on his knee. “Tell me about the government projects you’ve worked on.”

  She went through her spiel. “One program was identifying which neighborhoods had the highest number of high school dropout rates. We analyzed demographics and we were able to advise social agencies which services would benefit residents in certain zip codes.”

  Reggie was engaging as he scribbled notes. “When Tyson and I founded this company, we followed the money trail. Static billboards and now digital ones are money-makers. Referrals from ad agency was the major source of our revenue. We recently decided to shake things up and compete directly for clients instead of waiting for agencies to send business our way. Plus, we’re part of the St. Louis minority council, so we’re getting more business than we can handle, including some national conventions.”

  Monica’s heart pounded with excitement. She wanted to be part of a growing company; working with a minority entrepreneur was a bonus. Yes, she wanted this job. “Since I heard about the opening, I’ve been paying attention to the ads on buses and other public transportation,” she said.

  “Great.” Reggie bobbed his head. “But we are selective in accepting ads. We won’t put liquor store or pawn shop ads on our billboards near the black communities.”

  Integrity. She respected a man willing to lose money because of his conviction.

  Patting the tabletop, Reggie stood. “Miss Wyatt, I think you’re a winner. I’ll get Ty so you can chat with him a few minutes.”

  Onc
e the man closed the door, she did a happy dance in her seat. Yes! One down and one to go. She would have to treat Solae to lunch when she received her first paycheck. The doorknob rattled and Monica snapped back into business mode and readied her smile.

  The tall, dark, and more handsome man who entered could definitely be her crush. His black silky eyebrows and mustache—the best asset—seemed familiar, and those expressive dark eyes confirmed where they had met. This was the same man who came to her aid on the highway. When he gave her a look like a deer caught in headlights, she knew he recognized her too. She swallowed and watched him. Now what? If he didn’t bring up the incident, she would play along and not say a word.

  “Miss Wyatt,” he greeted in a no-nonsense voice that was husky, an attention grabber, and a hypnotizer. “I’m Tyson Graham.”

  Take a deep breath, and don’t groan! she chided herself.

  His left hand—bare of a wedding band— flattened his stylish tie against his buff chest. Instead of taking the adjacent chair Reggie had vacated, he took a seat across from her, drawing an imaginary line between them. Where his partner came off as friendly and engaging, her first—second—impression of Tyson was less than favorable. He spoke with confidence, but his body language said otherwise. This was definitely awkward.

  She’d seen concern in his brown eyes outside her car window. From the few glances he spared her, concern was there again. Opening his file to reveal her résumé, she watched as Tyson circled her name once, twice, three times.

  He reminded her of a distracted student doodling on their paper when the teacher wasn’t paying attention. Her résumé was a page and a half. Surely he had read it before today? He was stalling.

  She resisted the urge to drum her fingers on the table, so she glanced at the flat screen. The sound was on mute, but the words crawling across the bottom might have been sending her a message: signs to recognize when your life is in trouble.

  “Monica Wyatt.” He cleared his voice and tapped his pen on the table.

  Blinking from the screen, she faced him again and smiled. “Yes.”

  “Your background is in the non-profit sector. What do you know about advertising?” His tone held skepticism and he gave her a pointed stare as if he were seeing right through her.

  Straightening in her chair, she chose her words carefully. Unlike Reggie, it seemed Tyson was going to make her fight for the position. “Numbers don’t lie. Whether it’s social services or products, if the data is analyzed correctly, a person will make the right choices based on demographics.”

  He nodded. Once he focused on her résumé again, she studied him. Tyson was well-groomed from his fingernails to the precision lining of his haircut. His lashes were jet black and so thick, they reminded her of the fake lash kit she had Veronica apply to hers unsuccessfully.

  He closed the file and gave her a blank expression. “Why should we hire you, Miss Wyatt?”

  “I’m very detail-oriented, I meet deadlines, and I—” She paused when he shook his head.

  “On paper, you may be a perfect fit, but I’m referring to personality-wise. Deadlines can be stressful. How would you handle them?”

  Was this a trick question? She dared not ask. Monica needed a job, no, she wanted this one. The competitive salary and benefits package was like getting a big raise from her last position and signing bonus. Still, she could do without his innuendos. If he had something to say, he should say it. Scratch that. Having no clue how to explain her actions, she played the game. “I’m a calm person by nature. Plus, I have a history of getting along with my peers. My references will agree.”

  “Very well.” He gathered the file, stood, and twisted his lips as if he was debating something.

  Monica wanted to scream, “Share.”

  He didn’t. “You’ll hear from us by the end of the week regarding our decision. Thanks for coming in today.” By walking out of the room, had Tyson just shut her door of opportunity?

  The sinking feeling in her chest caused her to blink back the moisture filling her eyes. God, was this just a tease?

  How did she go from “you basically have the job” to “not sure you’re a good fit” status? She could hear her mother chiding her with the old adage, “Don’t count your eggs until they’re hatched.”

  Ollie Wyatt might have been on point this time. The job had been a long shot anyway with her no-show earlier, but she had given the interview her best shot. Her legs wobbled as she got to her feet and it had nothing to do with her high heels. It was a good thing she hadn’t told her mother about this interview. Her mother was a crier—happy or sad tears. No doubt, she would be boo-hooing alongside Monica about now.

  But she got her fierceness from her dad and brother. She would hold her tears and strut out of the room as if the job didn’t matter as much as it did. Her dignity would remain intact until she drove out of the parking lot. After taking a series of deep breaths, Monica opened the door. She could sense being watched, but she refused to scope out the interloper. Locking her eyes on the route to the double-glass doors in the lobby, she began her catwalk.

  She was within feet of her escape when Solae almost bumped into her while looking at her smartphone. “Oh, I’m sorr—” She looked up. “How did the interview go?”

  Overcome with emotion, she didn’t want to voice her disappointment. Swallowing back tears, she struggled to say something. “I believe I won over Reggie, but didn’t impress Mr. Graham.”

  Solae frowned. “Odd. Those two are usually on the same wavelength.”

  “Not today.” Judging from Tyson’s vibes, Monica had better come up with a Plan B before her next car payment was due. “Thanks for referring me.” Her voice cracked and she hurried out the door.

  CHAPTER THREE

  The image of the fear in Monica Wyatt’s brown eyes had haunted Tyson all weekend. More than once, he wondered if she was okay. Today, he had his answer. She was alive, acting well, and not going to work for his company—period.

  He stuck his head into Reggie’s office to give his decision, but his partner was on a call. The goofy expression on his face was the giveaway he was probably speaking with his girlfriend who he met months earlier while on a business trip. Come on, man. Let’s run a business, Tyson tried to send a telepathic message. It didn’t work.

  “Be with you in a sec,” Reggie mouthed and motioned for him to shut the door.

  This wasn’t the time to get blindsided by womanly distractions. As close friends as they were, he suspected Reggie would choose Tracee over him.

  Returning to his office, Tyson collapsed in his chair and grunted as if seeing her again was funny. What were the odds the leading candidate for a job in his company and the polished beauty with the seductive brown eyes, full lips, and intoxicating perfume was the same dazed out woman on the highway?

  Reggie, singing her praises minutes before Tyson walked into the room, had set him up for the biggest letdown. He had planned to co-sign his partner’s decision. He was wowed by her beauty before recognition struck, then all he wanted to do was ask, “What happened? Are you okay? Why are you here?” Of course, her answers wouldn’t have mattered. Tyson had seen enough in one instance to make a judgment call not to hire her. Her unstable behavior could be a liability. Now, he had to convince Reggie.

  There were certain things Tyson would defend too rigorously—his family, his baby, and his heart. Since his parents and sisters were holding their own, that left his baby—Tyson & Dyson Communications.

  Something told him Monica would not only challenge his head, but his heart as well. Somewhere deep inside of him was an urge to protect her—a stranger, and the impulse was so miniscule a pair of tweezers couldn’t extract it.

  In corporate America, Tyson had faced many challenges as a black man, being passed over for promotions and unwelcomed sexual advances, even by a supervisor, but his family jewels and things to do with his performance in the bedroom were not to be coerced. Unlike Reggie, Tyson knew how to separate business
commitments from personal pleasure.

  “Enough self-reflection,” he mumbled and reached for a folder on the small stack of other applicants’ résumés. Their credentials weren’t as impressive as Monica’s, but second best would have to do. He and Reggie had to get someone in there fast.

  A knock on the door signaled it was time for Tyson to convince Reggie to trust his decision on this one. Instead, Solae slowly opened it. “You got a minute?”

  Pushing the paperwork aside, Tyson nodded and folded his hands. “Yep, what you need?”

  She frowned and stepped farther into his office. “What happened with Monica? She left here with the impression she didn’t get the job? I thought she was about to cry.”

  Solae looked as if she was about to cry too. He gritted his teeth when he saw Reggie standing in the doorway.

  The goofy expression was gone, replaced by a suspicious frown. “Yeah, what happened? I thought we had agreed she was exactly who we needed. The interview was a formality.”

  “Can you give Reggie and me a minute?” he asked Solae, who didn’t appear happy about being excluded from the conversation, but she complied and gave them privacy.

  Reggie took a seat and folded his arms. “Talk.”

  “I don’t think she is a good fit. I’m not sure her non-profit background would transfer well into private sector.”

  “Uh-huh.” Reggie shook his head. “That jargon isn’t going to work on me, man. What’s the real deal?”

  Suddenly, he was having second thoughts as if he was about to betray her trust, which was ridiculous. He owed her nothing.

  “What?” Reggie repeated.

  “Ah,” he stuttered. “There’s something about her that makes me wonder if she’s mentally stable.”

  Reggie threw his head back and laughed. “Really? She seemed stable to me when I talked to her. If left up to you, we would have an all-male workforce. You really need to work on your trust issues with women. Every chick doesn’t have an agenda like the women from your past. Tracee has some friends.” He smirked and nodded. “Yeah, definitely worth checking out and available.”