by Mz. Robinson
He was right, of course. I would have been on the phone with my attorney before they told me the interview was over. The thought led me to ask, “So is that your plan, Kelly?”
He flashed his gray eyes at me and smiled. “Octavia, I’m a real man, and as a real man, I know how to handle other people’s ignorance without involving a third party. To answer your question, though, no I’m not going to whine like a lil’ bitch about how you didn’t hire me.” He managed to accomplish something few others ever could—he had me at a loss for words. “Again, it was nice meeting you,” he said. “Have a nice day.” He exited my office and closed the door behind him.
***
After getting over my run-in with Kelly, I felt optimistic about my next candidate, a Southern belle by the name of Angie who had worked with three other families. Angie was a white, heavyset redhead who had a heavy Southern accent and a pleasant personality. The two of us instantly built a repertoire. Her appearance was neat and conservative. The only mark I could give her at first was that she smelled like she had taken a bath in perfume—cheap drugstore perfume mixed with a strange but somewhat familiar odor.
“You have experience. That’s good.” I smiled, looking across the desk at her.
“Yes.” Angie smiled. “And each one of the families I’ve worked for will give me an excellent referral.”
“Great!” I smiled. “Well, I do require a background check,” I said, sliding the release form across the desk.
“What will they check for?” she asked, frowning. “My credit’s not that good.”
Though the question set off some bells for me, I respected her honesty. “I don’t care about your credit score,” I said. “I understand that sometimes things happen.” It was true, because in my opinion, a person’s credit or lack thereof has nothing to do with the quality of their work. “The background check is merely done to check your criminal history,” I explained.
“Oh that’s not a problem then.” Angie grinned. “I’ve only had minor traffic violations.”
I was on the verge of doing the Dougie until I hit her with my next requirement. “There’s also a pre-employment drug screen,” I said, providing her my next form.
She shifted in her seat, then crossed her legs. The expression on her face told me we had finally bumped up against the inevitable flaw.
“Is that okay?” I asked, staring at her.
“Uh, yeah.” She laughed lightly, like a shamed child caught peeking at their Christmas presents.
“Fabulous,” I said, folding my hands together. “Do you have any questions for me?”
“When do I need to go for my test?” she asked, biting her bottom lip.
“Immediately,” I answered, looking at my watch. “LabCorp doesn’t take its last patient for another two hours.”
“Oh,” she said in a hushed voice. “Well, I have to pick my mother up in an hour, and it’s something like a forty-minute drive.”
I had heard every excuse there was when it came to buying time before taking a drug screen, and I was well aware they all meant one thing: “That doesn’t give me enough time to detox.” It was time to call her bluff. “Well, the lab is only two blocks over, and they’re normally not busy around this time. You should be able to get right in and right out.”
“Oh. Well, I do need to make a stop before I pick up my mom,” she said, staring at her watch and trying to stretch her lie to fit neatly around her obvious avoidance.
I wasn’t going to waste any more of my precious time with a junkie and a liar. I know how the game works; hell, I used to smoke a little reefer my damn self back in the day. There was a very slight possibility I was wrong about Angie, but her strained and uneasy reaction was reason enough for me to be suspicious. “I’ll tell you what,” I said, pushing her paperwork to the side, “I have a few more interviews lined up. I’ll give you a call, and then we can schedule the screening.”
“Okay.” She smiled. “All I need is a little advance notice to make sure I’m free. I keep pretty busy taking care of my mother.”
“Not a problem,” I said, standing. “It was a pleasure meeting you.”
“I’ll look forward to your call.” She smiled.
Yeah, when Hell freezes over, I thought, but I smiled and said, “Have a great day, Angie,” as I held the door open for her.
***
After Angie left, I decided to take a breather. I was mentally exhausted and highly disappointed with the day’s events. I strolled out of my office only to find Kelly sitting in one of the booths close to my office door, nibbling on a piece of my infamous better-than-sex cheesecake. He was the last person I expected to see at that moment, and I wondered if he was hanging out in my establishment plotting his sexual discrimination suit or if he was truly enjoying the atmosphere. I decided to try and do a little damage control. “Enjoying the cheesecake?” I asked, walking up to the table.
“It’s misleading,” he said, wiping his mouth.
“What do you mean?”
“The menu says it’s better than sex,” he said, looking up at me.
“And?”
“And I beg to differ.”
“Well, I guess it depends on the person,” I said, crossing my arms across my breast.
“I guess so,” he mumbled, licking his lips.
I can’t lie, the act caused a slight tingling in the pit of my stomach and quite possibly other regions of my body. I cleared my throat, attempting to calm the sensation. “Did you try anything else on the menu?” I asked.
“Nope—just the cake,” he said.
“So you’ve been out here the whole time, and all you’ve tried was my cake?” I asked, shaking my head.
“If you must know, I’ve been trying to figure out my next move,” he said, leaning back against the booth.
Here we go, I thought. “And what might that be?” I asked, placing my hand on my hip.
“Getting a job.” He sighed lightly. “Pounding the pavement.”
“Oh.”
“You’d think with a BA and military training, a brother would be able to find something.” He laughed, rubbing his hands together. “But I’ve been looking for a job for almost a year now, to no avail.”
“I didn’t know you were in the military,” I said, pleasantly surprised. I didn’t remember seeing it on his résumé, but I’ve always been very impressed by and appreciative of any man or woman who serves our country that way.
“Reserves,” he said. “I know you’re probably thinking that doesn’t count.”
“No I’m not,” I said quickly. “We need all of you.”
He looked at me with the ocean of gray in his eyes shining brightly, then smiled. “Do me a favor,” he requested.
“What?”
“Sit down,” he said, nodding to the empty space across from him. “You’re making me nervous hovering over me like that.”
“Why? Are you up to no good?” I asked, sliding into the booth.
“Not at all,” he said. “It’s just that I don’t like people standing over me, especially women who tell me I’m not good enough to work for them. You’ve already stepped on my pride,” he continued. “I don’t need you making me feel even smaller.”
“I didn’t mean to step on your pride,” I said sincerely, “and I never said you weren’t good enough to work for me.”
“Oh that’s right. You don’t feel comfortable with me,” he mocked, snapping his fingers.
I could tell by the tone of his voice that he was taking my comment far too personally. “It’s not just you,” I said. “It would be the same with any man.”
“But you’re going to consider Queen Smokes-a-lot?” He laughed.
“Who?”
“That last woman you interviewed,” he said, staring at me. “When she walked by, she smelled like a damn Cheech and Chong van. Didn’t you notice?”
“Oh, her. Well—”
“Come on, Octavia,” he said, leaning against the table. “Surely you’re not that naïve, or were your
senses confused by her swim in the cheap perfume?” he asked, laughing lightly.
Replaying the interview in my head, I had to chuckle. “Let’s just say the position is still open.”
“Not to every qualified applicant apparently.” Reaching into his pocket, he removed a wallet.
I noticed a picture of him with a pretty little girl on the inside of it when he flipped it open. “Who’s that? She’s beautiful,” I said, pointing at the photo. The little girl looked to be no older than five and had the same amazing features as Kelly, including his stormy sky-gray eyes.
Smiling, he stared at the picture. His eyes lit up as joy floated across his face like a balloon filled with warm air. “It’s my daughter Ciara,” he said, stroking the picture lovingly.
“You have a daughter?”
“I had a daughter,” he said sadly. “She died two years ago.”
For the second time, Kelly Baker had me at a loss for words as I saw tears swelling in his eyes.
His lips quivered slightly as he exhaled slowly and went on to explain in a near-whisper, “She had leukemia. She needed a bone marrow transplant, but we never found a match.” A single tear rolled down his cheek as he looked at me.
I cleared my throat, but my attempt to dissolve the lump failed miserably. I hate seeing a man cry; it weakens me to my core. Knowing that his tears were for the loss of a child almost caused my heart to shatter. “I’m so sorry, Kelly,” I said sympathetically while reaching out to touch his hand.
He turned his hand over, allowing my fingers to rest in his palm. The gesture was innocent, but the electricity between us surged from his palm through my fingertips like lightning on a stormy day. Pulling my hand back slowly, I folded my hands together in an attempt to defuse the energy I felt.
“No parent should ever have to outlive their child,” he said. “The hole it leaves in your heart is unbearable.”
I listened quietly as he continued to speak. The expression on his face showed that his mind had traveled far away. I imagined he was reliving the pain he’d felt when he’d first loss his precious daughter.
“As a father, I felt weak and like a failure,” he said, shaking his head.
“Why?” I asked.
“Because I couldn’t fix it,” he said solemnly. “She needed me, and I couldn’t do anything to help her. I couldn’t make it right. In that way, I let her down.”
“As parents, we want to wrap our children up in a blanket of love and make everything perfect,” I said gently. “Unfortunately, we don’t have that kind of power. Kelly, that doesn’t mean we’re weak or failures,” I said softly. “It means we’re only human.”
There was silence between the two of us as he wiped his eyes with the back of his hands. Our silence was finally broken when his phone began to ring.
“Excuse me,” he said. “Hello? Hey. Okay.” Looking up at me, he frowned. “Unfortunately not,” he said. “Okay. I’ll be there in a few. Love you too,” he said before hanging up. “I should get going,” he told me.
“Oh, okay. Have a nice day.”
“You too,” he said, giving me a weak smile and dabbing the cake out of the corner of his mouth with a napkin.
“I’m really sorry for your loss, Kelly,” I said, feeling more and more like crap with every passing second. If I hadn’t been fully staffed at my establishments, I would’ve given him a job on the spot, but I had solid teams in place at both locations, and the last thing I wanted to do was hire too many people so that my employees had to lose pay and decent hours. “I’m sure you’ll find something,” I added.
“Thanks,” he mumbled.
I watched as he pulled a ten-dollar bill out of his wallet and laid it in the middle of the table.
“No, this one’s on me.” I smiled, pushing the bill back toward him.
“I don’t take charity,” he said, shaking his head.
“This isn’t charity,” I said. “It’s just my way of thanking you.”
“For what?”
“For taking the time to meet with me,” I said. It was a load of crap, and he knew it. I didn’t go around buying cake for all of the applicants I turned away.
“You mean thank you for not ratting you out and telling the world you’re a sexist?” he said, standing.
“I am not a sexist,” I said defensively. “You just aren’t—”
“I know, I know,” he said. “You think I’m not the right fit. If I see someone who might be the right fit,” he said, “I’ll tell her to come see you.”
He was clearly being cynical and sarcastic, on the verge of rude, but I decided to let it slide.
“Have a nice day, Mrs. Whitmore,” he said before walking off.
***
It was pushing four o’clock when I wrapped up my paperwork at The Ambiance. I decided I’d had enough for one day. I was in the process of gathering my things to head home when there came a knock on my office door. “Enter,” I said pleasantly.
“Sorry to bother you,” said Tabitha, one of my hostesses, “but there is someone here who would like to speak to you.”
“Who is it?” I asked.
“She says her name is Contessa,” Tabitha said, standing in the doorway. “She doesn’t have an appointment, but says she heard you are looking for a nanny.”
The mere mention of the word “nanny” made me want to crawl under my desk and cover my head. I was beginning to think I was never going to find a suitable caretaker for my daughter, which meant I would have to consider the option of working part time and being a stay-at-home mom. My mother was happy watching Jasmine for me at the present, but I’d begun to notice that Mama was looking more and more tired, and the last thing I wanted was for her to get burned out. “How does she look?” I asked Tabitha. “Wait…before you answer that, is she a she?”
“Um, yes she is a she,” Tabitha said, frowning in confusion, “and she reminds me of someone’s granny.”
Tabitha’s answer really didn’t tell me much. I wanted to tell her to tell the woman to come back the next day, but I decided it couldn’t get any worse than what I’d already been through. I might as well get rid of her today, I reasoned. “Tell her to come in,” I said.
A few seconds later, a pretty mocha-complexioned, petite older woman came through my office door. She was dressed simply but neatly in a plain white button-down blouse, a straight black skirt, and flats. Her salt-and-pepper hair was pulled back, secured in a small bun. “Hello,” she said, smiling at me.
I stood and extended my hand to her. “Hello, Contessa,” I said. “My name is Octavia.”
“It’s nice to meet you,” she said sweetly.
“Have a seat,” I said. “Did you bring your résumé?”
“That thing that tells you where I worked?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“No, sweetie, I didn’t,” she said, pushing her glasses up on her nose. “That’s what’s wrong with the world today,” she said, waving her hand in the air. “My nephew made me one of those, but I figured I could just tell you face to face who, what, when, and where. We’ve become so impersonal.”
I laughed lightly then nodded my head in agreement. “I agree,” I admitted. “So, why don’t you tell me a little bit about yourself and your work history?”
Fifteen minutes later, I knew Contessa was fifty-seven years old, a widow, and that she had spent the last ten years working for a family in Madison until eight months prior, when the father took a job out of state and the family relocated. I also sadly learned that her one and only son was in prison for armed robbery.
“I love the boy, of course, but sometimes you gotta love ‘em from a distance,” she said, “especially when they keep doing the same ol’ thing.”
She told me she had been living in Johnson Towers, apartments for seniors, on a fixed income. She advised she had been living at the Towers every since she lost her job and that it was hard finding employment at her age, especially with no other skills or a college education. She loved to cook and
sew in her free time. She was healthy with the exception of being a diabetic, but she managed her disease by eating healthy and taking her insulin. She also told me her nephew lived with her. My conversation with Contessa flowed as if the two of us had known each other for years. I finally found a winner, I thought to myself.
“What else would you like to know about me?” she asked.
“Are you a religious woman?”
“I love the Lord, but I can’t quote the Book chapter by chapter or verse by verse,” she said, shrugging her shoulders.
“Neither can I,” I smiled, “but I don’t think He expects us to.”
“Just as long as we do our best to do the right thing,” Contessa said.
“I require a pre-employment drug screening, as well as a criminal background check,” I advised. “Is that a problem?” I asked, practically holding my breath while I waited for her to answer. She seemed perfect, and I was not in the mood for any further busted bubbles.
“Not a problem at all.” She smiled. “I promise they’ll both come up clean as a whistle.”
Yep. A winner, I thought, relieved already.
Chapter 6
Damon
I walked through the front door of my home and smiled instantly. The lights were turned down low, and the sound of Maxwell crooning “Bad Habits” wafted through the surround-sound system. Dropping my keys and Blackberry on the foyer table, I inhaled the aroma of what smelled like steak coming from the kitchen. Much to my delight, I found my wife wearing nothing but a pair of five-inch heels, sitting on top of our kitchen island. Admiring the glow of her skin and her well-defined curves under the soft lights, I felt my dick began to rise.
“Hello, Mr. Whitmore,” she moaned seductively.
“Hello, Mrs. Whitmore.” I smiled, staring at her appreciatively. “To what do I owe the honor?” I asked.
“The two of us have unfinished business,” she whispered, spreading her legs. “I figured we could have dessert before dinner tonight.”
I hurriedly removed my jacket and allowed it to drop to floor. “Dessert first?” I asked, removing my tie. “Won’t that ruin our appetites?”
