Young, Rich & Black
Page 18
“So, while we’re there, we might as well have some fun.” Deuce suggested. “Maybe stay through the weekend. You down for that?”
“Yeah,” she said. “I’m down for that.”
The flight was a short one, and by ten-thirty that evening, they were installed in their hotel, a few blocks from the CNN Columbus Circle studios where the interview would be filmed. Rashad, who hadn’t registered too much of a visible reaction at Deuce joining them, went straight to his room, with plans to meet downstairs at four-thirty a.m. Zora suspected it bothered him somewhat that Deuce was there, but Shad was the consummate professional when it came to BLM. He wasn’t one to allow something like his ex-girlfriend’s new man to distract him from his path. CNN was potentially his launching pad, and there was no way something so trivial as a romantic rivalry would derail that.
Exhausted, more from the roller-coaster of emotions throughout the day than the lateness of the hour, Zora took a quick hot shower and then collapsed on the massive hotel bed. CNN had sprung for an almost palatial suite, and there was even a welcome basket awaiting them when they checked in. Deuce, who was completely accustomed to posh accommodations, had taken it all in stride, while Zora spent a few long minutes staring out at the stunning view, before her eyes became heavy.
She opened them again only when she felt Deuce climb into bed next to her after his own shower. He was warm, and smelled fresh and soapy. Zora positioned herself so her head was on his chest. The room was almost completely dark, except for the lights from the Manhattan skyline.
“I’m sorry I was so selfish,” she said.
“Get some sleep,” Deuce responded.
“I will, but I just wanted to say that out loud, first.”
“Now you’ve said it, so go to sleep.”
“And I always took for granted how much you wanted this to work. I think I took it for granted from the very first time we were together, and … I always let you put yourself out there first, and take all the risk, and I just …”
“You sure like to make speeches,” he said, amusement in his voice. “You’ll do just fine tomorrow.”
“Don’t make a joke out of this,” Zora said rolling over so she was on top of him. Cupping his face in her hands, she forced him to look at her. “I don’t want it to always be you, taking the risk, putting yourself out there. So, I want to say it first. I’m … I’m in love with you.” At the stunned look on his face, Zora felt her heart rate double. “And it’s fine if that’s not how you feel yet. I don’t care … I mean, I care, but …”
Deuce lifted his head and kissed her, effectively putting an end to her “speech.”
“I love you, too, Zee,” he said when he let his head fall back onto the pillow again. He shook his head. “You just don’ know …”
Zora smiled. Because once he said it, she realized that she already did.
She did know.
“Your story struck a chord with me personally,” the host said, smiling at Zora and Rashad. He was handsome and affable, with a perfect face for television, boyish, and of indeterminate age. “Because people are so accustomed to thinking of millennials as somewhat self-centered, to see your commitment to this difficult cause, and I understand, to each other as well … it’s been heartening, I think for a lot of people.”
“Well, we are committed to each other,” Rashad said, turning on his best and most telegenic smile. “That’s true. But as friends. And as compatriots in a cause that we actually don’t think is that difficult.”
“Wait, so you’re not …”
“Dating? No,” Zora jumped in. “But we understand why that’s intriguing to people. Young, Black couples, young Black people are so seldom represented in that light, so the fascination is natural. But what we’re focusing on is something very specific … how the lack of positive images and attitudes about the Black community in general can lead to tragic consequences that I think no one would want to see.”
“But isn’t one of the rallying cries of your movement that some people do like to see it? That specifically law enforcement is overtly antagonistic toward the Black community?”
“Look, some people like to caricaturize BLM as saying that law enforcement is out there hunting Black folks; and yes, there have been some instances of explicit bias that can’t be ignored.” At that, Rashad paused to let the weight of the comment sink in. “But by and large, we argue that the implicit biases against Black people in our society are also present, and evident in law enforcement. Including in cases where deadly force was used. Many times, unjustifiably.”
“So, talk to me about why you’re not more focused on Black-on-Black violence,” the host challenged. “If Black lives matter, shouldn’t they matter even if the shooter isn’t White?”
“Absolutely,” Zora said. “But let’s start with debunking the myth of Black-on-Black violence …”
“How is it a myth when statistics show that Black people are more likely to be killed by a Black person than by someone who is White?”
“Because the statistics for Whites are comparable. Yet we don’t call that White-on-White violence. We don’t imply that there’s something particularly pathological among Whites that make them cannibalize their communities. Violent crime, no matter how committed or by whom, is something we all care about,” Rashad said, his tone becoming more impassioned. “But we’re not a movement about generalized violent crime in America. There’s plenty of folks working on that, and we wish them Godspeed and success. BLM is a movement focused on the illegal use of police power to deprive Black citizens of their lives, motivated by bias—whether implicit or explicit—under the color of law.”
“Well that’s as clear a statement as I’ve ever heard describing what you’re fighting against …”
“Not against,” Zora said smiling. “For. What we’re fighting for is equal justice under the law.”
“Okay,” the host said briskly, glancing surreptitiously toward the time-keeper. “So I guess we’ll have to leave it at that. But I know people will want to know. No chance of a little romance between you two?”
“No,” Zora said, looking at Rashad. They exchanged a smile, then her eyes drifted just off-camera to where Deuce was watching. He winked at her. “Where romance is concerned, I’m all good on that.”
“Holy … it’s the whole building, babe?”
“Yup. This is SE. The company my father built.”
Zora leaned back and looked up in the enormous atrium, with glass ceilings that extended three stories high. And beyond that, were the working floors of Scaife Enterprises—twenty floors apparently, all teeming with people who worked for Deuce’s father. It was different, seeing the source of the wealth than it was seeing the wealth itself. Lots of people had large and imposing homes, but few could claim to have built something like this.
Zora thought back to the reserved, man-of-few-words who had been introduced to her as Chris Scaife, and was suddenly even more impressed than she had been then. Her impression of him wasn’t of someone who was modest or unassuming by any means, but now, being in his building, she couldn’t understand why he wasn’t downright arrogant.
“Jamal’s waiting for us on the twentieth,” Deuce said. They were waved in by the desk guards, and ushered to a private elevator which required a code once it opened. Deuce punched in five digits and then they were off.
Zora stood on one side of the elevator watching him as they ascended. He looked comfortable, but not cocky. Chris Scaife, Jr. wasn’t arrogant either.
“What?” he asked, grinning when he caught her staring.
“I don’t know. I just … you should be a lot more of an asshole than you are, given all of this.”
He laughed. “Thanks, baby.”
“No. You know what I mean.” She crossed the distance between them and leaned into him, letting her head fall back so she could look him in the eye. “It’s just … a lot, that’s all.”
“But it’s not mine,” Deuce said. “Not really. I didn’t
make any of it. Why would I be an asshole about it?”
“That wouldn’t stop most people from puffing their chests out a little bit, Deuce. Believe me.”
“Maybe. But for me? Just means I have that much more to prove.”
Getting up on her toes, Zora kissed him, contemplating for the first time how little credit she had given him. For being the man—yes, the man—he was. Despite all this, rather than because of it.
Just then, the elevator came to a halt and the doors slid noiselessly open.
“C’mon, man,” a booming voice said. “Don’t be makin’ out with your girlfriend on the company elevator.”
Deuce turned and grinned, and Zora watched as he exchanged a half-hug, half-handshake with a ridiculously good-looking, well-built man with a complexion just a couple shades lighter than her own.
“Jamal, this is my girl, Zora,” Deuce said. “Zora, this is Jamal Turner. He’s President and CEO of Scaife Enterprises.”
Jamal Turner smiled and looked her over as she stepped off the elevator and took his hand. “You are beautiful. I was at your school a couple weeks ago to talk business. And all he wanted to talk about was you. Now I can see why.”
“Hi,” she said, blushing. Jamal Turner was the kind of man who could, with one appreciative look, make a girl lose her power of speech.
“Okay, so Deuce said you need the grand tour. So let’s do this,” he said. “You ready?”
“Ready.” Zora nodded, taking a deep breath.
She was just a guest, and felt intimidated by the scale of the place. One day, Deuce might have to assume control of all this. The idea he had, of a small artisanal label, cranking out “real-deal talent” seemed modest by comparison, but made sense to her now. He didn’t just want to take all this over, he wanted to create something of his own. So maybe one day he would feel worthy of assuming control.
He’d told her once, and she didn’t understand what he meant then, about the weight that came along with being “the exception.” But she was beginning to understand a little more. This was all pretty darn weighty.
Her shoulders heaved once again, as she looked ahead at the opulence of the offices, the crisp attention to detail. Suddenly, she felt woefully underdressed in her jeans and casual long-sleeved tee.
“Hey.” Deuce’s voice snapped her out of her reverie. “You good?”
“Yeah,” her voice was a croak.
“It’s kind of overwhelming, right?” He sounded almost apologetic.
Zora nodded, looking up at him; and seeing him for the first time through her new perspective. He had never looked more amazing.
“Keep up, love-birds!” Jamal Turner was calling back to them from several paces ahead.
“Here,” Deuce said, his eyes on hers, his voice strong and confident. “Take my hand.”
Zora took it. And held on tight.
Also by Nia Forrester
The ‘Commitment’ Novels
Commitment (The ‘Commitment’ Series Book 1)
Unsuitable Men (The ‘Commitment’ Series Book 2)
Maybe Never (A ‘Commitment’ Novella)
The Fall (A ‘Commitment’ Novel)
Four: Stories of Marriage (The ‘Commitment’ Series Finale)
The ‘Afterwards’ Novels
Afterwards (The Afterwards Series Book 1)
Afterburn (The Afterwards Series Book 2)
The Come Up (An Afterwards Novel)
The Takedown (An Afterwards Novel)
Young, Rich & Black (An Afterwards Novel)
Snowflake (An Afterwards Novel)
Rhyme & Reason (An Afterwards Novel)
Courtship (A Snowflake Novel)
The ‘Mistress’ Novels
Mistress (The ‘Mistress’ Trilogy Book 1)
Wife (The ‘Mistress’ Trilogy Book 2)
Mother (The ‘Mistress’ Trilogy Book 3)
The ‘Acostas’ Novels
The Seduction of Dylan Acosta (The Acostas Book 1)
The Education of Miri Acosta (The Acostas Book 2)
The ‘Secret’ Series
Secret (The ‘Secret’ Series Book 1)
The Art of Endings (The ‘Secret’ Series Book 1)
Lifted (The ‘Secret’ Series Book 3)
The ‘Shorts’
Still—The ‘Shorts’ Book 1
The Coffee Date—The ‘Shorts’ Book 2
Just Lunch—The ‘Shorts’ Book 3
Table for Two—The ‘Shorts’ Book 4
The Wanderer—The ‘Shorts’ Book 5
À la Carte: A ‘Coffee Date’ Novella—The ‘Shorts’ Book 6
Silent Nights—The ‘Shorts’ Book 7
Standalone Novels
Ivy’s League
The Lover
Acceptable Losses
Paid Companion
The Makeover
About the Author
Nia Forrester lives and writes in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania where, by day, she is an attorney working on public policy, and by night, she crafts woman-centered fiction that examines the complexities of life, love, and the human condition. Subscribe to Nia Forrester’s Newsletter for free reads, exclusive samples, short stories, giveaways and more: https://bit.ly/2UorIXl
Reach her at: authorniaforrester@gmail.com