Chapter Ten #2
“This is the one,” I said to myself as I grabbed my gold Tom Ford heels, some gold accessories, and a gold clutch purse. I sprayed a few drops of BabyCat by Yves Saint Laurent, then stood in front of my mirror admiring the finished product.
“Have fun and enjoy yourself. Men do this all the time. You are successful, sexy, and not looking for a husband. This is simply a fun time with a friend.” I coached myself as my stomach fluttered like I was seventeen.
I looked down at my phone and the time read 8:30, an hour passed like five minutes.
I grabbed my keys from the dish and flew out of the door as quickly as I came into it a few hours earlier.
Twenty minutes later, I was in Atlanta traffic fighting for my life.
The closer I got to Midtown, the slower everything moved.
Brake lights stretched for miles while the skyline glowed brighter with every passing minute.
I honked the horn and switched lanes aggressively while singing my heart out to SZA.
When I reached valet the time on the radio flashed, 9:54pm.
I smirked, feeling good about myself. I wanted to be late but not obnoxiously late.
“Perfect,” I muttered proudly.
The valet opened my door.
“Evening, ma’am.”
I handed him the keys before smoothing invisible wrinkles from my dress.
My palms were suddenly sweaty, and I had to remind myself that I needed to get a grip.
It was just dinner and a fuck afterwards; it wasn’t a damn marriage interview.
I walked through the doors like I owned the place.
I had heard great things about this steakhouse, and the ambiance was definitely living up to the hype.
To get inside the restaurant you had to walk through a large bank vault door.
Red lighting inside of the vault illuminated the room and both walls were covered in flowers.
At the end of the tunnel, there was an opportunity for a photo op.
The large restaurant sign hung overhead and there was a group of girls taking each other’s pictures in front of the sign.
I smiled at them and walked past as I stepped inside.
The hostess greeted me, standing at a little table, dressed in black and white with a red bow tie.
“Reservation?” she asked politely as she smiled.
“Reservation for Welsh,” I replied as I smoothed my dress down again even though I had only walked one mile since the last time I smoothed it down.
“You look amazing, and your party is on the top floor. You are going to take this elevator to fourteen and as soon as you step off there will be someone there to show you to your table.” She winked at me and nodded towards the elevator.
I exhaled, equally annoyed and impressed.
Of course, Zumo chose the top floor. He couldn’t be normal and just take me for a quick bite so we could get to the bedroom, he had to be extra and want to romance a bitch.
I sighed as I stepped onto the elevator and the doors slid shut.
My reflection stared back at me from the polished steel walls and I checked my lipstick.
I adjusted my earrings and turned from side to side modeling my dress in the mirror.
“You own a multi-million-dollar business,” I reminded my reflection. She looked like she was still unsure and the elevator was only on floor three so since I still had eleven floors to go, I decided to double down on the positive self-talk.
“You are a boss ass bitch Brick. You are the one that negotiates contracts, fires people, deals with contractors twice your size, and signs the checks. You took a struggling family business and turned it into a masterpiece. You have no reason to be intimidated by a little juicing ass man,” I told myself as my eyes shifted nervously over to the numbers on the panel and I was now on floor eleven.
I wiped my palms on my dress and checked my lipstick again.
The thought of Zumo made my heart speed up just slightly.
He wasn’t some contractor that had to do what I told him to do.
He wasn’t my little brother whose messes I cleaned up.
I already knew that the hardest part about fucking with Zumo was relinquishing control.
“Well luckily for you, you don’t want him to be your nigga, you just want the D.” I shrugged.
I didn’t even entertain the thought of wanting more with a man like him even though he had amazing qualities.
I found myself mentally listing the things I liked about him like, I did not intimidate him, he hadn’t treated me like competition, and he had taken a burden off my shoulders without making me feel weak for letting him.
He was fine as hell, twice my size, and successful.
Those were all admirable things, but they were also things that could be used against me if I allowed myself to get too close.
Yes, just a friendly fuck, and a cordial neighborly wave in passing was all I needed him to give me.
The elevator chimed finally and the doors slid open.
When I stepped out, I was greeted by warm lighting spilled across polished hardwood floors, soft jazz floating through the room, floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooked the entire Atlanta skyline, and a waiter standing there smiling waiting to show me to the table. It was breathtaking.
“Hi, reservation for Welsh? Let me show you to your table, your other party has already arrived,” the waiter said as he turned so I could follow him.
I walked through the room, heels clanking, people laughing, drinks clanking, and expensive perfumes mingling with the scent of the sweet aroma of sustenance.
This place felt elite. It felt like you couldn’t be just anybody to be here.
It felt like limited access. When I arrived at the table, Zumo was sitting there with a gorgeous bouquet of flowers.
He looked like temptation. A white button-down shirt, folded at the elbows, a few buttons undone showing his tattoos on his chest. A gold necklace laid perfectly against his skin and all I could picture was the necklace dangling in my face.
He stood up to greet me like a gentleman and dark denim hugged his long legs, he wore black boots, a gold watch, and his cologne swirled around me in the perfect scent bubble causing my knees to slightly wobble.
He looked even better out of uniform. He was rugged enough to be masculine, but his beard was neatly trimmed, nails clean, and his skin was glowing like he exfoliated regularly.
His eyes slowly traveled from my heels to my legs, to my waist, stopped at my breast, then settled on my face. He was blatantly checking me out and I was tempted to clear my throat but before I could, a slow grin spread across his lips.
“Damn,” he grinned as he handed me the flowers. I folded my arms, pretending his stare hadn’t just made my entire body warm. I grabbed the flowers and inhaled them.
“What?” I asked him, pretending to be annoyed when I was really bubbling over inside like a boiling pot with a lid on it.
He shook his head and whistled low, “You got legs for days baby.”
I laughed and rolled my eyes at him as he walked over and pulled my chair out. I sat down and placed the flowers next to me.
“So, that’s it? No, you look beautiful tonight. Just you got legs for days baby.” I mocked him, causing him to laugh aloud.
“You look absolutely stunning Brick. You look as beautiful as I imagined you would look outside of your work clothes. It’s going to be difficult for me to keep my hands to myself, but I’m a gentleman and you are a lady.
I’m sorry you look beautiful. The legs thing was an intrinsic thought that just slipped past my lips,” he smirked.
I wanted to tell him that I knew I was a lady, but he didn’t have to be a gentleman.
Tonight, I didn’t want to be respected I wanted him to pin me against the wall and fuck me like a fatherless slut who had low self-esteem.
Unlike him I kept my intrinsic thought to myself.
Instead, I simply said, “Thank you, you clean up good yourself.”
“I took the liberty of ordering a drink for you if that’s ok. I told the waiter to bring the drinks as soon as you arrived,” he shrugged.
I instantly got annoyed because how did he know what I wanted to drink? I began to rethink the whole letting a nigga take control thing.
“I can see the wheels turning in your head. I only ordered for you because I know that you have a million decisions to make. When you are with me, I want you to know that you are safe enough to let your guard down and not have to make decisions. I figured an apple martini is a pretty universal drink, and you would approve of that. Was I wrong?” he questioned.
I rolled my eyes because he in fact was not wrong and a martini was exactly what I was going to order. He was too good at this and that only annoyed me even further.
“You weren’t wrong and I appreciate you,” I smiled at him.
It was impossible to stay mad at him when his intentions were so pure.
The waiter arrived less than two seconds later with our drinks.
After putting in for appetizers, I asked him something I had been wondering about since the day I met him.
“So, what made you start juicing?” I asked as I sipped my martini.
The smile he was wearing faded slowly like the sun being replaced by the moon.
“My wife made me start juicing. She was a dietitian and she was passionate about healing people through vegetables. She loved farming, growing her own vegetables, and she taught me everything I know about vegetables and fresh produce.” His jaw tightened as he took a mental trip down memory lane.
His body was still sitting across from me, but I could tell his mind had travelled a million miles away.
The air changed and I choked on my drink.
I looked down at his hand, and there was no ring there.