Chapter 2
Andrès Sebastián Jones
Iwalked away from the enticing view of the bikini-clad women who dotted the golden sands of Manhattan Beach and walked back to the seating area in my office.
Three months after I arrived in L.A., I was caught with a quarter of a pound of weed, and I was locked up for a year.
That wasn’t the best way to be introduced to my new life, but I’d learned a hard lesson fast and quick.
My dad told me there was no way that I was going to have a different life if I kept doing the same dumb shit I’d done before.
A few days after my release, I’d been blowing off steam by playing basketball at a twenty-four-hour gym. I needed to figure out my next steps in life and had been praying for the answers. I met Silas that day, and he invited me out to the strip club with him and his boys later that night.
After I’d gone home and showered and changed clothes, I met up with him later, and we bonded over liquor, women, and our love for the game of basketball. No less than half an hour after we arrived, he started talking about his plans.
I learned that he was enrolling at Santa Monica College to pursue a degree in business management with a concentration in finance.
That was when I shared that I had been enrolled in college, pursuing a degree in business administration with a concentration in information systems. I told him that I’d started wildin’ out and had dropped out.
Over the next couple of weeks, every time we met for a ball game, he talked about school. He eventually encouraged me to give it a shot again.
Six months after graduation, we both received our PMP certification and were working as project managers for a marketing firm.
In my spare time, my love for the game had me traveling locally to play basketball.
I’m a beast at basketball, and I was recruited to participate in a regional tournament, which my team not only won, but I was voted MVP.
There was a two hundred grand cash prize for being MVP, which allowed me to invest in my true dream: creating a gym shoe brand as a sneakerhead. I poured hours of research, work, and building connections to get the brand off the ground and finding the right manufacturer.
Using my business degree and the connections Silas and I made through our PMP work, we linked up with some social media influencers, and we promoted the hell out of that shit until it blew up. All sales were online only, which kept costs down and allowed for quick growth.
We created a company and leveraged the hype around the shoes to add T-shirts and hoodies to the brand.
Within two years, we had launched an entire urban clothing brand, Gen U for generation urban.
It didn’t matter if you were a millennial or Gen Z or Alpha, there was something for everyone.
We also built a PMP consulting company and recruited new staff through the school we received our certification from.
Money started flowing through like water, but I was careful not to revert to my old ways.
I was careful with my money and investing in things that were lucrative, like art, real estate, and gold.
“You good, my nigga?” Silas, my best friend and business partner, asked.
“Yeah, I’m good. Just thinking about what you’ve laid out on the table,” I replied, referring to the details about the PMP side of our business.
“It’s the best time for an expansion. The market is open. We’re doing great here in California, Florida, and in New York. From the stats that our research company returned, Georgia is the next place for us to go.”
“Yeah, I don’t doubt Kingston’s research at all. The nigga is a beast when it comes to numbers and data,” I remarked, referring to our consultant who we used for data and research. “It’s just there are a lot of things to consider.”
“I get it. I’ve been thinking this through, and it makes money and sense. I know you love the sunny beaches, and you don’t want to leave.”
“That’s not what I was thinking,” I replied with a chuckle.
“Where’s your mind at?” he asked, grabbing a beer from my refrigerator and popping it open.
“I think I should head it up.”
“You launched the locations in Manhattan, Miami, and Tampa, and hired the staff. I thought we decided that I would do the next one.”
“We did, but this is different.”
“What are you saying? Because I’m not picking up what you’re putting down, Drè.”
“His data showed a struggling company in Cherokee Springs, Georgia, which we should take over. It would be the more logical option than going into Atlanta.”
“Right. So, what’s the problem?”
“Nigga, you know that’s my hometown.”
He crossed his arms over his chest and angled his head. “You sure you want to do this? You ready to go back home?” Silas asked warily.
He was the only one in my new life, outside of my family, who knew why I left home all those years ago.
Whenever anyone else asked why I had relocated to L.A.
, I simply answered “school and new opportunities.” Even the women I’d spent a significant amount of time with over the last few years received that same answer, including the one who fucked over my life for three years.
“It’s time. Next year, it will have been ten years since I left. I’ve already bought some land, hired a firm to build my house, and put my current one on the market,” I declared.
“Damn, G. Sounds like you’ve put some thought into this. When were you planning to tell me?”
“When the time was right.”
“So, I’m guessing that’s now?” He chuckled.
“Yeah.”
“How long you been thinking about this?”
“For the last year.”
“The fuck? This got something to do with Mercedes?”
“That bullshit gave me a lot to think about over the last year. I didn’t want to make any sudden moves, but yeah; it influenced my decision. Other than that, it’s been a decade, man. I always knew that I would be returning home next year.”
“You’ve stayed away all this time. What’s changed?”
“I made a promise to someone special, someone I would never lie to. I’m a man of my word, if nothing else. My heart can’t rest until I do what needs to be done, . . . what I want to be done.”
“Sounds serious.”
“It is. I don’t believe in letting the people who mean the most to me down. Not anymore.”
“That’s wassup.”
We bumped fists, and I thought back to a year ago.
“Wassup, baby? You good?” I asked my girlfriend, Mercedes.
We had been dating for three years. Of those three years, we had been living together for one year. I had given up my bachelor pad with Silas for an upscale penthouse to live with her.
“Not really, Drè.”
“What’s going on?” I asked, sitting back in my seat and setting my fork down.
We were eating at Seashells, a popular seafood restaurant on Manhattan Beach. Our social lives were busy, and we were always out and about, being seen. She deemed us as a power couple who was going places in the world.
I just liked networking and building my constituent list, and she was a popular lifestyle influencer.
She sighed. “These last three years have been great, but I think it’s time that we call it.”
“Call what, baby?”
“This relationship.”
My chest tightened, my jaw clenched, and I frowned because I thought things were going well. This came out of the blue. What the hell was really going on?
“Is this about marriage?”
In our second year, her family had dropped numerous hints about us getting married. Mercedes and I had agreed we would know when the time was right, and for me, that time hadn’t come yet. Mercedes was always quiet on the subject whenever her family brought it up.
“No. I get that you don’t want to be married, and I respect that.
I’ve honestly come to agree that you’re right.
I don’t know who she is, Drè, but I know that someone out there holds your heart.
You’ve said the same thing to me, too, that someone else holds my heart. I have denied it, but you were right.”
Mercedes studied her plate as she spoke, never making eye contact with me. Strangely, I felt no jealousy, just a bit of numbness.
I lifted my eyebrow. “Who is it?”
“My husband.”
“The fuck?” Numbness morphed into anger because I felt she was playing with me.
She nodded and looked up from her plate at me with tears in her eyes. “What the hell are you talking about, Mercedes?”
She pushed her plate away and grabbed her glass of wine. I snatched it out of her hand, and I leaned in closer. “What the fuck are you talking about, Mercedes?” I repeated.
She looked around to see if anyone was watching. She was always worried about appearances more than anything. I was annoyed because I didn’t give a shit about what other people thought right now. The only thing I cared about was why she was fucking with me.
“I’m married, Drè. I have been since we met.”
“You’re married?” I repeated in disbelief with a cruel laugh.
“Yes. My husband went to prison for embezzlement for eight years. When you and I met, he had already served five. He kept telling me to go on with my life and not wait for him, and at first, I refused to. After a while, I figured he was right. That was when I met you.”
“And you never thought I needed to know that shit?”
“I didn’t think we would be here, baby.”
“And when you realized that we were growing serious, you didn’t think it was time to tell me then?”
“It was hard, and let’s be real. You were never growing that serious about me.”
“Serious enough to ask you to move in with me. I don’t fuck with married women, Mercedes. What I don’t get is why would your family be so pressed for us to get married if you already were?”
“I told them that Robert and I were divorcing. I fully expected us to, but guilt ate at me. My family pressured me to divorce him, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it. I couldn’t abandon him when he needed me the most.”
“So why are you telling me this now?”
“Robert’s getting out. He’s coming home.”
“And what the hell does that mean?”
“I love you, Drè, but let’s be honest. You’re not about to marry me. I’m a woman who needs and deserves to be married. I’m not leaving my husband, Drè.”
“You sure he’ll still want to be married to you once he finds out you been living with and fucking another nigga?”
“He knows all about you.”
I scoffed and shook my head. “Ain’t this some shit. Bitches can’t be trusted,” I stated, standing and waving the waiter down.
“Excuse me? Who are you calling a bitch?”
“Your lying, scheming ass,” I replied.
“Hi, Mr. Jones, are you ready for your bill, sir?”
“Charge it to my tab. Make sure that moving forward, no one charges shit to my tab except for me.” I snarled, looking at Mercedes.
“Where are you going?” she asked, running behind me.
“A hotel.”
“How am I supposed to get home?”
“Use the car service.”
“Are you coming home?”
“Hell no.”
“What about your things, Drè? What am I supposed to do with them?”
“I don’t give a fuck about that shit, about you, or any of this bullshit. Live your life, Mercedes.”