Chapter 2 Ace
Ace
Raya can never find out about Veronica.
I don’t like her—all five feet six, one-hundred eighty drop-dead gorgeous pounds of her. She's the lead on the closeout team, a project manager, for all intents and purposes. Good at her job, too. I'll admit, in another life, she’d probably be my work wife. But in this lifetime?
I can’t stand the woman.
But I ain’t stupid. There’s not one single scenario where my wife wouldn’t see this woman and go off. Raya would either be pissed off that I’m working so closely with this stallion of a woman, or she’d be filled with rage by how badly this woman treats me.
Either way, it’s best for all involved that I pretend like Veronica Whitlock doesn’t exist.
Man, I used to love being out here by the bridge listening to the sounds of my vision coming to life. The hum of the machinery. Metal groaning. Drills whining. Air thick with concrete dust and oil. When I close my eyes and stand out here in the thick of it all, I smile involuntarily.
Until Veronica’s voice cuts through the air like static.
“I thought we agreed on a carbon fiber finish for the guardrails, not steel.”
I pinch the bridge of my nose. “As I said, the carbon fiber is on backorder. The steel is already here. We’d lose a week or two if we waited.”
She crosses her arms, tablet hugged against her ample chest like a shield. “We’re supposed to be sustainable, Ace. Remember? Optics matter. The investors care.”
“The investors care about me meeting deadlines,” I say, sharper than I mean to. “This thing is opening next month, not next year.”
She’s not out of line here. These are the questions she’s supposed to ask.
She’s just so fucking annoying. When I say up, she has to say down.
I'm starting to take it personal.
She schedules midday site visits during peak work hours, and then I’m the bad guy because I have to tell her she’s disrupting the flow.
She insists on daily reports with color-coded spreadsheets, meanwhile I send one-line summaries because I’m busy actually building the fucking thing.
She eats her lunch at my desk because she’s too good to sit outside with the crew, then gets snippy when I remind her to clean up after herself.
It never fucking ends.
But I can handle her. I have no choice. Because I can see it now: Raya showing up to the site in a show-stopping dress and that quiet, dangerous smile she wears when she’s up to something.
She’d slice through Veronica’s practiced composure with that polite but deadly precision that made even my mama blink.
And then Veronica would suffer, everybody would be talking, and I’d have to deal with the fallout.
So I keep my head down, my jaw tight, and I deal with it.
By six-thirty, the site is finally empty. The cranes rest like giant skeletons against the darkening sky. My stomach growls, my neck hurts, and my mind is a mess of thoughts.
I text my boy Titus.
Drink?
He replies before I can even get my phone back in my pocket.
Titus
Already at Murphy’s. Pull up.
I don’t know why Titus picked this place. The lights are so low, it’s hard to tell if everybody in here is depressed or just tired.
I know which one I am.
I drop onto the stool beside him. “Fuck wrong with you?”
He rears back. “Why something gotta be wrong with me?”
I gesture around me. “This sad ass spot. Ain’t even no games on.”
He shakes his head while I signal a bartender. “I wasn’t thinkin’, man. Rough day.”
“Yeah, me, too,” I say. “Old girl is on my ass again.”
Titus lets out a quiet, sympathetic chuckle. “Every time she gets started, just stare at a spot on the wall and think of your paycheck.”
“Whatever, man. So what’s up with you?”
He shifts on his stool, angling toward me, preparing to unload. “Alright, remember that girl? The one with the fat ass?”
“All your chicks got fat asses,” I point out. “You gon' have to narrow it down for me.”
“Short hair? Thin ass lips?”
“Oh. Yeah. What about her?”
“She ghosted me.”
My drink comes just then, which is for the best. When it comes to women, Titus can’t be helped.
I take a long swig before I muster up something to say. “What you do?”
“Why do you assume I did something?”
“Ok, then, what happened?”
His broad shoulders lift. “Shit was goin’ good, Ace. It was. And then…”
I let him drone on and on. What happened to this one is the same thing that happens with all of them; Titus stays punching above his weight class.
“So, you’re happy, right? With your girl?”
I shoot him a look. “With my wife? Of course.”
“So I don’t understand why you won’t hook me up with one of her friends.”
I chuckle at that. “How many times I gotta tell you Raya doesn’t have any friends?”
“And that ain’t weird to you?”
“I mean…not really. Not if you knew her like I do.”
“She mean?”
“Nah. She just…ain’t for the bullshit. And friendships can be some bullshit sometimes.”
Titus nods knowingly. “You coming on Saturday?”
“Yeah, I’ll be there.”
Can't miss basketball with the guys. I should miss, but I won't. For one, because I'm serious about my cardiovascular health, but also, I don't want them to know I'm still pissed that they didn't stand up for me at my wedding.
Only Titus did, and that's why I'm sitting here with him now, listening to his ass complain.
That's what friends do.