Chapter 29
madison
. . .
Why had my internal clock, wired for artsy-fartsy stuff, awakened me so early? I rushed down the steps of my house in an old pantsuit I’d left in my closet. And socks, my sister’s socks, went the same direction as me. Down.
I left a message for my sister to the effect of Who purchases ankle socks?
As I grabbed my car keys out of a glass bowl, I texted Washington.
ME: Yep. It’s early. I gotta create something that captures our time at the winery. Enjoy your golfing. Meet me at Glass & Sass around noon, or I’ll sign any deal where the money’s right .
Another message came in. My sister.
LYNN: You stole my socks again?
ME: Yes, and they’re ruining my afterglow.
LYNN: First, I bought you socks for your birthday. You chronic sock thief! Second, you got serviced . TMI. I’ma pull a Wash and have you arrested!
ME: Jokes on you. When the cops arrive, I’ll show them the socks. They’re gonna detain you. Sorry, sis.
Then I sent a pathetic sock meme. So as not to play into my sister’s GIF wars, I tapped the screen to disable notifications and entered a creative mindset. I’d learned this habit the burned-crispy way in a second-year class.
At Glass & Sass, I let myself into the cement structure with my badge and made a beeline for the classroom I was most comfortable in, at the far end of the hall.
The usual instructors arrived later in the day, and since Omari and I had scheduled our meeting for noon, I had the entire place to myself.
My eyebrows pinched when the door to the loading dock opened, dead ahead. A familiar voice, filled with rage, reached me first, threatening bloody murder. Omari? Who was he threatening?
That question became obsolete. I shuffled around in my shoes, turning back the way I came. There was something about his voice. That Southern drawl had disappeared. Who was this guy?
“Madison?”
I continued my slow tiptoe.
“I see you.” Omari’s voice was smooth as velvet, the drawl returning like an enchantment.
Dang! Instead of turning around, my eyes burned holes into the aluminum door.
No windows. No way for my screams to carry through the cement building.
“Oh, I figured that when you called my name. But you sound preoccupied. I’ll see you at lunch.
” Yep. That’s not happening. I intend to flake for the rest of my natural-born life.
At the sound of his shoes on the epoxy floor, I flew toward the door.
A few steps away from the exit, he grabbed my arm. My elbow rammed backward. He jumped to the side. “Cute. You ain’t seen nothing, but you gotta act flighty?”
I wrestled against him, a featherweight, as he spun me around and pressed me against the door.
“Been waiting to have you to myself.” Omari licked his lips, a predatory glint in his eyes. He then violated my hands-off, five-foot-bubble contract, grabbing my breasts.
I smacked his hands away so hard it sounded like a couple of crackle fireworks on the Fourth. “Hey! My husband is on his way.”
“Ex. And damn, why are you riding the judge’s balls again? Didn’t he cheat on you?”
“No!” Omari grabbed me again, and I wriggled against his hold, my fists clenched, itching to connect with his face.
Even though I was no match for him, I found my voice, prepared to fight him the only way I could now, with a snarl and a clapback.
“Washington would never cheat. He’s a good man, unlike someone else I know. ”
At his glare, I smirked. Baby, it is relevant to me. Washington’s principles were noble. Omari and I both knew he was despicable. “You sold those Philippe vases, didn’t you … as if they were the real deal?” I cringed.
“Nah, Francisco Philippe isn’t where the money is. A client of mine is Russian bratva. Dude wants a vase that resembles one of the Philippes. Funny, you thought you were biting dude’s style, but one of Philippe’s vases looks like it’s super ancient. The bratva wants a Gaius C—”
“Cicero vase?” The ancient Roman cameo glass vase had gone missing before our mommas created us. Rumor had it that the vase burned during The Blitz.
“See, you know your history. I gave the best of your Philippe creations to my painter to create Cicero vases.”
“Okay, cool. Cool. Cool … Sounds like a plan.” A smile shook onto my lips because saying cool so many times didn’t increase my courage. At least I didn’t tell on myself by admitting how I was a big snitch. “So, I’m done helping you trick the bratva. I’ll keep your secret, and my life. Sound good?”
“Not good, Madison. Because that wasn’t all dude wanted. He had another vase he’s interested in. Make it for me today. I get my money and disappear.”
My mouth curved into a line. “You lied about HomeGoods and TJ Maxx?”
“Woman, the only TJ in my future is Tijuana. I’ll ghost everyone I know, even your needy-ass momma.”
My momma was needy? I never met that woman. I gritted out, “Washington will be here soon.”
“At noon. If you don’t make the design the way I want it, you’ll be dead an hour before he arrives.” His hand tightened around my biceps, and he tugged me so hard that my spirit followed him before my body got the memo.
How had it come to this?
I’d rescued myself from ending up in the trunk of a Lincoln by not taking the very nice commission tacked onto imaginary Kevin’s corporate retreat.
How could I rescue myself now, though? Fear rattled through my lungs in an uncertain inhale.
Elijah, my sweet baby, I suppose I’ll kiss you a trillion times before Daddy meets us in heaven.
Omari tugged me along, and my socks slid down my feet with every hurried step. Ugh. The most uncomfortable feeling in the world.
Maybe the second most uncomfortable feeling.
Death probably felt ten times worse than the small lump of extra cotton beneath my heel.