Chapter Nine
Nine
Jamilah’s worst fear was confirmed. James had done a background check and if it was as thorough as some he’d conducted on her other friends, he probably now knew more about Rashad than Rashad did.
“Jamilah?”
“Yes, Dad?”
“Rashad White, did you interview him?”
“Yes, I did.”
“And?”
“He’s a talented and experienced cook. Everyone who attended Blair’s mother-in-law’s party raved about his food, and I concur.”
“Don’t tell me you hired that fool without a background—wait, hold on a minute.”
Jamilah felt her heartbeat quicken as she did a final sweep of the kitchen before placing dirty towels and other items in the stackable washer and turning it on.
She reached the door, looked out into the darkness and set the alarm before walking outside.
The night air was cool, but she didn’t think that was why goose bumps suddenly appeared on her arm.
It had been the message her father delivered and what he might want her to do as a result of what he’d learned.
She got into her car, turned the heat on full blast, and was hit with a jolt of cold air from the cold engine.
“Dammit!”
“Jamilah?”
“Sorry, Daddy. Just turned on the heat, and the air is freezing.”
“That’s because you didn’t let the car run for a few minutes, like I taught you when you were about sixteen and told you about a million times since then.”
“You’re right.”
Jamilah turned off the fan, blew hot breath on her fingers to heat them up, and reminded herself to dig out an extra pair of gloves to put in the console.
At the same time, she felt a tinge of anger at her father’s tone, something that lately happened more and more.
At first she blamed it on the stress of a sagging business, but tonight it felt more like a righteous indignation at being treated like a child.
Growing up, her father’s voice had been the voice of God.
What he said was law. In nearly thirty years she’d rarely defied him, even when he acted as though her opinion didn’t matter.
I’m not a baby anymore, she thought and immediately felt guilty.
Her father had been there, always. Hadn’t abandoned her like her mother had, which created a loyalty that Jamilah couldn’t see might be a bit unhealthy.
All she saw—felt, rather—was security. For any child growing up in a single-parent family, security and love were really all they wanted.
“I’m in the middle of an investigation and have to go right now. But we need to finish this conversation. In the meantime, find another chef.”
“But Daddy—”
“No buts. He’s not the one. I don’t have time to go into it right now, and I’m disappointed that I even have to. Do you want to know why?”
Not really.
“Because me having to tell you what you should already know means you didn’t follow rule number one on new hires.”
“A background check,” they said together.
“I didn’t have to, Dad. He already told me—”
“I’m sure he told you a lot of things.” Jamilah heard the squawk of her father’s radio. “Look, I’ve got to go. Handle your business. Find somebody else to work with you. I’ll call back when I can.”
“Okay. Bye.”
Jamilah breathed a sigh of relief as she ended the call and headed out of the parking lot. Just as she reached the end of the alley with a choice to go left or right, her phone dinged with a call she wasn’t expecting.
“Blair!”
“Where are you?”
“In my car. And hello to you, too.”
“No, I mean where, as in location.”
“Just leaving work. I—”
“Never mind what you’re about to say. There’s a ticket waiting for you at the Uptown.”
“For who?”
“Godfrey.”
“The comedian?” One of her faves. Politically incorrect as hell and hilarious in the process.
“How many Godfreys do you know? I’m on break and only have ten minutes. Just wanted to catch you before you went home and took off your face.”
“You know I don’t work in makeup. I look like crap, jeans, an old Side Chic’k T-shirt, and a bomber jacket. Plus, my hair’s not done.”
“Who cares? One of Leon’s friends got two tickets, and his date canceled. Leon is in St. Louis, and Simon is gay so you don’t have to impress him. Anyway, you’re a natural beauty.”
“So I’ll be sitting with a stranger?”
“About fifteen hundred, in fact. Now, go. Have a good time. The late show is probably just getting underway. Thank me later.”
Blair clicked off before Jamilah could respond.
Didn’t take long to decide what she’d do.
Godfrey was hilarious, and after the day—week—months she’d had, she could use a good laugh.
She headed up Broadway, parked on a residential side street, raced into the venue and laughed so hard she almost peed her pants.
Leon’s friend Simon, a Triple G—as in, geeky gay guy—was the perfect companion—dry British humor, irreverent, and awkwardly cool.
She’d forgotten how much fun it was to be entertained, to be social in a way that had nothing to do with food.
She told Simon as much as they stood in the lobby.
“Thank you, Simon. That was a good time that was sorely needed.”
“Don’t thank me,” Simon replied, in a voice that reminded her of James Cordon. “Thank the unnamed online asshole who stood me up.”
Jamilah eyed an imaginary body beside Simon and dutifully said, “Thanks, asshole.”
He cracked up. She threw back her head in laughter. When she lowered it, her eyes met a pair staring at her discreetly from across the room.
Walter.
Jamilah hadn’t seen her ex in person for over a month.
Last time was much like this. Public place.
From a distance. Each time it became easier.
Even knowing it was the right thing to do, ending their relationship had been a rough ride.
For many reasons. Her intuition had told her it was over long before she told him.
Because of his cavalier attitude at her heartfelt admissions, and cold shoulder for months thereafter, she almost felt like the one who’d been dumped.
That was then, this was now, Jamilah reminded herself.
No hard feelings. She smiled and gave a discreet wave.
He waved back. His fiancée turned around and looked at her.
Olivia. Jamilah knew her name because of the large spread on their engagement in the society pages.
Jamilah forced herself not to be self-conscious about sweaty work attire and hair hidden beneath a greasy bandanna until two hours ago as she took in Olivia’s casual, tailored elegance and well-coifed do.
Watched as the woman who wore her attorney energy like a designer jacket placed a possessive hand on Walter’s arm when she spoke to him.
Turned her body away from Jamilah. Spoke into his ear.
They both laughed. His arm slid around her waist as another couple approached them.
The scene might have been funny had what Jamilah felt was a show of insecurity not hit close to home.
Jamilah’s clinginess toward the end of their relationship came from the fear of not measuring up in a thousand ways to people who shouldn’t matter when it came to who shared her bedroom.
Highlighted a lifetime of being a people pleaser, lest they abandon her like her mother had.
It had taken all these months to rediscover herself.
She was still healing. She’d had help from a variety of sources, including a dear friend in Cali who’d said after the breakup, “The only man you want to be with is the one who lets you be yourself.”
Jamilah tried to shake off the across-the-room encounter, but the joy from Godfrey’s comedy dissipated before she reached her car.
In its place were thoughts of Walter and the possible conversations that had taken place with his lawyer girlfriend about her.
An unwanted trip down memory lane rolled in her mind as smoothly as the wheels on her car returning her to her downtown loft.
Memories that solidified a conclusion she’d come to before, that much of her life had been spent doing what others wanted, at the cost of her own desires.
She’d chased the validation not shown by her mother from others, especially men.
Bosses. Boyfriends. Schoolmates. Her dad.
Especially her father. He was a hero she rarely crossed.
Which is why his demand that she fire Rashad had her so conflicted.
The only thought that made her feel even worse was of all that sexy swagger leaving her kitchen, of never seeing Rashad again.