Chapter Twenty-Three
Twenty-Three
Jamilah arrived home before the sun kissed the sky.
A telltale throbbing persisted between her thighs, as though Rashad’s energy was still present.
As she walked from the garage to the lobby and into the elevator that would take her to her floor, she was uber aware of all the places Rashad had pleasured.
Tender nipples. Kiss-stung lips. Sensitive spots all over, down to her big toe.
For Jamilah, one thing was for sure. She was in trouble.
Big trouble. And in the light of the sun-filled morning, the possible consequences of her actions came out of hiding.
Going against her father by employing Rashad was one thing.
Sleeping with him took the situation to a whole other level.
Rashad represented everything her dad had warned her about.
She remembered one of his sayings growing up, one that gave a nod to his extensive album collection: Don’t date anyone with a record that is not made of wax.
Using that analogy, not only did Rashad have a record, but several.
He’d been incarcerated more than once and even now was on parole.
Jamilah couldn’t even put all of her uncertainty on her father.
In the light of day, the weight of her spontaneity settled around her like Rashad’s arms had last night.
Was she okay if what they had was only temporary?
Could they still work together if the sex went south?
Suppose their dalliance turned serious? How would their future look?
Rashad was a great guy, but facts were facts.
Men with felonies couldn’t vote. It was hard to get gainful employment.
She’d needed her father to help get a loan.
What chance did Rashad have with his record?
Could he buy a house? Get a car? Pass the scrutiny of any bank-loan application?
These were questions for which she didn’t have answers.
Ones her father had probably considered when he called Rashad six feet of bad news.
Jamilah stripped and stepped into a steamy, hot shower, grateful for the warmth of the water and the power of the showerhead that massaged her body.
She soaped herself, thinking of Rashad as her hands glided over her skin.
She could never tell anyone that she wasn’t warned, that there hadn’t been mental caution lights blinking from the time she’d donned the negligee to when she’d trekked across town.
As she’d neared Anna’s home, they’d become more pronounced.
That’s until she walked into his basement abode and into his arms. From then the goal became clear, as did purposeful intent.
There was certainty when she shed her clothes and climbed into his bed, feeling his eyes pour over her like the water did now.
All doubt fled when she kissed him. When he kissed her back with a deliberate tenderness that was the very opposite of her aggression.
The foreplay? Goodness. She would never be able to see his tongue and not remember all the places on her body that it had touched.
And when he’d entered her? That slow thrusting when it was no longer possible to detect where he ended and she began?
Followed by the light flashes and thunder roars that were her multiple orgasms?
Game over. As she lay cuddled in his arms, satiated to the point of wanting to purr like a kitten, Jamilah knew she’d jumped from the frying pan into the fire, ready to get burned over and over again.
With a few hours until her server shift at Gusto, Jamilah forced her thoughts away from Rashad and on to her business.
She pulled out her tablet and pulled up the spreadsheets that mapped out the Side Chic’k budget.
Thanks to the recent catering job, the generous tip given to her at the end of the evening, and growing profits from being open two and a half days, she could comfortably handle expenses for the next few months, more if repeat customer business continued and she managed inventory correctly.
An image of Rashad laughing with customers brought a smile to her face.
She was sure his presence played a role in the increased female patronage.
There was no denying the animal magnetism and charisma.
In her life for less than a month, and she couldn’t go more than fifteen minutes without thinking about him.
She studied payroll. Thankfully her work at Gusto paid her personal bills.
She paid herself after everyone else, and only if there was enough without cutting into other responsibilities.
It was nice having her former employee Everett back, but she could let him go if doing so would stretch the bank account.
What would really be great during this holiday season was another catering job or three.
She clicked on the Side Chic’k website, looking at the home page for ideas on how to better advertise their catering arm to be more attractive to potential clients.
While finishing up a text to her web administrator, the phone rang.
She took a fortifying breath, hoped for the best, then answered.
“Hey, Daddy.”
“Jamilah. How are you?”
“I’m okay.”
“Really? I’m not.”
Several seconds ticked by. Jamilah remained quiet. What could she say? She had no control over her father’s feelings, and sat ready to stand her ground even as she felt it shift beneath her.
“I’m in the middle of a delicate investigation that I can’t focus fully on for worrying about you.”
“Don’t worry. I’m fine.”
Deliciously so, fully satiated.
“Why can’t you just find another cook?”
“Why can’t you just stay out of my business?”
“What did you just say?”
Jamilah took another breath. Maybe having this conversation over the phone wasn’t the best idea. Then again, maybe the physical distance was exactly what was needed for Jamilah to put on her big-girl panties and not run from this tough yet much-needed exchange.
“I apologize for my tone, but not for what I said. I know you love me, Daddy. I know you mean well and want what’s best for me. But did you listen to what I said the other day? Did you hear anything at all?”
“I heard a daughter being defiant, that’s what I heard.”
“Not an experienced, intelligent woman capable of making sound business decisions?”
One second passed. Two. Three.
“I don’t call you with ultimatums on how to do your job, or suggestions on which detective you should work with and which one you should avoid.
I don’t do that because I’m not in law enforcement.
You’re the one with that experience, who’s put in the hours to become knowledgeable in how best to do your job.
I don’t have twenty years in this industry, and yes, right now is a struggle.
Eighty percent of restaurants fail within the first five years.
I’m working like hell to best those odds by doing what I feel is best for my business. ”
“Your business or your personal life?”
“Again, and with all due respect, my personal life is also my business.”
The silence was deafening. And extended.
“Daddy?”
She looked at the phone. He’d hung up.
“Well, that went to hell in a handbasket,” she said to the condo walls, while her emotional ones threatened to crash down around her.
Jamilah came down from the amazing sex high. To his credit, Rashad had reached out to make sure she was okay. She lied and said she was, that she was busy with work and other avoidant, nonsensical excuses that kept her from having to talk to him while sorting herself out.
Over the next couple days she went from questioning her actions to regretting them, especially because of the wedge it drove between her and her father.
She called him to apologize again for her outburst and call a truce.
He didn’t answer. Not surprised, she left a voice mail.
She knew it would be a few days before he came around.
James Carver was a stubborn, proud, opinionated man who’d sacrificed a lot to raise her as a single dad.
He’d had to fulfill the role of two parents.
She understood why he felt it was still his responsibility to protect her, a sense of entitlement when it came to having a say in how she lived her life.
Because she grew up apart from her mother, their relationship was totally different.
Except for a phone call here or a birthday card there, Shannon had missed Jamilah’s growing-up years and the bond usually formed during that time.
Theirs was a casual friendship, two strangers really, who each decided to make room for the other in their life.
Jamilah would see her mother next month during the Christmas holiday.
If a repeat of last year, they’d have dinner, be cordial, and fill the air with surface conversation, polite inquiries about each other’s lives.
She’d dutifully ask about her absent half-brother, who was fifteen years younger and who she barely knew.
Shannon would politely inquire about James.
Maybe this time her brother EJ would be there, and Jamilah could get to know the kid who she shared blood with.
Jamilah held no anger. He wasn’t the one who’d been married to her father. Bottom line, though, that motherly advice she needed about men in general and Rashad specifically would definitely not come from Shannon.
Friday arrived. She walked into Side Chic’k exhausted from two back-to-back doubles.
Somewhere in the delirium of too much work, too little sleep, and running on energy drinks, the pendulum of emotions finished its erratic swaying and settled in the seat of her soul, where rationale, logic, and who-gives-a-damn had a come-to-Jesus meeting.
When it was over, Jamilah decided to not fret over what had happened in the past that couldn’t be changed, what took place now that wasn’t in her control, or what was in the future that she couldn’t yet see.
With that mindset, she put on her favorite India Arie, turned up the volume, and had just begun assembling the day’s salads when she heard footsteps coming down the hall.
“Rashad?”
He rounded the corner. “The one and only.”
After placing his ever-present notebook under the counter, he walked straight over and pulled her into his arms. There was a chance they could be seen from the street, but after a brief hesitation, Jamilah wrapped her arms around his neck and accepted his kiss.
When he tried to deepen the exchange, however, she ended the embrace and went to the fridge to cover her conflicting emotions by looking busy.
If Rashad noticed, he said nothing. Jamilah exhaled.
“Would you believe I haven’t stopped thinking about you since you bum-rushed my body?”
This elicited a smile. “I did that, didn’t I?”
“You did,” he replied, taming his locs with his bandanna. “I loved every minute of it.”
“Me, too.” Jamilah washed her hands and returned to the counter. “Might cost me, though.”
Rashad pulled an apron over his sweatshirt. “Let me guess. Your pops?”
Jamilah sighed, not sure how much about her father’s continued dislike she wanted to share with a man who disliked him right back. Still, knowing he was exactly who she needed to talk to, she tapped the volume button and lowered India’s beautiful voice.
Rashad joined her at the counter. “I don’t mind loud music.”
“You asked how being with you the other night might cost me.”
“Yeah.”
Jamilah finished one of the salad offerings, transferred it from the mixing bowl to a display tray. The familiar act was not only comforting but gave her another minute before sharing information that Rashad could not unhear.
Rashad stopped working. “What happened?”
“He called and restated his position. Made sure I knew it hadn’t changed. I shared my reasons for keeping you based on sound logic, but he didn’t hear a word. He asked me again to find another cook and found out my mind hadn’t changed either. I told him I would not be looking for a replacement.”
“You said that?”
“For better or worse.”
“Impressive.”
Jamilah didn’t see the admiration in Rashad’s eyes as he looked at her. “His anger for not firing me, that’s the price?”
“Not just that you still work here. He thinks I like you.”
“He’d rather you work around people you don’t like?”
“You know what I mean.”
“Is he right?”
It was Jamilah’s turn for an annoyed tsk. “What do you think?”
“Just because we slept together doesn’t mean you’re feeling me like that.”
“I don’t know what I’m feeling. But my dad is pissed. He’s used to me following his orders without question. But that’s starting to change.”
“Change isn’t always easy, but often necessary.”
“I just have to get comfortable with being uncomfortable. I just don’t—” Jamilah swallowed the sob that hopped into her throat and swiped the renegade tear that escaped through her lashes.
“Say it, Jamilah. You just don’t what?”
“I don’t want to lose my dad!”
Rashad stepped closer and hugged her.
“Love doesn’t let go that easy, babe. When he sees you happy and the business successful, he’ll come around.”
Rashad’s words were as soothing as fresh aloe vera. Jamilah hoped they were also the truth.