Chapter 4
Brooks caught himself checking his phone. Seventh time in the last hour.
He wasn’t that type of nigga. Never had been. Since when did he check for a woman like this? Being tender for a woman wasn’t him.
It had been a week since he’d heard from her, and he still couldn’t shake the image of Taylor curled up, sleeping like an angel peaceful as hell in his guest room. He couldn’t forget the way her perfume clung to the hallway long after she’d gone. Floral.Sweet. Familiar now.
She was a runner. He could tell.
He’d messed up taking her to that damn diner. Sitting across from her, listening to that melodic-ass voice, watching her close her eyes over the best pancake in town like it was damn near holy was torture.
Now his mind was stuck on loop. Replaying every small thing he swore he hadn’t noticed, her laugh, the way she rolled her eyes, how she looked at him. Genuinely interested in the things that made him, him.
“Shit,” he murmured.
At thirty-seven, he trusted his gut. He never bet against the house.
That same instinct had built Bishop Towing from one truck to a fleet of over fifteen.
Took the bones of his father’s old trafficking hustle and turned it into legitimate enterprise.
When it came to business, his gut never failed him.
But his thoughts about Taylor weren’t business.
At least not the business he could solve without batting an eye.
He didn’t just run Bishop Towing anymore. There was the body shop, the club, the vending routes, and now ice machines scattered across two counties. But she was the furthest thing from any of those.
He’d let a woman, a beautiful, slim thick, fine woman, sleep in his home, touch his space, shift the whole damn energy. And now the house felt… off. As if it knew she was missing.
Right now, his gut wasn’t to be trusted. And he couldn’t shake it. Why hadn’t she called?
“You in that woman’s business a little heavy, boss,” Marco said from the doorway, one eyebrow raised.
He shot Marco a look that could cut glass. “Ain’t nobody’s business but mine, though.”
“Nah you checking your phone like a teenage girl waiting on a callback is definitely my business.”
Brooks grunted and looked away.
“Wasn’t it you and Melanie, telling me I needed to get out and meet somebody. Now I’m trying and y’all tripping. Make up y’all mind.”
Marco was more than someone who worked for him. He was family. A friend of his late father who trusted him to handle the business. Brooks was grateful he’d stay by his side. As the general manager of the towing operation Marco was his right hand.
“Yeah, that was me. My fault. Anyway, I found it,” Marco said, throwing his hands in the air as a surrender. “Her car is at Mack’s Auto. They’re claiming two weeks minimum to fix that bitch. That’s crazy, fam. I told his scamming ass that too.”
Brooks leaned back in his chair, exhaling slowly. He should’ve known. The whole situation irritated him more than it should’ve, but there was no denying it: he cared.
“Yeah, that’s insane and it sounds like some bullshit. I don’t know why she just didn’t bring it to me,” Brooks replied, he also owned a repair shop. He would have fixed it for her.
He turned to look out the window at the yard below. He’d built something to be proud of but lately, it all felt hollow. He was slowly realizing success wasn’t just about what you owned but who you came home to.
“You want me to handle it, bro?” Marco asked when Brooks stayed quiet.
“Nah.” Brooks stood, grabbing his keys. “I got it. ‘Preciate the help. And keep this between me and you.”
Brooks was still trying to protect her privacy. No one wanted to broadcast their failures or low moments.
Marco watched him for a second, then said low, “You know it’s more than business, right?”
Brooks paused.
Marco tilted his head.
“You moving like you already made your mind up.”
Brooks didn’t laugh. Didn’t flinch.
He was feeling something—but it sure as hell wasn’t funny.
He just didn’t have the words for it yet.
Marco watched him go, shaking his head, muttering under his breath, “Man, you gone already.”
The drive to Mack’s felt longer than ten minutes. Longer than it should for a man who supposedly didn’t give a damn. Brooks was sick of his own company though. He’d never been good at making friends, though he had a few. He always kept people at arm’s length. Easier that way. Safer.
But Taylor... she’d slipped past those walls without even trying hard, with one phone call. He’d been cursing himself for picking up one minute and smiling the next. But his mind was made up. He’d be in her corner until she told him to stop.
“Mack, my man.”
Mack’s face shifted when Brooks walked in. Respect. Fear. A payday. Whatever. It made things easier. Brooks didn’t care he was on a mission, he wasn’t leaving without results.
“Bishop. What can I do for you?”
“Taylor Bradshaw’s car.” Brooks pulled out an envelope full of cash. Casual. Straight to the point. “I mean Martin. I need it moved up. Two weeks is unacceptable and lowkey predatory, nigga.”
“I’m backed up Bishop. I can’t pull a rabbit out of my ass.”
“Bruh, nah that’s too long for a woman to be without her vehicle.
I need a satisfactory resolution, and I need it before I walk out.
Or I’m spending my money somewhere else.
” Brooks pulled another stack of bills from his pocket letting Marco know money talked and bullshit walked.
He had money. They didn’t need to bullshit or play around.
Either it was getting fixed here or he’d handle it.
Mack’s eyes followed the money like Brooks knew he would. “Three days?”
“Make it two.” Brooks’ said kissing his teeth. “And throw in a full detail. Fill that bitch up. No extra charge. Y’all make me sick, always on bullshit, always taking advantage.”
Brooks’ reputation would always precede him.
He was masterful in any space he entered, a chameleon of sorts, equally comfortable, confident and with the shit if he needed to be.
He’d either already done business with the people in the room or was owed a favor he’d never hesitate to collect.
No negotiation was closed, and no door truly shut when Brooks decided to step through.
“What’s wrong with it anyway?”
“Dr. Pepper in the gear system. Transmission cable snapped. I think that husband did it. She wouldn’t say.”
Brooks pinched the bridge of his nose, as he closed his eyes.
What type of weak-ass move was that? The pettiness of it, the deliberate cruelty ignited something dangerous in his mind.
Whether Taylor had agreed or not he had half a mind to bust Tyree in his shit and see how he liked being mistreated.
Brooks was both frustrated and even more concerned about what else Taylor wasn’t saying.
He hadn’t noticed any bruises, but that didn’t mean much. People hid things.
While Mack processed the work order, Brooks scrolled through messages, trying to focus on actual business.
Brooks had been texting with two developers wanting to discuss a mobile app for his company.
A reminder about tonight’s city council meeting, his bid for the city’s emergency response contract hanging in the balance.
Real things. Business things. Things that should matter more than fixing a car for a woman who hadn’t even asked for his help.
But here he was .
“Ok, I can do two days,” Mack finally said.
“Good looking out. I’ll be picking it up. So, call me. 2 days Mack or I’m coming back in a different mood.”
“Ok two days, damn Brooks.”
Back in his truck, Brooks stared at his phone, Taylor’s contact info calling out to him.
“Nigga, what is you doing?” He muttered to himself, rubbing his hand down his face. He was tripping and he knew it. But knowing something was wrong and not acting on it wasn’t in his DNA.
Brooks wasn’t the type to insert himself where he wasn’t wanted.
He didn’t waste time on people who didn’t matter.
And most people didn’t expect much from him beyond what he was willing to give.
They assumed his quiet, reserved nature meant he lacked empathy.
They were wrong. He just didn’t waste it on anybody.
But Taylor wasn’t just anybody. She’d called him.
And whether she meant to or not, that meant she was his to handle for now.
That was enough.
Brooks: I’m loaning you my Mercedes you can use it until you get your car back in a couple of days. I’ll drop it off in a little bit.
Her response wasn’t immediate. He kept watching the three bubbles pop up and leave, to only pop up again. She was ready to be defensive, ready to push back, to create friction where he was offering smooth passage. Ready to work his damn nerves.
Taylor: Brooks, I can’t.
She hesitated, thumbs hovering over the screen, biting her lip.
Brooks saw her response and exhaled through his nose, shaking his head.
He knew it. There was that I.N.D.E.P.E.N.D.E.N.T bullshit he wasn’t trying to hear every time he tried to help her.
Transportation is transportation. It had nothing to do with pride.
He had it, she needed it. Simple math. No feelings involved.
Brooks: Can’t what? Drive a Mercedes? It’s automatic.
Taylor: You know what I mean. LOL I can’t be driving around in your car but thank you.
His smirk deepened.
Brooks: I’m just saying I don’t remember seeing a question mark. I made a statement. There's nothing to debate or discuss further. Have a blessed day!
Taylor: Oh, you got jokes, I see.
He knew she’d be pissed. Good. She needed someone to cut through her bullshit.
His phone rang almost instantly. It was her.
He declined her call. Calling wasn’t going to change his mind.
He couldn’t hear that gentle, naive voice come through his phone.
He’d be at the dealership buying her a new whip.
His phone buzzed again; it was her calling back.