Chapter 2-Kenya Monroe
“Guess what, Kenya?” My secretary, Bailee, asked in a singsong tone as she eagerly walked into my office, like she had an invitation.
The door was open, but that was far from an invitation, and she knew it.
My eyes bounced up, and I eyed her suspiciously, taking notice of the amplified pep in her step. “What’s got you in such a jovial mood this morning?”
“This!” she yelled, flashing the rock on her finger. With its radiant cut, it momentarily blinded me when the sunlight came in contact with its shine. Thanks to my honed poker face, I was able to hide my mild envy and appear genuinely happy for her.
“Congratulations,” I said, as I willed myself to put on a smile. “I’m glad you found the one.” Again.
It’s not that I wasn’t happy for her, but Bailee wasn’t even thirty and was working on her second marriage.
Not to mention that she was badly built with poor, homely features.
She hardly kept her hair done and, more days than not, she had a basic bun at the nape of her neck.
Oh, and don’t even get me started on her masculine hands that were in dire need of a deluxe manicure.
Meanwhile, here she was with a rock on her finger, and I didn’t even have any prospects.
“I never would have thought that the whole internet dating would work for me. But the proof is in the ring.” She gleaned, looking at her hand as if she couldn’t believe it herself.
“I have a great idea! You should try it. No disrespect, but you’re thirty-five, and we all know what that means.
” She let out a lively laugh that ceased the moment she realized I wasn’t privy to the joke.
I reared my head backward so fast and so hard that my neck threatened to snap. “I’m sorry, Bailee, what does that mean exactly?”
“You know.” Her voice cracked, and she released a nervous chuckle. She needed to say what was on her mind, because it was far too late to backtrack. “No disrespect, Kenya, but you’re not a spring chicken anymore.”
“No, I’m not a spring chicken. But what I am is an established divorce attorney, with my own practice, a home and two vacation houses.
One on the west coast and the other on the east. All three of them are paid off,” I said, watching her face drop.
“I have what some would consider a fleet of luxury vehicles, and a very handsome bank account that keeps me warm at night. Oh, and let’s not forget that I have an eight hundred credit score and no debt.
Not even student loans. But what do I really know?
You have a ring, so you obviously have one up in all of this. Silly me .”
My intentions weren’t to respond to her in that way, but she deserved it.
One thing that I didn’t need anybody to remind me of was my age. My mother made sure to do that and more every single time I was in her presence, so I didn’t need my secretary to remind me too.
“I really didn’t mean any disrespect. I’m just saying that you should try online dating.
It worked for me. Just give it some thought.
” She shrugged, as if her answer was good enough.
Acting as if I hadn’t read her for the filth she was.
“What would it hurt? Even if it doesn’t work, you can at least say you went on a date with a man. ”
Where the hell does she get off?
“Dismiss yourself and get to work. I’m sure you have something to file.” I didn’t say anything else to her, because if I did, I knew it would result in me having to find a replacement for her.
Bailee stood in front of my desk waiting for me to say something more. “Kenya, I—” I cut my eyes at her, which halted whatever she was about to say.
We weren’t friends, and with the way she was carrying on, she hadn’t gotten the memo. I was her boss. Nothing more and nothing less.
With Bailee’s exit, I turned my attention to the fresh case files for the client that I had just taken on, Cornelia Smith.
Mrs. Smith was my favorite kind of case.
She and her soon-to-be ex-husband had an ironclad prenuptial agreement.
The prenup stated that if she left the marriage for any reason outside of adultery, she was entitled to nothing.
However, in the instance that Mr. Smith, her soon to be ex-husband, committed adultery, my client would be entitled to sixty percent of his net worth, spousal, and child support.
The case was going to be an easy win for both me and my client because Mr. Smith had a weakness for women that weren’t his, and I knew that all too well. Thanks to my extended team, which included two private investigators, I had him dead to rights.
Needless to say, I had blind confidence in this case and my ability to get my client everything she deserved.
Having to face my ex, Ahmad Martin, in court was my sole trepidation.
Ahmad was representing Mr. Smith, and although winning against him would boost my ego, I simply didn’t want to see him.
For years, he’d been out of sight, therefore out of mind. This case was about to change that.
Ahmad and I dated throughout our undergrad, graduate, and law school years. I thought that our relationship was perfect, and so did everybody else. The way we were envied by our friends and family made me believe that our love was unwavering.
It wasn’t until he posted his engagement pictures that I realized our relationship couldn’t have been as good to him as it seemed to me.
The public humiliation that he put me through was one I vowed to never endure again.
To say that I was completely blind sighted by his betrayal was an understatement.
Even the thought of it … of him … was enough to make my heart ache.
I didn’t think I would ever forget the day I saw the man I loved with a strange woman, who stood proud, wearing my dream wedding ring. The same Martin family heirloom ring he promised would be mine once we were ready to take that step. That very ring was the exact thing adorning her finger.
Ahmad’s actions were like a dagger straight to my heart. Not only was it shocking, but it was also intense, twisting and turning, until all the color drained away, leaving me unable to breathe. To add insult to injury, he never gave me an apology.
I gave him the majority of my youth, only for him to ride off into the sunset with another woman. He took eight years, and there was nothing I could do about it.
No matter how much I loved him and how broken I was, begging him to reconsider his future for the sake of my heart wasn’t an option.
The best thing that came from our relationship was the devastation that I experienced because I channeled the energy and used it to fuel my career. I chose to make a name for myself rather than sit, sulk, and become another bitter, broke, and broken woman.
I sat at my desk putting together my case notes, and before I knew it, my calendar alert was going off. It was time to head to dinner with my younger sister, Kendra.
My inclination to skip breakfast and work through lunch left me with a prodigious appetite and a growling stomach.
Kendra and I didn’t have a picture-perfect relationship, but we had a standing dinner every Monday to maintain the bond we’d managed to establish over the years.
We always met at our favorite Mexican restaurant, De Cantina Laredo, because they served some of the best margaritas known to man and they had good food too.
Although we grew up in the same home, I always felt like our mother purposely made a difference between us, which manifested as a strained relationship where there should have been closeness. Kendra was undeniably my mother’s favorite, and that in itself caused a rift in our relationship.
As a child, when I would get straight A’s, my accomplishment would be tossed to the side in order to celebrate Kendra for doing the bare minimum of making C’s and D’s.
Growing up, I felt like I couldn’t do right.
That in itself pushed me to invest everything in the relationship I had with Ahmad.
I figured if I couldn’t get love in the family I was born to, then I could create a family where love was overflowing.
It took me years to realize that it wasn’t Kendra’s fault, and it was our mother purposely pinning us against each other. That was when I started being intentional about us building a relationship that wasn’t tarnished by our mother’s intrusive hovering.
As I pulled into the parking lot, I saw Kendra getting out of her car. I hurriedly parked, got out of my Audi coupe, and rushed so that I could catch up with her.
“Kendra!” I yelled to get her attention, waving my hand in the air.
She turned around with a look that said, “Who in the world is this yelling my name?” Once she saw it was me, her demeanor softened.
“Oh. Hey, Kenya,” she said as she stopped and gave me time to catch up with her. When I made it to her, we shared a brief hug and then pulled apart.
We walked into the restaurant, and despite the crowd, we were instantly seated by our waitress, Nina, in our usual booth at the back in the left corner.
“Nina, start the peach margaritas and keep them coming until we say stop,” Kendra said as she slid into her side of the booth.
Nina nodded and walked away with a smile.
She returned a few minutes later with our pitcher of margaritas and glasses of water.
Already knowing what we wanted, we put in orders for a taco platter, shrimp fajitas, and spinach enchiladas. It was the same meal that we ate every week at dinner.
“How are my babies doing?” I asked, referring to my nieces, Kennedy and Kirsten, and my nephew, Ivan Jr.
“They are good. I registered my baby for school today. I can’t believe that my little guy is going to kindergarten already.”
“Wow,” I said, shaking my head and then sipping my drink while reminiscing. “It seems like just yesterday you were at the hospital delivering him. Where does the time go?”