Page 147 of Rather: The Therapist

She stormed off toward the door we’d just come through. Waiting for her to return wasn’t in the plans. If she wasn’t willing to make a way, I would make my own or we wouldn’t be enjoying their entertainment for the night.

The duffle in Ice’s hand wasn’t for decoration. We weren’t purse-toting, fashion-forward niggas. By definition, we were gangsters. That bag was full of bands, not air. It was bound to be a movie when the zipper was toggled, but the previews wouldn’t resume until we were comfortable with our seating arrangement.

“Gather them all. We’re moving.”

I was still in clear view of everyone I’d come with as I stopped in front of the reserved sections that had piqued my interest. I laid the signs confirming the reservations made for them on the tables down gently and backed up in the booth until the back of my legs were pressed against the leather. A quick sweep across the club put my worries to rest. The view was flawless.

Back against the wall. My father’s lesson hadn’t failed us yet. Tonight wouldn’t be the night we went astray.

“Perfect.”

Killian gathered everyone who’d taken an interest in the section we’d been given. Kofi had yet to plant his feet, which let me know he wasn’t too plastered to consider the danger of our location. Without hesitation, he followed Killian over to the sections I’d claimed for us.

“I was not feeling that shit,” Kofi admitted as he slid into the booth beside me.

“Don’t worry. I’ve got you. It’s your night young nigga.”

“Yes the fuck it is and it’s about to get stupid.”

“Have your fun. I’m your eyes and ears for the night.”

Ice and Silk took the booth next to us. Killian, Kofi, and I stayed in the one at the very end.

“This section is reserved for the night. I was clear when I told you that,” she sassed.

The hostess had returned with management. We’d already settled and weren't moving.

I leaned in, unbothered by her tone of voice, “And, I was clear when I told you I wanted it.”

“You can’t decide whe–”

“And you–” I interrupted her, “No longer have permission to speak to me. I asked for the boss. Where that nigga at, because these motherfuckers ain’t it.”

“Boss man sent us.”

“Why isn’t he here himself?”

“He’s not here tonight. He’s home.”

“I’m sure he has a number.”

I removed my cell from my pocket, ready to find out everything there was to know about the owner of Lust, down to which toothbrush he used to brush his teeth in the morning.

“There’s no need to call him. We’ll work it out. Move some shit around. Enjoy your night and let us know if there’s anything else you need.”

“Your best five.”

“Come again?”

“Your best five. If they aren’t here tonight, get them here by the time that bag opens. We’re feeling a bit generous tonight.”

Wealth was dancing in the diamonds of our watches, chains, and teeth. Killian’s entire mouth was iced out. Kofi had on more jewelry than a chart-topping rapper. Me, on the other hand, preferred a more simple approach.

The new Richard Mille on my wrist made it difficult to conceal my account status, but that’s exactly how it was supposed to be. My father had taught me a long time ago that a man’s timepiece should announce his presence in a room before he ever had the chance to.

Just like it told the time, it would tell another man how to speak to you, how to address you, how you operated, how much work you’d put in, and how full your belly was each night you went to bed.

“Don’t worry. We’ve got you.”

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