Page 157 of Call Me Mrs. Taylor

Tori watches me for a beat, like she’s searching for a crack in the foundation, or maybe some softness under the hard shell, but she doesn’t find anything. I make sure of that.

“Well,” she finally says after draining her glass. “I trust you know what you’re doing.”

“I think I do.”

“And you know all I want in the whole world is for you to be happy.”

“I know, Auntie. And I am.”

Her furrowed brow and soft stare tell me she’s uncertain, but I’m actually being sincere. I haven’t been this happy in as long as I can remember.

“Ladies, if you’ll follow me.”

The massage therapist came out of nowhere.

We rise and follow her back to the treatment rooms. My robe billows behind me like a cape, and it’s fitting, because a bitch feels like superwoman right now.

I created this life.Me. Nobody else. And despite what Tori thinks, I have this shit under control. Ace is in my pocket and he ain’t going nowhere.

I wish Meghan could see this.

45

Ace

I spot Tori before she spots me. She’s in a booth near the window with a half-empty glass of red wine in front of her. I'm surprised nobody’s bothering her. Sweet Georgia Blue is a popular soul food spot near me where niggas are always on the prowl. It’s probably her vibe, though. Some women give off an aura like they take absolutely no shit, and Tori is that kinda woman.

She’s scrolling through her phone as I approach, her expression calm but sharp, like she’s ready to get down to business the minute I sit my ass down.

“Hey, you,” I say, sliding into the seat across from her.

She looks up, her smile blooming easily. “Ace.” She sets her phone down and folds her hands in front of her. “It’s so good to see you, sweetheart.”

“You, too.” I wave down the server and order a bourbon neat. I already know I’m gonna need it.

We don’t jump right into it. She orders another glass, we make small talk—how’s work, how’s the weather, did you enjoy your spa day yesterday—and then, finally, she leans back in her seat and exhales.

“So.” She drops her voice lower, making me lean in. “Do we have a plan?”

We both know what we’re talking about here, but we can’t say it plainly. Not even in a restaurant full of strangers who aren’t paying us any mind.

“Oh, I have a plan,” I say, swirling my bourbon. “I just needed to confirm the tools I’m using to dismantle this thing.”

Tori smiles at that. “I have what you’re looking for. All you’ll have to do is deliver it.”

“Delivery’s not a problem.” I take a swig and let it burn. “Long as it won’t leave anything behind.”

“No residue.” She sips her wine, her dark eyes locked on mine. “It’ll be quick. Painless. Undetectable.”

I was hoping for a little pain, but beggars can’t be choosers.

My stomach twists a little, but I ignore it. I knew what I was signing up for when I reached out to Tori. I knew she was the person who helped Raya out the first time. Context clues and all, her being a nurse. I’m glad Raya has somebody like her in her corner.

That makes two of us, now.

“You must be serious about her,” she says, her voice softer now. “This isn’t the kind of thing you do for shits and giggles.”

“I am,” I say, no hesitation. “I’m all in.”

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