Page 2 of Call Me Mrs. Taylor

“You nervous?”

“Hell, yeah,” I say. “This is big shit.”

“It is.” Colin leans back in his chair, wearing the same shit-eating grin he sported last time I got the lead on a project. It’s like he thinks he’s in on some private joke at my expense.

I run my hand over my waves. Cool as a cucumber, as far as they know, not letting Colin see me sweat. I’ve never screwed up before, and I don’t plan to this time around.

It’s classic hatin’ ass bullshit, and typical at my job.

“Project manager, dude. I’d be jealous if I wasn’t already rich,” Ian says as he casually adjusts his designer tie with his usual laid-back, trust fund energy.

I wave him off. Between the three of us, I’m the only one who worked for everything I have. Brick by brick, starting from first base, I built the kind of career people would kill for. I’m proud of that, but sometimes, especially now, with the weight of this project bearing down on me, I feel like I’m holding myself together with duct tape and fake confidence.

If I fuck this up, that tape is coming undone.

I adjust the cuffs on my suit, my hands steady, my shoulders squared. The late summer air is heavy, even in the shade of the patio umbrellas, and I’m growing uncomfortable. The distant hum of traffic matches the buzzing in my brain.

Across the small, round table, Colin leans toward me, folding his hands in front of him like he’s about to tell my something grave. But all he says is, “Dude. You’ll be fine.”

I nod like I already know that.

“You know what your problem is?” he says. “You overthink everything.”

“Maybe.”

“It’s true,” Ian agrees.

“So just…relax,” Colin says, sans shit-eating grin. “You already proved yourself.”

His words should calm me, but they don’t. They don’t get it. They can’t. I'm one of the top black engineers in the southeast, but every time I feel like I’ve earned a spot at the metaphorical table, the doubts creep in, along with the nagging little voice in the back of my head that sounds exactly like my mama's.

Twice as hard.

“Whoa…dude. Don’t look now, but that chick is staring at you.”

I don’t need to ask who Colin’s talking to, because there’s one area of my life that Ineverhave any doubt about.

I cut my eyes to my left, then my right, where I spot her immediately, squinting as my mind puzzles through my confusion.

I know her from somewhere.

She’s dressed in black, her dark hair gleaming in the sunlight. It brushes her shoulders as she coyly averts her eyes. I can’t see her from the waist down, but I don’t need to. I’m the kinda nigga who can predict the existence of a fat ass just by the way a woman’s face looks.

She has that kind of face.

Round and soft.

“Dude, don’t stare.”

I bring my attention back to my coworkers. “Nah, I’ve seen her before. I just can’t place her.”

Ian shoots her a few unsubtle glances. “Fuck, man. She’s so hot.”

I chuckle at that. The way my coworkers talk about women versus my homeboys is always a trip. I wait for Colin to call her asmokeshow. That’s his emotional support word.

“She’s cool,” I say. “It’s bugging me, though. She looks so familiar.”

“That’s your opening, idiot. Go get her number.”

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