Page 5 of Call Me Mrs. Taylor

Raya

“Hi, Daddy.”

Raymond Joe Ashford's head turns, slow and mechanical like the tin man in need of oil. It’s like looking into a mirror, if mirrors make you look old and bald and sad. He stares at me like a predator sizing up its prey, onlyhe’sthe one confined. Weak. Useless. I stare back, smiling sweetly like I’m not deeply disgusted by how pathetic he looks.

He’s aged so much since his accident. His once-thick beard is patchy and white. His eyes, yellow and bloodshot, sit atop deep hollows. The lines around his mouth carve deep shadows, and the sickly texture of his skin makes me think of curdled hot chocolate. I smell the faint trace of antiseptic and sweat clinging to the room.

His eyes are still sharp. My daddy’s always watching. It’s all he can do at this point, so I think his mind must be getting sharper, too.

I set the tray in front of him, watching the steam from his soup rise and curl into the air.

“Here’s your dinner. Faith will be here in a little while to get your bath.”

The steam wafts into his face, but his eyes stay fixed on me. His lips twitch like he wants to speak, but all that comes out is a shallow wheeze.

I sit on the bed and rotate his chair so that he’s facing me.

“I met somebody today, Daddy. A man.” I smile as I picture his face, my voice softening into a dreamy tone. “I gave him my number. He should be calling me any minute now. I think you would like him. He’s an engineer. He comes from a good family. I really think he’s the one. And I don’t say that lightly. Not after Ferris.”

Daddy stares blankly. No approval, no disapproval. Just an endless void of silence. He hasn’t touched his soup, but I leave that alone. He doesn’t like eating in front of me.

“Alright,” I say, standing and smoothing out my dress. “I’ll let you eat. Go slow. The soup is hot.”

I smile, but it’s not returned. His eyes follow me as I walk toward the door. It’s only when my hand touches the knob that I hear the clink of his spoon against the bowl. Good.

I don’t need my daddy wasting away. I need him alive. For now.

I close the door behind me and head upstairs, making a beeline for my phone. My chest tightens when I see the screen. No missed calls. No texts.

Strange.

I unlock my phone and open his contact, staring at it like I canwillhim to dial my number. My thumb hovers over the screen in a brief moment of weakness, but I quickly remind myself to relax.

Because that’s not how this is supposed to go. I’m not even supposed to have his number yet. Besides, bae wouldn’t want me chasing him.

Earlier, at the cafe, I looked through his text messages. It wasn’t easy, not with him mugging me from across the table, but I managed. I saw a few names of women who aren’t his sisters (I already know Kamryn and Vanessa’s names). Those other bitches were unfamiliar.

It doesn’t matter, though. None of them are me.

I pace the narrow hallway, my feet slapping the cold hardwood floor. My mind races a little, wondering if he’s with one ofthemright now. He could be kissing on Miko. His dick could be inside of Kai. My heart races at the thought of it. He wouldn’t do that to me. Would he?

I dig my nails into my palm, grounding myself for a moment. I remind myself that Ace is smarter than that. The other bitches are just distractions. Placeholders. I’m his soulmate. Period.

Besides, he doesn’t claim anybody on social media. He hasn’t claimed anybody as far back as ten years ago, although I suppose he could have scrubbed their pictures. That’s probably more likely.

I stare at my phone.

It’s frustrating. Like, I know I made myself clear earlier. But that’s the thing about men. A lot of them are smart on paper and at work, then when you get to know them, you realize they have no fucking idea what’s good for them.

That takes a different kind of intelligence, and men are sorely lacking in that area. Ace seems teachable, though.

Enough of this shit. I set my phone back on the table and grab my ring light, dragging it into my bedroom. The familiar glow of the light steadies me as I pull out my favorite shadow palette. Tonight calls for a smoky look. Something dark and sultry. I need to look as dangerous as I feel.

Ace brings that out of me. I sat at that cafe in my black dress and felt like the embodiment of dark feminine energy. The gurus all talk about it like it’s real, so I choose to believe it is, especially now.

I dip my brush into the black shadow, the powder soft and velvety under the bristles. I love how that feels. As I blend the color onto my eyelid, my mind drifts back to Ace, not that it ever strayed very far. I can practicallyfeelhim sitting at home, his phone in hand, debating whether to change his life or stay stuck with those boring bitches. Maybe he’s intimidated. Men usually are. When a woman knows exactly what she wants and goes after it, they get jumpy.

Bunch of pussies.

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