Page 6 of Disrespectfully, Relic

“You’re a little last minute with searching for stylists, ain’t you? Then again, I bet you were looking for a while. I could tell when we worked together that you’re picky.” Ronnie blabbered on between chewing before Kennedy could finish her sentence. “How many stylists do you need?”

“I haven’t decided how many booths I plan to rent out yet, but I’m evaluating my options tonight to make a final decision.”

She reached for her lemon water to sip while mentally scratching Ronnie off that list. Kennedy preferred a group of likeminded women who were about their business and less about bumping their gums to the latest hot topic in the streets. With how much Ronnie had run her mouth during their short interview, Kennedy could imagine the number of times her name had fallen from the bitch’s lips after the salon had been set ablaze with her inside.

Although she didn’t show it or admit aloud, she was anxious for everyone to see how far she’d come since then while they believed she’d lost it and had no choice but to style hair in the spare bedroom of her apartment. Her money hadn’t slowed down, but managing a salon would put her name back on the map. The irony of running the same spot that’d almost killed her made her smirk while setting down her drink.

“Well, if you don’t have any more questions, Ronnie—”

“Actually, I do,” she cut in, and Kennedy willed her eyes not to roll. “Do I get to see the salon?”

“We’re still doing renovations. Once it’s done, I’ll have the girls I hire come in to look around before the opening.”

“I can’t wait. You’re bourgeois, so I know it’s gon’ be niceee,” she dragged with a bob of her head before flinging her orange wand curled hair over a shoulder.

Kennedy studied the bold wig before further confirming Ronnie wasn’t quite up to par with the hairdressers she strived to hire. The lace was well melted, but the ombre dye job was patchy and could use some work.

She refrained from telling Ronnie that because it’d only make it harder to beat thosepickyandbourgeoisallegations she’d obviously been stamped with while she was none the wiser. Kennedy honestly didn’t give a damn. She’d wear the title with a smile if it meant not settling for the bare minimum because her big brother had taught her to not accept or strive for anything but the best. Ronnie fell short in both departments.

“Thank you for meeting me on such short notice.” Kennedy settled on that reply instead while lifting a hand to summon their server. “Don’t worry about paying, either. It’s on me.”

“See, you’re aight with me, Kenn. You should come out with me and my girls some time. I don’t mind if you bring a few of your people with you, so you won’t feel uncomfortable.”

“Going out isn’t my scene, but thanks for the invite.”

“Girl, why not? You better not let what happened to you stop you from living your life.”

Ronnie flung her purse onto her shoulder with that advice—her eyes wavering to the burns along the side of Kennedy’s face that she’d tried not staring at since taking a seat. It wasn’t as bad as she’d expected, but it damn sure obliterated the former image her ex-coworker held. If Ronnie had gone from bombshell to average, she wouldn’t step foot outside either.

The Kennedy she recalled had walked around with a flawless beauty worth envying, an uppity attitude, and fly ass gear that made the salon speculate whether her boyfriend was a drug dealer. Ronnie lowkey felt like Kennedy was meant to end up in that fire instead of Mya. The girl needed some humbling, but from their conversation, Ronnie concluded the incident hadn’t done its job.

“It has nothing to do with what happened to me,” Kennedy rebutted, unable to contain the curl of her lip as she grilled Ronnie. “I’ve never been big on clubbing.”

“Oh, okay. I just assumed you were since you’re cool with that Michi girl. Her and her nigga are always on the scene. Isn’t Tekken your family, too? I remember him coming to the shop to see you. You can’t tell me, you don’t go to his hostings, at least.”

Ronnie’s prying evoked a wry laugh from Kennedy as it registered that the offer to hang out wasn’t genuine. The bitch only wanted to weasel her way into a circle that Kennedy often forgot the magnitude of. Her girls and nephew were just regular people to her, so it slipped her mind that anyone would want to get next to her for a moment in their spotlight. She gave a subtle shake of her head while digging inside her purse as the server strolled to their table.

The girl smiled before holding out the point-of-sale terminal toward Kennedy, who shoved her credit card into the slot, accepted the amount, and then left a decent tip. She stowed away her card in its rightful place before addressing Ronnie.

“Sorry to burst your bubble, but I don’t go to Michi or Tek’s hostings. I let them handle their business while I handle mine. Business is what your ass should’ve been worried about at this interview and not gossiping about who I hang with or whether I live my damn life. Have a good day, Ronnie.”

Ronnie jerked back her head at the blatant dismissal and scooted out of the torn leather booth. It didn’t bother her one bit to go since she’d been putting on a front since she got there. She couldn’t stand Kennedy any more than the other stylists that used to work with her, and the only reason she’d applied to rent a booth was because the salon would bring in a shit load of clients off the strength of Titan and his notoriously well-known family promoting it. Ronnie hadn’t known who was running the place until she received an email from Kennedy.

“You’re still a bitch,” she sneered, giving Kennedy a once over in detest before she smirked. “Now, you’re as ugly on the outside as you are in, and that shop ain’t gon’ last either.”

“Get the fuck away from this table before I put your face through it, Ronnie.”

Kennedy stood and pulled back her braids to wind into a ball with that threat, causing the server to give them a few feet of space in case a fight ensued. Ronnie didn’t move to save face, but the testing smirk Kennedy gave as if she was waiting for a reason to swing, made her second guess talking shit. She hadn’t thought the stuck-up stylist who’d acted as if she were too good to speak to anyone during the months that they’d worked together had it in her to fight. She was mistaken.

“I’ve got a lot of fucking pent up frustration, so please try me,” Kennedy begged in a final warning. Ronnie waved her off with a roll of her eyes.

“You ain’t even worth it. Fuck you and that shop.”

She strutted off with her chin held high, bumping the server in passing because it was the most she could do. Kennedy would’ve stomped Ronnie into the ground if she’d tried that shit with her.

She gave the server a pitying smile before grabbing her purse and phone off the table. When she spun around, her steps faltered as the chick sitting in the booth across from hers stood at the same time, aligning their steps as she headed for the door.

“So, I take it, she didn’t get the job?” the pretty girl who looked around the same age as her nephew quizzed, enlightening Kennedy that she’d been eavesdropping on her conversation. “I wasn’t intentionally being nosey, I swear, and I’m probably coming off very forward.”

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