Page 15 of Desperate Measures
“Who else would it be, Red?” I asked, placing Scarlett in her walker.
“Why? Why would you do that?”
“Because I don’t want you worrying about anything. Whatever money you make right now, I want you to stack it, spend it, whatever. But it shouldn’t be used for bills. It's your bread.”
“Mmh.”
She walked away and headed over to the island, but said nothing. Crimson started on dinner, and I was overcome by her silence. Her entire demeanor had changed when we got back from Monaco. I was sure that giving her a glimpse of my life would help her forgive my absence. I was even more sure it would show her how serious I am about our relationship, considering what I built over there.
But Crimson was Crimson. There was no telling where she was in her head, especially since she always spent so much time overthinking. Either way, we had business to take care of. This little attitude she was having would have to hold off for a minute.
“So look, I need you to sign something.”
“Hold on a minute, bae.” Crimson placed two pieces of catfish in the fryer, then lowered them into the grease. She washed her hands, dried them on a paper towel, and met me at the island. “What is this?” she asked, reviewing the paperwork.
“This is the rental agreement for the loft. I need you to add your name to it. We’re extending the lease.”
“Why?”
“Why not?”
“I just don’t know why you would go out of your way to add me to a lease. Especially if you’re here.”
“Can you just sign it, please?” I sighed in annoyance. I could see the wheels turning in her brain. I didn’t want to feed into it, but we had to get this done. I just hoped she would allow me to do this without the twenty-one questions.
She signed the paperwork in silence. No questions. Then turned right back to the fish, taking the pieces out and placing them on paper towels. She added two more to the fryer, watching the grease sizzle, before turning back to me.
“What’s going on, Jah?”
“Nothing. You’re busy with the shop, I’m taking care of business back in Monaco, and I just don’t want too much timeto pass without us handling what needs to be handled here. And while I’m thinking about it, I never gave you the paperwork for Crème De La Crimson. It’s in my name, but of course we’re gonna change it officially to yours.”
I handed her another envelope.
“Its a burner phone in there. And here’s the receipt for the first year of taxes on the place, so you don’t?—”
“Jah, what the fuck?! Why are you doing this?” she snapped, her voice louder than the popping grease by now.
“Doing what? What’s wrong with you?”
“Are you leaving me… us?”
“No, I’m not, but-”
“No, Jah! There are nobuts! Either you’re planning to be here or you’re not! And from the looks of it, you don’t plan to be here at all.”
I ran a hand down my face, jaw clenching. “I’m supposed to stop operating like a man because you can’t stay out of your head?” I instantly regretted those words. Her eyes were on me now, but they weren’t soft. They were guarded. Wet, but not crying. “I didn’t mean it like that, Red.”
Crimson didn’t respond. She turned back to the stove and grabbed the tongs, but her hands were shaking. She dropped one of the pieces too fast, and the grease popped her arm.
“Shit,” she spat, backing away quickly. She didn’t even check the burn. Just stood there, arms folded across her chest like she was holding herself together.
I attempted to assist her. “Let me see it.”
“I’m fine,” she yanked her arm back. “Despite what you may think, I can take care of myself,” she scoffed. “You want me to sign paperwork, I’ll sign it. You want me to be grateful, I’m grateful.”
“Crimson.”
“Jahsir, it is what it is.”
