Page 15 of The Millionaire Mortician
That’s when I asked her to help me find a spot and situate it. Of course, my girl was more excited than I was to get started.
Now there we were, a week later, standing in what felt like destiny.
The realtor, a perky white lady in red heels, was rambling off numbers about square footage and “prime Tribeca visibility.” I barely heard her, though. I was already picturing clients in the space while music bumped low in the background, the buzz of clippers, laughter, and conversations about life. I had a dope vision ofBarbershopwhen they had the hair salon across from the barbershop in one establishment. I wanted mine to be high-class, though.
Talina looped her arm through mine. “Bihhh, you see the vision? ‘Cause I do,” she whispered.
“I see it clear as day,” I whispered back.
When the tour concluded, we thanked the realtor and stepped back outside, taking in the view of the front of the space and the surrounding area.
“Yeah,” I said, smiling at Talina. “This is the one.”
We walked a couple of blocks down to this cute restaurant that had outdoor seating. The streets buzzed with people in business casual and tourists taking pictures, as if they had never seen tall buildings before. We grabbed a table right outside to feel the spring breeze, then ordered drinks and food, which came almost immediately.
I stared at my grilled chicken salad, barely touching it. My mind was too occupied with all kinds of decisions to make and numerous tasks to attend to. Talina was scrolling through Pinterest on her phone. She kept showing me hair station setups, modern salon chairs, and even neon wall signs that looked dope.
That’s when I leaned in and rested my elbows on the table. “Lina... I’ve been thinkin’.”
She looked up, brow arched. “Here you go...”
“Nah, for real. I don’t just want you to help me with the process. I want you in it with me, like working alongside me at the shop. You run the beauty salon side, while I hold down the barber side,” I offered.
Talina was working at someone else’s salon in Brooklyn. I always heard her complaints about multiple things that she didn’t like, so why not bring my best friend along for the ride?
She froze, not moving a muscle as her lips parted. For a second, I thought she was going to laugh it off. Then suddenly, her eyes watered, and she reached across the table to grab my hands.
“You dead ass, Daija?” Her eyes opened wide.
“Dead ass serious, Lina. Who else I’ma trust with this? You’ve been my day one. You see me, you know me, and you’vegot my back no matter what. We could build something real here.”
A slow smile stretched across her face as she squeezed my hand tight. “Say less, bih. I’m all in. Let’s do this.” She clapped.
Not only was I happy to see my friend excited about things, but a relief washed over me to know I had a real one helping me out.
Talina lifted her iced latte to my glass of water. “To some real ones, finally getting what we want.” We clinked our glasses.
Since we settled that, I finally let myself lean back to soak in the moment. Milan didn’t just give me money. He gave me freedom, a chance, and a future. With the right people around me, I knew my endeavor would be successful.
As soon asTalina and I were finished with our meals and drinks, we parted ways, and I made my way home. My menstrual cycle was on, and while I wasn’t cramping or anything, I felt tired and drained. All I wanted was a nice shower and to relax.
When I pulled up to the block, I peeped Milan’s Benz outside the house, along with his security detail across the street. I parked, grabbed my bag, and made my way to the house and up the steps. As soon as I unlocked the door, I heard the low hum of the TV coming from upstairs. I checked the time and saw it was still early, which was unusual for Milan to be home so early in the day. It was only two o’clock in the afternoon.
Kicking my shoes off, I made my way upstairs. When I walked into our bedroom, I saw Milan laid out on the bed shirtless, having his tattoos on display, with black Nikebasketball shorts. He had the remote in one hand, as if it were a Sunday afternoon.
My heart did this little flip, like it always did when I saw him. He was thirty-seven years old, with smooth light skin, and that Brooklyn calm written all over his face. To the world, he was reserved, calculated, and a man who ain’t move unless he meant it. However, to me, he was my peace, my protector, the one who could quiet my storm just by staring at me.
“Hey, baby, how come you’re home early?” I asked, stripping out of my clothes.
He turned his head, lips curving just enough to count as a smile. “Wrapped up what I had to handle quicker than I thought. Decided to slide home.” His voice was low, but deep.
I was happy as hell to see him. Swiftly making my way over to his side of the bed, I leaned over and pecked his lips. “I’ll be right back. Let me go take a quick shower.” He nodded, then reverted his attention to the TV while I went into the bathroom to handle my hygiene.
About ten minutes later, I was out of the bathroom and in one of my muumuus. Without a second thought, I climbed right into bed and snuggled up under him. His hands automatically gripped my thighs, sending an electric wave throughout my body.
I leaned in and kissed his cheek. “I love you, Milan.”
He looked at me closely. “I know, but what do you want?” He raised his brow.
