Page 260 of Invisible Bars
“Are you her publicist or mine?”
“Both!” she chirped. “She’s your wife, so y’all come as a package now! Besides, you pay me enough to represent the both of you… and maybe even another person.” Saroya muttered that last part.
I raised a brow. “I do?”
Saroya whistled. “Did I say that?” Her eyes shifted quickly to her watch. “Well, would you look at the time! Great work out there today! We’ll talk in the morning!”
Saroya patted my shoulder, then rushed out of the room before I could question her about her salary.
I shook my head, chuckling under my breath.
Whether I was paying her a lot or not didn’t matter to me. I had the money, and Saroya was worth every dollar… and then some. But I couldn’t say I wasn’t curious. Knowing my status? I probably was her highest-paying client.
“Let’s go,” I told my men, who were stationed outside the door.
The second we stepped out, the lights hit me from every angle. The reporters were still yelling questions I had no intention of answering.
I gave them silence.
As I slid into the back of the car and the doors shut, I finally let my head fall back against the seat. My thoughts were already drifting.
During my speech, when I said false claims were harmful, I wasn’t referring to the people being targeted. I meant it for the muthafuckas doing the lying.
Between Giselle and Aaliyah, I didn’t know who was testing me the most. Aaliyah probably thought shit was sweet—thought I’d let it ride, let her name brush up against mine and leave it at that. But now that my statement was out… now that the image was clean again? I was just getting started… and she wouldn’t even see it coming.
Chapter Forty-Three
NAJI
The late afternoon sun beat down like it was mad at somebody, and the heat wrapped around my neck like a thick scarf I couldn’t take off.
My sister, Chiamaka, and I found refuge in a secluded corner of the park, where the sprawling branches of a wide magnolia tree cast a welcome shade over a weathered wooden bench. We were distanced from the hustle of joggers weaving through the pathways, parents pushing strollers, and dogs tugging eagerly at their leashes.
I sat first—arms folded, sunglasses on.
Chiamaka lingered hesitantly in front of me, her posture uncertain as if waiting for permission to join me.
“May I?” she asked, her voice laced with an overly polite formality that felt out of place.
I didn’t respond immediately; instead, I shifted slightly to the side, offering her a subtle invitation. She quickly understood and took a seat beside me, smoothing the hem of her denim skirt with delicate movements, as if trying to smooth out the invisible tension that hung in the air around us.
“You… you look very pretty,” she complimented after a moment.
I laughed—short, sharp. “Stolen toothbrush!Ugh! Thanks. S-so do you.”
Her brows twitched upward, but she didn’t comment on the tic. That made me breathe easier.
“Before we dive into anything,” I began, but as I spoke, my elbow instinctively pulled inward, my body reflexively curling up for a brief moment as if trying to escape the discomfort.
“Stupid birds! Bubble-wrap bones!” I exclaimed suddenly, my voice ringing out louder and faster than I intended.
Chiamaka jumped slightly at my outburst, yet she remained silent. Instead of reacting, she simply waited, her gaze focused on me with a mix of curiosity and concern.
I felt a jolt of embarrassment surge through me, and I winced, taking in a deep breath and silently coaxing my next words to remain steady.
After a moment, I exhaled and shook my head. “That’s actually what I was about to tell you about.”
I turned toward her slightly, voice low but steady now.
