Page 75 of Invisible Bars
Chi stood, smoothing his jacket with a grin.
“Damn, you really woke up CEO-ish today, huh? Alright, alright. I’m going. But let the record show I came dressed, caffeinated, and cooperative. That’s growth.”
Chi headed for the door, tossing one last line over his shoulder.
“Just do me a favor. If you choose a female, pick an ugly one so you don’taccidentallyfall in love again. I’m seeing that you turn soft for the right face."
I gave him a cold stare.
The first candidate walked in alongside Chi—a Black short guy in a tailored blazer that looked custom-made and expensive enough to flex without saying a word.
His smile was bright, charismatic, and just a touchtooperfect. His skin? Smoother than Chi’s jokes on a good day.
He stepped forward confidently.
“Hi, I’m Terrence! Big fan of your work, Mr. Kors! I admire a man who knows how to command a room!”
Chi side-eyed him like he smelled something out of place. I sensed it too, but kept it professional.
“Morning. Have a seat,” I instructed coolly, nodding to the chair across from me.
Terrence sat down, his legs crossed as if he were born in a boardroom.
I picked up his resume.
“Let me go over this before we start.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed Terrence’s eyes flickering between me and the paper in my hand. It was like he was reading more than just my résumé stack.
Not in a disrespectful way… more so in a lustful one.
I didn’t acknowledge it… at least not right at that moment.
Terrence was qualified—on paper and in person.
“So,” I started, “what drew you to this position?”
Terrence gave a sly smile, leaning in just enough to make it noticeable.
“Honestly? I needed a new challenge. A new… aesthetic to represent. Someone I could be passionate about. Which brings me to my next question—does the PR department get direct access to you? Like… how involved are you day to day?”
Is this nigga really trying to flirt with me?The thought slid across my mind.
I knew Chi, so I knew it wouldn’t be long before he spoke up. “Man, if you don’t sit yo?—”
I shot him a look that said, “chill”, let me handle it.
With my leg bouncing and jaw tight, I gave a polite nod and leaned back just slightly—controlled, composed, but I was seconds from cracking. My patience wasn’t just thinning; it was bleeding out slow. I felt that part of me—the darker part—stirring awake.
Gatez.
“Depends on the project,” I finally answered.
“Got it.” His smile widened.
“What’s your availability?” I asked.
“Oh, I’mveryflexible,” he responded, his voice low, and his smile suggestive.
