Page 76 of Invisible Bars
Chi’s eyes were screaming, but he said nothing that time—barely.
One more unprofessional comment.
One more slick tone dipped in sugar.
One more sly-ass smirk or attempt to blur a line that ain't never been drawn… and he’s was gonna find out real quick this ain’t that kind of job, and I’m not that kind of nigga.
“But seriously, I’m availableallhours.... whateveryouneed. You’re a brand, Mr. Kors. Some of us in PR are very…hands-on. And just so I know ahead of time… is there a dress code? Or can I wear something fitted—as long as it's tasteful?”
I tried to give the nigga the benefit of the doubt… chalk it up to him being overly friendly or just clueless, but that did it. I couldn’t keep sitting there like I was cool with his subliminal gay passes; like he wasn’t lowkey testing me or checking the temperature to see how far he could go.
Nah. That was it. Curtain call.
I sat still, smoothing out my shirt like I was weighing how hard to snap.
I locked eyes with Terrence—cold, unreadable, and lethal.
“I’ma say this one time. I don’t play that gay shit, I don’t flirt with men, I don’t send mixed signals and I damn sure don’t entertain confusion.”
Terrence’s smirk faltered.
“I’m not one of these soft-spoken, boundary-blurred types who’ll let you play in their face, testing waters. You shoot your shot at me again, I’ll shut that shit down with more than words. And for the record, Ilovepussy—not like, not enjoy,love.I’m talkin’ wake-up-face-down, skip-breakfast, risk-my-sanity type love. I crave it. Study it. Respect it.
I lovewomen—their curves, their scent, the way they tremble when they trust you, how they fall apart when you stroke ‘em like a prayer. That’s art. That’s soul. That’sGod’s favoriteinvention.That’s something you can’t replicate or mimic with eye contact and slick-ass compliments.”
I let that settle—let the silence cook.
Truth be told,I didn’t even go that hard for pussyorwomen in general. But I said it so that the clown would get the message loud and permanent: I had no fuckin’ interest in him or any nigga period.
Chi sat next to me, shaking his head like,“I don’t know why y’all choose to test this crazy ass nigga”.
I adjusted my blazer, slow and smooth, then leaned back in my chair.
“You applied to work for me, not flirt with me,” I continued. “So market this brand, respect this space, or take your little résumé and go find an HR department that'll accept fantasies as qualifications.”
I leaned in just enough, voice like a blade pressed to skin.
“’Cause over here? Ain’t no room for confused energy or boundary issues. And if that’s what you came with… this interview’s over.”
Terrence’s eyes widened—offended, embarrassed, and completely caught off guard. His lips twitched like they wanted to form a sentence, but he couldn’t seem to push the lie out.
“As a matter of fact…” I added, snapping his folder shut with finality, voice dry and dismissive. “I heard some club in Hell’s Kitchen is hiring towel boys for the steam room. That might be more up your alley.”
“I… I didn’t mean it like that, sir! I respect your space, your work—your reputation! I just thought?—”
I lifted my hand, shutting that weak apology down before it ever stood a chance.
“Nah. Don’t try to clean your act up and start getting allstraightand professional now. That rainbow slipped… it’s too late to bleach it,” Chi butted in with his two cents.
That nigga had pissed me off so bad I didn’t even crack a smile.
“Terrence, you said what you said, and I heard you the first time. I just made sureyouheardme. Thank you for inquiring. Iwon’tbe in touch,” I concluded.
Terrence’s shoulders sagged. Then he stood—awkward and humiliated.
Before he could make it out, Chi shook his head slowly, stepping into his path with a smug grin.
“Nigga, this ain’t Grindr or Glassdoor; know the difference next time.”
