Page 80 of Invisible Bars
Model-type. Legs for days. Walked in like she owned the lighting and the moment.
Chi leaned in and whispered, “If you pick her, yo’ assgon'be in the blogs by next week."
“Miss Jones,” I said, nodding slightly as I reviewed her application. “You’re very qualified… probably overly qualified. Impressive background.”
That was true.
She had three degrees—marketing, business, and public relations. Ran campaigns for two celebrity athletes and a fashion label that rebranded overnight after a scandal. She knew how to spin fire into perfume and was the kind of woman who made chaos look strategic.
But that was the problem.
If I hired her, I was afraid it wouldn’t just be my brand she was managing. With her looks, her confidence, and that poised, camera-ready smile, the public wouldn’t know if she was my employee or my next scandal. And I didn’t need that kind of confusion tied to my name—not with everything I had going on behind the scenes. Knowing Naji, the minute she saw a viral clip of me standing next to that woman on a red carpet… she’d flip.
I could already hear the stuttered outburst: “Oh, so y-you trying… trying to hire Ms. P-pose-n-Provoke now?”
I chuckled at the thought.
Miss Jones smiled. "Thank you. I love helping powerful men shape their image. I’m alsosingle,so… you never have to worry about me being too busy for you.”
Nope!
“Thank you for your time, Miss Jones. I’ll be in touch.”
She blinked rapidly, caught off guard. “O-oh, okay. I must say, I thought there would be more questions.”
“This was just a brief screening. If you get selected for a second interview, we’ll dive into the major questions,” I responded.
“Right! Of course!” She stood quickly. “Thank you again. I hope to hear from you,” she slyly flirted.
As the door closed behind her, Chi turned to me with a smirk.
“Yo’ ass just lied like a preacher at a side chick’s funeral. You know damn well you ain’t gon’ call that girl back… at least not to discuss her coming in for another interview. You were feeling, weren’t you?”
“Yeah, she was fine and all, but she gave me clingy vibes and you know I try to stay far as hell away from those kind of females, especially in my position.”
“In other words,” Chi drawled, “you wouldn’t hire her… but you’d fuck her—from the back, blindfold on, just so she wouldn’t know it was you.”
“That part,” I confirmed. “No face, no case.”
Chi shook his head, already heading to the door. “I’ma go ahead and get the next person before you give the order…Boss.”
I chuckled low. “You know the drill—don’t stand around too long or I’ma start thinking you applying too.”
The door creaked open, and in walked candidate number five.
White dude. Mid-thirties. Hair gelled back, pale blue tie too tight at the collar, and a cheap smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.
Me and Chi exchanged a glance with the same thought.
Nope.
Truth be told, I never planned to hire a white publicist.
Not for my brand… not with the kind of legacy I was building.
But to make sure I didn’t look “biased” or catch heat for being “too Black,” I’d accepted a few white applicants.
Optics. Paper trail. Nothing more.
