Page 3 of Rude Boss 2

“I don’t know. A meal ‘sposed to have meat with it.”

“Not necessarily. A salad is a meal.”

“Well, my salads have bacon or chicken on them. Meat ain’t never hurt nobody.”

“Ugh…where’s my daddy? You ain’t gon’ be harassing me today, Mrs. Bailey.”

She chuckles.

I grin, too.

She says, “Your father is out there in the yard cutting the grass. He cooked some ribs on the grill earlier if you want somerealfood.”

“He’s too old to be out there cutting grass.”

“You bought him a riding lawn mower for that purpose, remember?”

“Yeah, like five years ago.”

“Three years. He goes out there sometimes just to ride it around the yard like a golf cart.”

“Seriously?”

“Yes, and I be so happy when he gets up out of this house. Mama needs a break from that man half the time, but I still love him. Sometimes you can love people from a distance.”

“I heard that.” I pick up my wine glass, take a long swig, almost finishing it.

Mom says, “I’m going to be redecorating soon. I was inspired by how cozy and uncluttered your place is. I think I got too much junk up in here. And I found this beautiful picture of you that I’m going to frame after I blow it up to an eight-by-ten.”

“That’s nice, Ma. I can’t wait to see it. Oh, and of course, if you need help, your daughter, the interior decorator extraordinaire will be at your service.”

“Lord have mercy…you decorate one apartment and now it’s done gone to your head.”

I fall back laughing.

Mother says, “Anyway, girl, I’ll let you get back to your rice, but you put that wine down.”

“Yeah…sure.”

“All right, Quin. Love you. Talk soon.”

“I love you, too, Ma. Bye.”

I get up to refill my wine glass and before I can open the fridge, a tap at the door stops me in my tracks. I walk there to look through the peephole to see who’s disturbing my peace, and…

Unbelievable. I blink quickly thinking that maybe this wine has my eyes seeing things that aren’t there.

Please be the wine. Please be the wine. Mama told me to put it down. I should’ve listened.

I look again. It’s not the wine. Essex is standing at my door wearing a black suit with a black shirt and a black tie. I know he doesn’t work on weekends. He’s made that abundantly clear, so why is he suited up? And why is he here? To fire me? In person? I haven’t seen him since he nearly took my lips off on Thursday, and now he’s here. At my apartment on a Saturday evening…

Don’t open the door, Quintessa. You’re supposed to be relaxing. Relaxation is out the window if you have to deal with him and you know that, so don’t answer it. DON’T ANSWER IT!

He knocks again. I covertly look through the peephole once more and this time, I concentrate on his face. He appears troubled, but he doesn’t look like he’s angry. Maybe he’s not here to fire me after all. But why the suit? Then it hits me. His mother died Monday. Today is Saturday. Was her funeral today? I can’t leave him standing out here if he needs consolation, can I?

Strictly out of pity, I unlock the door, open it and he’s standing there, tall, statuesque, and as handsome as handsome can get. The peephole didn’t do him justice. My gaze automatically sweeps over him – from his broad shoulders to his arms, down his legs, even settles on those hands that cupped my face. That body – that impressive physique he possesses – had me pressed to the wall in his office and thinking about it has me warm all over.

His aura takes my voice. Or maybe it’s the wine that has me standing here staring at him like he’s a piece of chocolate that I want to bite. I pinch my eyes together and open them again, blink a few times and massage my neck.

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