Page 19 of Saint Baptiste 2

I tossed the invitation on the desk and interlocked my fingers. “That’s nothing to worry about, Emerald.”

With a fiery squint, she looked at me. Would’ve thought a nigga called her a bitch, the way she glared at me. “You can’t be serious!”

I nodded. “I’m very serious. You think you can spend damn near ten years on top without even a little bit of competition? Of course you have competition, baby. I’m surprise this didn’t happen years ago and?—”

She laughed in disbelief. “I can’t believe this shit. What you did last night changes every fucking thing, Saint! A few days ago, it was simple competition. Today? Today it’s... it’s a fucking... funeral. A memorial service for Pandora’s! It won’t take long for the pieces to be put together. People noticed. People saw you. Remember the little show you put on? When you stopped? They followed you. They saw you, see them and?—”

“NDA—”

“Fuck the NDA. You know how that shit works, Saint. Stop acting like you don’t know. The only reason you’re pretending you don’t understand the gravity of what you did is because you did it. If it were anybody else who let their egos get in the way?—”

“Ego—”

“That’s all you heard, hm?” She interrupted again. “Yes, ego, nigga. If it was anybody else, you would have a completely different attitude toward all of this shit. But men and accountability had never gone hand in hand. And you know what you can’t do in this situation Saint? You cannot throw your power around. You cannot use fear. You cannot kill every got damn body that threatens to switch up on us because you couldn’t handle your got damn emotions!”

Things were shifting.

The roles of power. It shifted the minute she pulled that fucking envelope from her purse. I didn’t have any power to begin with, to be honest. I just... shit. I guess that thing she said about accountability was true.

“Now we’ve beat around that bush long enough, baby boy. You don’t have to tell me who she is. I know who she is.” Emerald stood and paced, twisting the rings on her fingers. “She’s a nurse with a hefty salary.” Emerald paused to look up at me, “A thirty-one-year-old nurse. I found that interesting... that she’s older than you.” She paused with a humph. “Anyway! No kids. Owns a nice house out in Beverly Hills, MI. Oldest of two. She’s gorgeous. And my God, the woman can work a got damn room. She’s confident, independent, a got damn force. Alluring as hell. I played the footage from last night back. Saw everything. And as alluring and beautiful as she is, she’s nothing I haven’t seen before. Most definitely nothing you haven’t seen before. So please... tell me... what is it about this one that makes her special enough to disrespect me and put everything we both built at risk?”

I sat there, stoically stroking my beard, just... watching her, but mentally miles away. Steady trapped in that memory. However, I heard everything she said. Heard the minuscule description she gave of Naoki. Listened to her tell me shit I already knew about her. Watched how unimpressed she was as she talked about her. To Emerald, Naoki was nothing special. Just... gorgeous. Just... regular. She saw Naoki the same way everyone else saw her. What made Naoki special couldn’t be researched. You couldn’t just look at her and see it.

“What happened last night shouldn’t have happened,” I replied. “Again, I apologize.”

“That’s it?” Emerald asked with a squint.

In response I threw my hands up.

“You don’t think I deserve more than that?”

“What more could you deserve? Shit Em. I apologized,” I scoffed, before pushing away from the desk to stand. I looked over my shoulder at her as I made my way over to the bar. “You want a drink?”

Emerald turned on her heels, following me. “It’s two o’clock in the afternoon,” she pointed out.

“Closer to three,” I corrected with a sly smirk and a wink. Standing behind the bar, I pulled the cork from a bottle of tequila.

The conversation about Naoki was over.

For me it was at least. I couldn’t talk about her. It was painful, remember? It wasn’t the conversation per se. It was the things I didn’t say. It was what talking about her made me feel. And the regret of knowing exactly what she was and fumbling her that drove me to pouring a shot up at two-forty in the afternoon. Usually, I didn’t drink until I was finished for the day. But shit, today was heavy. I’d already sparked two blunts and planned on finishing the one sitting in my ashtray once I got back to the whip.

Emerald crossed her forearms on top of the bar and looked up at me. “Saint,” she softly called out.

“What Emerald?” I responded, annoyingly before tilting the shot of Clase Azul up to my mouth.

“Fuck business. Fuck that invitation... fuck you being late...the shit you just said about my boys, fuck that.. and what happened last night. Let’s take all of that shit off the table right now, aight?” With a softened expression and raised brows. “For a couple minutes, let me wear my Amerikkan Manmi hat and... you,” she paused and shrugged her right shoulder with a sweet smile. “You be my Baby Baptiste.”

“I don’t need to be mothered. I have one of those.” Uncorking the bottle again, I poured up another shot. “Business is priority. That’s the only thing we have to discuss. The invitation most importantly. Everything you said was valid. The Honeycomb does pose as a threat and?—”

“What you did last night could have very well put the business at risk. Which circles back to what I was saying,” She rolled her eyes and cocked her head to the side. “You can’t bullshit a bullshitter, Saint, baby. Let’s save each other sometime by cutting to the fucking chase. You made your shit, my business the minute you decided to bring it into the business. So... like I said,” she nodded with a smile. “Fuck the business! Let’s talk about Miss Mama’s.”

Emerald grabbed the shot I prepared for myself and tossed it back before sitting on the barstool. “You got yo’self into some shit, didn’t you?” She paused, pursed her lips together and shook her head. “It’s a dangerous game you’re playing, my love,” she continued.

“What game is it that you think I’m playing, Em?” I challenged with a smirk.

“The game where you try to control a woman who cannot be controlled. Save that shit for the eleventh floor. You know that shit does not work in the real world on women of her caliber.”

I couldn’t stand her. Emerald. Sometimes, she could really get on my fuckin’ nerves. She didn’t often. Most of the time, we were good. But then were times like this where I’d wish I didn’t hit that party with Simon back in the day. I’d wish I didn’t get tied up with her ass. If I was the person I was today, I would have never gone into business with her. I would have opened Pandora’s. I would have made it mine, and mine alone. I for damn sure wouldn’t have joined the club. Would have found one separate from my own to keep my shit to myself. But... shit... you grow older, and you grow wiser. What was done, was done already. And Emerald just knew too much fuckin’ shit.

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