Page 8 of Between Passion and Revenge: Part Two
She empties the small plastic box, shaking out three white discs, and places them on the desk in front of me. Taking confident steps to the corner, she reaches into the mini-fridge, pulling out a can of Coke.
“We’re set to close the deal in ninety days, but I still haven’t, um, been successful in getting a response from the Keystone team regarding a meeting with Mr.Braxton.”
Her mouth twists to the side as she pulls the drink tab and places it next to what I now know are pills.
“Tylenol and aspirin,” she says, nodding toward the medicine and tapping on her tablet. “And the courier is bringing over piping hot fries from McDonald’s in approximately?—”
She pauses, tapping her screen with a bit of force before saying, “Four minutes.”
I’d smile if the impending migraine weren’t about to take me out.
I can’t afford to be down for the count.
I swallow the pills with a big gulp of soda.
“I’ve told Zane to go down there and throw around his country club speak. Actually put it to use,” I reply.
Zane. Fucking Zane.
No…that’s what’s got me in trouble in the first place.
I can hear Yenn now.“Who needs men in 2025 when we have the most soul-sucking vibrators on the market now? Literally, bestieeeee.”
Melissa stands there for a few heartbeats before I say, “And the last thing?”
Her eyelashes flutter as she blinks in rapid succession.
“Yes! Your mother is on line three. She was insistent that she’d hold until you were free to come to the phone.”
Ah. Yes. Someone else whom I’ve been avoiding—except “me avoiding her” means we don’t talk for a full workday.
“Great,” I say, but it sounds dread-filled.
Melissa’s grimace returns.
“Thanks, Melissa. I’ll circle back with you after lunch,” I say, and Melissa tips her chin and heads for the door. I swivel my chair to face the blinking intercom, but then return to my computer screen to check my calendar.
Luckily, I don’t have another meeting for two hours.
She’ll hopefully be done yelling at me by then.
“Three, two, one,” I say, hyping myself to pick up the receiver. As soon as it clears the hook, I hear her sharp voice fussing at me.
“Hi, Mama,” I say, breaking into her tirade.
“Shae Olivya Rivers. You and I got some stuff to work out because this time, you’ve really messed up!”
TWO
STORM
Loyalty.
People love to talk about it like it’s holy. Like it’s this sacred, binding thing. God, country, king. All that bullshit.
But real loyalty? It’s just currency.
Spent. Bought. Traded.
