Page 15 of Her Savior
Eight
I wake up to a grip of text notifications. Between my social media accounts, I have around 1500 friend requests. When my mother decided she was going to be a groupie for life, I made sure no one knew a damn thing about me. I don’t accept friend request unless I actually know that motherfucker.
I finally know why.
No surprise that word about our notorious fight hit the gossip blogs early. I don’t even have to wonder if my mother was the one that contacted all of the blogs or someone on her behalf. But since there were eyewitness accounts to what happened, someone blabbed.
And of course, my internship might be in trouble.
I rub my eyes and my head is pounding. After the nightclub, I went home and showered. And then I killed a fifth of Henny. I hate Henny. But I drank it because I know Andrea hates it too, and well, somewhere in that fucked-up mind of mine, I drank it in spite of her.
Yeah, it didn’t make sense last night and it makes no damn sense this morning.
I wish I didn’t listen to Tasha’s knock-kneed ass about attending that wack-ass party. However, I did, and today will be the last day of my damn internship because guess what? My black ass is all over the fucking blogs.
TSR Exclusive – Hip-Hop Wives cast member Andrea and daughter in a knockout fight!
That Hot Sauce Exclusive – HHW member Andrea and daughter come to blows!
Facebook Wenches and the Fibroids Who Love Them Exclusive – HHW member Andrea and daughter fight!
Okay, so maybe I made up that last one.
I quickly clear my notifications and keep everyone in purgatory waiting hell. In a few months, they’ll forget about my ass and hopefully, they’ll rescind the request. At least I hope so. I ain’t got time for stalking-ass niggas wondering how they’re gon’ beat their dicks to my latest upload.
I hear a knock on my door and Tasha just lets her ass right on in. Thank God I mostly sleep with some clothes on or she would’ve seen something else on me that’s bald. “Good Morning to you, too, bitch.” I greet her.
Tasha waltzes right in with a small box in her hands. She hands it to me and sits on my bed as she stares at me. Her eyes are as pink as Barbie’s dream house, and she’s probably still tipsy from last night. I hear a toilet flushing and know that’s SoundCloud’s non-rapping ass using up my plumbing. I need to get away from these niggas for real.
“You have a package,” she lightly taps the box, “Me and Junie were up baking when I saw a SUV pull up. Some older white dude got out and left the package at the front door without ringing the doorbell. I thought it was some dude about to serve some papers because I’m late on some credit cards but nah…” She taps the package again. “…it’s for you.”
I look down at the package and my name is handwritten on it. I open the box and it’s a small vial with a handwritten note. “Drink this before you go to the internship. Once you arrive, see me immediately.” I flip the card and it’s signed by Savior.
I quickly drink the vial and notice it tastes something like regret, love spell, and fish. It goes down easy and I’m hoping it stays there. I put the vial away and get out of bed. “I need to head to my internship.”
“Are you going to talk about last night?” Tasha inquires. I know she’s acting like concerned friend but I also think she wants to sell my ass out to the highest bidder. I know she’s late on her phone bill.
“There’s nothing to talk about,” I go into my closet and pull out some slacks, a pink dress shirt, and those kitten heels that white girls seem to be into nowadays. I pull out my Vickie Secret’s bra and panties and call it a day. “I really have nothing to say.”
“Nothing? Nothing at all?” Tasha pushes. Yep, I definitely know her ass is going to the blogs. With a friend like her, why have enemies?
“Nothing,” I tighten my lips. I’m going to be on my best behavior because I don’t know if word got back to the firm about what happened last night. I damn sure don’t need to give Savior any reason to let go of me. “I’m about to shower and leave. See you later, Tee.”
~~~~~
I arrive at the Ellison law firm and I immediately see people turn heads. I can’t tell if they’re looking at me with sympathy because of Andrea, amazement because I’m not wearing a head full of India’s finest, or they know my black ass is about to be fired and I’m not even hired.
How do you get fired on your day off?
“Good Morning, Keisha,” a young, slim man walks up to my desk. He’s wearing a V-neck sweater, tweed slacks, and black shoes. He looks like the type that would eat caviar for breakfast, lobster for lunch, and more caviar and lobster for dinner. “Here is your schedule for today. You’ve been requested to attend this afternoon’s meeting by Savior.”
I look down at the schedule. I’ve been scheduled to go to several meetings, meet with a few lawyers for 15-minute increments, and help with any task the lawyers need.
All of that is fine and dandy, but it’s the one schedule meeting that has me on alert:
I have a two-hour lunch with Savior himself.
I’m used to having 30-minute lunches with fifteen-minute breaks. Maybe 15 minutes. Sometimes it’s not even that. This fool has me on the schedule to meet him in three hours for a two-hour lunch. Who in the hell takes two-hour lunches?
