Page 47 of Finesse
Two
The next morning, another envelope arrived to me in the same order as the first one. I took that one out to see a check in the amount of two hundred thousand; doubled the amount of the first check.
On the memo line was another weird word.Belong.
Belong? What a weird-ass word to leave on the memo. Did the person mean to write something and forgot? Belong to Taylor? To the girl who runs Fresh Espresso? Belong what? I don’t know and I’m not sure if I care.
I immediately went to the bank and they confirmed the checks were good but the money wouldn’t be available for another week so they could verify it.
Three hundred thousand. That would cover Alicia’s family hook-up fee as well as covering my personal expenses. I still have to worry about the coffee shops but at least Alicia can get her money.
Over the next month, two more checks arrive with the amount doubled with each check. Over a million dollars was sent to me by a generous person who wanted to remain anonymous. I had more than enough money to ensure both shops would remain open and gave Alicia extra money to pursue the legal case against the driver.
I’m about to close up for the night and it’s just me. I don’t feel unsafe or alarmed about being alone. I actually prefer it. I can concentrate on getting everything ready for tomorrow and go home to relax.
The shop hours are from six to four, and it’s completely intentional. I want to be home while it’s still light out and I can entertain someone if I feel like setting myself up for disappointment.
We have extended holiday hours it’s for everyone who’s out late shopping, partying, or just need a break from their families for a little while. It’s something my Daddy always had and I’m happy to keep up with tradition.
As I close everything down and wipe the tables, someone knocks on the door. I glance at the clock and see it’s already 4:15. Everything is already shut off and the sign clearly says we’re not open. But I also know people don’t know how to read.
I turn around and meet face-to-face with the Devil himself – Cameron Page. My first love. My first heartbreak.
He grins at me and I roll my eyes. Of course, the rules don’t apply to him. They never did. It’s how he was able to get away with everything. He still does. He always will.
This is not how our first re-encounter was supposed to go. I was supposed to walking down the street, carrying my Louis Vuitton tote, wearing my Gucci shades, and have Tory Burch on my feet. My coils are glistened with the best butter hair cream and my skin is equally moisturized.
The sun would be shining down on my face as I have a proud smile. As I carry a bag from Bloomingdale’s, I would run into Cameron. He would be about twenty pounds heavier, balding, and a stain on his shirt from baby food.
He would look at me, almost ashamed of his appearance and I just smile as I carry on, heading to another store. Would I be married? It doesn’t matter.
Another scenario would’ve been I was at the farmer’s market, with my own custom-made basket as I’m picking out the best fruits and veggies for my YouTube cooking channel. I bump into Cameron as I’m about to leave.
He’s with his Plain Jane and long-suffering wife as he too also looks like he could take an extended break from his marriage instead of going on Pornhub every night to rub a quick one out for five minutes.
His wife is going on about the different types of mushrooms should she pick while Cameron straightens out his wrinkled shirt as well as his wrinkled khakis and runs a hand through his messed-up hair.
He would be embarrassed but oddly happy to see me and wondering how I’ve been. His wife would come up and profess how much of a fan she is of my channel if I could take a selfie with her. Then Cameron would send that pic to his phone and pull it out later that night to give himself some motivation to yet rub another one out.
The fantasies leave my head as Cameron cocks an eyebrow as if he’s challenging me. He wants to talk and I know that if we don’t talk now, he’ll come back again until he wears me down enough. He’s annoying like that.
As I walk closer to him, my body remembers Cameron. He’s leaner and harder. His dirty blonde hair is slick back and his brown eyes sparkle with a hint of mischief. Being older and hopefully, wiser, I know that mischief is more sinister.
We stand on opposite sides of the glass door. The feelings I had for Cameron come rushing back as if they’d never left. My resolve, however, reminds me why I left him alone.
I don’t date drug dealers and I damn sure don’t date drug lords. Who knows how many bodies Cameron has on his count? Who knows how much destruction he has caused, getting other people strung out and hopelessly addicted to his drugs?
I can’t be with someone knowing they’re playing an active role in destroying people’s lives, yet I’m finding it hard to stay away from Cameron. I know what will happen when I unlock this door and I don’t know if that’s something I really want.
Cameron, however, isn’t backing down. “Baby girl,” he purrs through the glass, “are you going to let me come in?”
I sigh and feel his eyes flicker all over my body. Regret is already choking me and Cameron is still outside. “We have nothing to talk about, Cam.”
“We have everything to talk about.” He pulls out four pieces of paper and puts them against the glass. “These to start.”
I lean in closer and recognize the papers – they’re the cashed checks that some mysterious person sent to me. I finally look closely at the memo lines and it’s clear all along:
You.
