Azmir
Her place was nice. Not too big—not too small. It was mildly decorated and hardly personalized. She had the basics—furniture, television, books on the shelves, but there were little personal effects. I saw a few framed candid photos of her and Michelle and some of a little girl but that was it. I’m big on gaining indistinct information and facts about a person. People are never upfront about who they are and will only divulge what they’re comfortable with. This is why I go to great measures to screen my personal assistants. It’s not just the typical series of interviews procedure. I go to their home, church, gym, and have them trailed by a private investigator among other measures. There was something hidden about Rayna but I still got a feeling that I could trust her. I noticed she had a towel wrapped around her so I asked, “Were you bathing?”
“Oh…no. I was in the hot tub.”
“Alone?” I had my heat just in case ole’ cornball was here. Though I didn’t think I needed it with his slouch ass.
“Ummmm…yeah.”
“Well, don’t let me disturb you.” I gave her a one over. “I don’t have to join you in the water to stay for company, do I?”
“Can I offer you a drink?” I guessed that was her way of agreeing to me staying.
“Please.”
She poured me a glass of pinot noir and I followed her out the sliding doors onto her patio. Her backyard was small but neat. Aside from the Jacuzzi, the space was green with a nice bed of grass. There were a few chairs out, randomly placed there in the gated space. It was well lit and I saw pretty little flowers planted along the enclosed fence. She didn’t get back into the Jacuzzi. Instead, she pulled up a chair to the one she invited me to occupy.
“So, are you alright?” I asked.
She sighed, “Oh, of course,” unconvincingly.
“Okay, because it looked like duke had a grip on that ass,” I said in jest as I looked for a reaction. She kept her eyes glued to the white picketed fence just a few feet away.
“Yeah…” Rayna sounded really broken.
“Are you sure you're okay, Rayna?” She concerned me and confirmed my reasons for coming by.
“Why do men have to have their egos stroked all the damn time? As a woman, you’re criticized for being independent but as soon as we show a moment of vulnerability, a man happily jumps in and saves the day but…” she paused desolately.
“But what?” I wanted her to continue. She took an extensive pause before saying, “Why does something always have to be attached to it? I mean, time after time, I’ve been chased and when and if I decide to take the hook, there’s always a gotcha-gotcha.”
“That’s because you’ve been choosing boys—under-developed men.” With that, she looked at me. Her eyes were big, innocent, and still sexy as hell. At that moment, I noticed her beautiful, smooth, caramel skin. It was flawless. Her hair was pushed back into a ponytail. She had no make-up on—just sporting her natural innocence. She was fucking art!
“Baby girl, you’re still young. You haven’t run across a quality man yet.” I scoffed. “That damn sure wasn’t one I met earlier. What do you owe him? What did he pay for?” It was clear that this issue was about a debt.
“I never exactly “chose” him. He came in sheep’s clothing and then…the gotcha-gotcha. We went on a couple of official dates before I caught on to him. He tried to insult me like I was trash…like a hood rat. When he saw it wasn’t that easy…he raised the stakes.” She drifted again.
“You never answered my question.”
“What was that?”