Rich Girl Problems (15 page)

The next morning

 

T
hey'd made love every chance they got—little sleep and even less to eat—and Jaise couldn't believe that Bilal didn't seem to notice the ten pounds she'd gained since they'd been separated.

She thought for sure when he insisted that they make love with the lights on, so that he could see and enjoy every minute of her, that he would notice the extra jiggle in her belly or meat between her thighs. But he didn't. Instead, he made love to her the way he always had. Slow. Deliberate. Passionate.

“I love you so much,” Jaise said to Bilal as she watched him sleeping. She kissed his lips softly. Moved to his chin. His neck. His chest.

“Don't stop there,” he said, eyes still closed.

“You are so nasty.” Jaise let her tongue trail down his belly to his erotic sweetness where she took him into her mouth inch by inch. Licking. Sucking. Bouncing the head on and off her tongue as he softly gripped her hair and moaned, “Damn, baby.”

Thanks for the compliment.
Her tongue glazed his scrotum before she deep throated him until she felt him shiver and creamy salt filled the space between her welcoming jaws.

An hour later, Jaise lay with her head upon Bilal's chest. Stroking his chest hairs, she said, “I'm so happy you're home. I feel so complete.”

“I'm happy to be here too, baby.” He ran his fingers through her hair. “And I want it to stay that way, which is why you can't get off track.”

“Off track?”

“With what we agreed to.”

Here he goes with this shit.

“Agreed to what?”

“Jabril has to leave.”

Jaise sat up straight and looked Bilal in the eyes.

He sat up beside her. “I know it's hard.”

Hell yeah, it's hard. That's my damn baby and I don't think he's ready to be on his own.
“He's my son. I can't just toss him out in the street.”

“Look, it may sound cold, but you will need to give Jabril two weeks. And that's it. Or I will leave.”

What?
“What?”

“You have coddled him long enough and it's time for him to get his act together. Or else you will forever be raising a grown-ass little boy. I know you were seventeen when you had him and you did the best you could, but if you don't make a change now, he will always be in and out of your house. You'll always be paying his child support—”

“He'll have his trust in five years.”

“Jaise, you and I both know you're not balling like Bill Gates. You're talking a trust worth what? Two, three million?”

“Five.”

“And he will blow through every dime of it because he doesn't have any skills and doesn't know how to make it on his own. You won't always be here to catch him, Jaise. Teach him how to be a man
now
by making him do it on his own. So that when he gets his trust, he will appreciate it and keep it.”

“Bilal—”

“Look, ultimately the choice is yours, but know this: If I leave again, I'm done. That's it.”

Jaise knew by the look in Bilal's eyes and the tone in his voice that he was serious. And if he left again, he would never come back. She couldn't risk that.

Besides, he was right. The only way Jabril would ever change his life would be if she made him stand on his own.

“Hopefully, he'll be here today so that I can talk to him. He hasn't been home in a few days and he doesn't even know you're back—”

Bilal shook his head. “He's been gone for a few days? Jaise, he doesn't have any respect for you or your house rules. He thinks he can come and go whenever he chooses to. It doesn't work like that and you need to let him know that too—”

“I heard you,” she said with a little more aggravation than she intended to. “I get it. And I will handle it.”

“When?”

“Right after this.” She straddled him.

 

Jaise stood at the stove cooking apple pancakes, maple bacon, and fried eggs. Jabril's favorite meal.

“Ma, that smells
sooooo
good!” Jabril said, slamming the back door and kissing her on the cheek.

“Boy, where have you been?”

He smiled and took a seat at the table. “I was over at this li'l chick's spot for a minute.” He grinned.

Jaise frowned. “Little chick's spot? There you go again with these food-stamp hos! I just don't understand why you are sooo addicted to ratchet. It's like these bitches have sunshine tucked away in the lining of their pussies or something.”

“Ma!” Jabril smirked as Jaise sat his plate in front of him.

“Don't ‘Ma' me, Jabril. I just don't know where I went wrong. Instead of dicking down some street whore, you should've been looking for a job.”

“Here we go with this again.” He rolled his eyes and stuffed a few pieces of pancake in his mouth.

“Don't you think you need a job?” Jaise said.

“I'm looking for one!” he said with a full mouth.

“Looking where, Jabril? In some ratty asshole? Your dick doesn't need any more employment!”

“I just said I was looking for one! Dang! Why you sweatin' me so hard?!”

“Because I'm tired of taking care of your ass! You are a man! Not a child! And I've been babying you too damn long! When are you going to grow up? I could halfway understand it if you at least had a job and took care of your kids. Maybe went back to college or something, but you don't even want to do that!”

“If you would give me my trust, you wouldn't have to worry about taking care of me!”

“I'll be damned if I give you your trust so you can trick off on some project hood ho! Hell no! Never. And the longer it takes you to get your ass together, the more I'll push back that damn age for you to receive it! Now you have two weeks to get you a job so that you can pay your rent.”

“Rent?” He looked confused. “You're charging me to live here now? Oh, that's how you doin' me?”

“No, baby, I would never do that. You'll be paying rent at your own place. The one you're going to get in two weeks when you leave here.”

“What?”

Jaise sat down next to him. “Brilly-boo, you know that Mommy loves you dearly.”

He eyed her suspiciously. “Yeah. And you just said I wasn't a kid, so stop calling me Brilly-boo and just say what you gotta say.”

“Look, I'm just trying to tell you in the best way that I can that you have to move.”

“Move? And where am I s'pose to go?”

“I don't know. All I know is that it's been six months, when it was only supposed to be a few weeks. You haven't found a job yet—”

“The economy—”

“Don't give me shit about the economy. Walmart is hiring every goddamn day!”

“Like they pay enough to live!”

“You will have to figure that out. Because as of this moment, I will not be paying your child support anymore and I'm not going to be taking care of you. It's time for you to make it on your own.”

“Yo', I don't believe this.”

“Jabril, I'm tired. Nothing I say matters. You come and go as you please. And don't think I didn't see you sneaking some skank out of here the other morning, because I did. And I'm tired of it. I want more for you than this. I want you to have a great job, be able to survive on your own, take care of your own children—”

“And you think I'm supposed to be able to do this in two weeks?! Really, Ma? Really?”

“Are those apple pancakes, baby? I can smell them all the way upstairs,” Bilal said as he stepped into the kitchen in his gray pinstriped boxers and bare chest. Immediately he locked into Jabril's stare and then into Jaise's. He looked back to Jabril. “I didn't know you were home, Jabril. Or I would've come down here with some clothes on.” He mustered up a smile. “It's been a long time. Good to see you.”

Jabril ignored him and looked up at Jaise. “So this niggah's home now and suddenly I gotta go. You choosing this niggah over me?” He stood up. “This niggah is more important than your own son!”

“I never said that!”

“You didn't have to!”

“Jabril, you're grown!”

“I've been grown, but now that he's back, it's a problem with my grown ass staying here! I should've known you would do some shit like this! You don't give a damn about me—”

“Yo', you don't speak to your mother like that!”

“Fuck you!”

“Jabril!” Jaise screamed.

“Man, fuck both of y'all!” Jabril muttered.

WHAP!
Jaise backhanded Jabril so hard that his face flung to the left and seemed to get stuck there. Fire filled his eyes as he looked at Jaise. “You ain't never cared nothing about me! Everything's about this niggah! He don't give a damn about you! You want me out of here so he can lay up here and fuck you in peace. Then, cool, I'm gone!” He charged toward the basement.

“Jabril!” Jaise followed behind him with Bilal on her heels.

“Just calm down!”

“Calm down?” Bilal scowled. “Don't you dare let him speak to you like that! That's your damn mother, Jabril! Don't you ever speak to my wife like that!”

“Like I said, fuck your foul ass, Bilal! You want me to be like you! Got all up in my mother's head and got her kicking me out just so you can get your dick sucked in peace! You ain't—” Jabril started to gag as Bilal rushed him against the wall and pressed his elbow into his throat.

Jaise jumped.

Bilal commanded, “Don't you fuckin' move, Jaise.” He turned back to Jabril, who was struggling to breathe. “You could never be like me. You're too busy wanting to be a street niggah and it's not an ounce of street in your punk ass. 'Cause if you knew any damn thing, you'd have you a fuckin' job and handle your damn business so your mama wouldn't have to throw your ass out!” He pressed harder.

“Bilal! Let him go!”

“Sit down.” Bilal eyed her. “Jabril, you'd better get yo' punk ass together before you find yourself running up on the wrong motherfucker, 'cause if I was half the niggah that I used to be, you'd have one to the head already.”

“Bilal!”

“Now your mother said two fuckin' weeks, but if you look at me wrong or say one goddamn thing crazy to her, I will throw your ass out immediately!” He released his hold.

Jabril grabbed his neck and struggled to catch his breath. A few seconds later, he tossed some of his things in a backpack.

“Jabril,” Jaise said. “Just calm down. Let's talk this out!” She grabbed his arm and he snatched away.

“Let him go!” Bilal said sternly as Jabril took off for the stairs.

“Bilal, please, this is not how it was supposed to be! Jabril, just listen to me.”

“I don't want to hear shit you have to say! I'm outta here!”

“Jabril!” Jaise cried. She turned to Bilal and as she went to speak, her words died in her mouth and tears poured from her eyes.

Bilal pulled her into his chest and wrapped his arms around her. “Listen to me. You have to let him go. It will make him a better man and one day he will thank you. I promise you, baby. I know it's tough, but it's love.”

C
haunci lay in her king-size bed next to a sleeping Emory, holding her engagement ring in the palm of her left hand and drifting into the memory of Emory dropping to one knee....

Six months ago, he'd popped open a burgundy velvet box revealing a cluster of white diamonds designed to look like a single solitaire. She hated it. It screamed cheap, and struggling, and trying entirely too hard to be something you were not.

She'd told him a million times that she wanted to pick out the engagement ring with him, especially since she had to wear it; and she wanted a Tiffany ten-carat, emerald-cut, chocolate-diamond solitaire.

Yet, what he did and what he presented her with was the exact opposite. And the media dragged it, titling the ring “the ugliest thing they'd ever seen.”

But not once did Chaunci complain. She smiled and encouraged Emory to ignore the media because it was in their fabric to be nasty. Besides, she knew it was all he could afford. After all, he was a blue collar Joe, who proudly ran his family's cleaning business. The same business his grandfather had run, and his father. The same business, he told Chaunci, that he wanted their future son to one day take over. But that would be over her dead body.

Chaunci bounced the ring in her palm. It felt extremely heavy—the clunky makeup of it and the weight of one day being Emory's wife.... Emory the son-in-law every mother wanted. A stand-up kind of guy who treated his mother well, admired his father, made an honest living, and was an honorable man with old-fashioned values. A man who played fair. Loved hard. And didn't care whether he was wealthy or not; he just wanted enough money to pay his bills, take care of his family, and put a little away for retirement.

A rare jewel of a man whom Chaunci knew she needed to have. Hell, she'd been engaged once before and this was her third relationship in two years. She needed to get herself together, because as her mother always said, “You're not getting any younger. And every woman needed more than one baby.”

But this wasn't about babies.

This was about being turned on to the core. About desiring to have a man who dreamed big and fought hard to have those dreams manifested. She didn't need a man who played fair all the damn time. Shit, there was something sexy about a man who wore a hand-sewn Italian suit, two-thousand-dollar Gucci loafers, and would slice your damn throat if you got in the way of what he wanted.

She liked those kinds of boys.

Corporate thugs who rolled dice and wagered all or nothing.

That turned her on.

Money. Arrogance. Assertiveness. And ferociousness made her cum.

Not the missionary position. Not dinner and a movie. And definitely not a clustered up bunch of thirteen flawed diamonds worth no more than three or four hundred dollars. Jesus.

But.

What she needed and what she wanted were two different things, and for once she needed to play it safe.

Chaunci slid her ring back on her finger, and as she turned over to plant a morning kiss on Emory's lips, the doorbell rang.

Emory stretched and cracked open his eyes. “You expecting company this early?”

“No. And I'm not due to record today. Someone's probably at the wrong door.” Chaunci tossed the covers off and reached for her terry cloth robe. She slid it on and walked into the living room. She looked at her security camera and couldn't believe her eyes. “What in the hell?”

She opened the door.

“Consider this a rare favor because this will be my first and last time coming to get you out of bed.”

“Excuse me?”

“You're supposed to be a businesswoman. A brand. But you've been curled up in the covers instead of handling the financial ruins of your company. Completely unacceptable. Most definitely a wage worker's mentality.”

This motherfucker is crazy.
Chaunci's eyes quickly raked over Grant, not once, but three times. He stood there in his light tan, hand-sewn Italian suit and Fendi loafers, looking at her as if she had two heads.

“Why are you here? And how do you know where I live? You stole my business and now you're stalking me?”

“Stalking you? Please, what a low level crime. As you can see, anywhere I want to be I step up and make my appearance known. I don't have time to lurk and strike. I make immediate moves. Now, it's been a week and you haven't been in the office at all. You haven't called to say you were working from home. That you were sick. Or even that you were taking some time off. Perhaps this is how you got into the hole you're in, and I have to tell you that this has to be the most unprofessional
shit
I've ever seen.”

Chaunci stood at her apartment door completely bemused. “It's eight o'clock in the morning and the last thing I need is you at my door.”

“That's exactly what you need, because apparently whoever is in your bed doesn't know how to push you out of it.”

“Chaunci,” Emory called, “who was that?” He walked into the living room and spotted Grant at the door. He walked over and Grant held out his hand. “Grant Preston.”

Emory accepted Grant's gesture and then looked over at Chaunci. “Is this the same man who stole your company?”

“Should I take that as a good morning?” Grant asked, seemingly amused.

Emory and Chaunci ignored him. “Yes. This is the hostile takeover in the flesh.”

“What the hell are you doing here?!” Emory pointed into Grant's face. “You don't show up here and especially at this time of the morning!”

Grant smiled and it was obvious that he was doing everything in his power not to laugh. He looked at Chaunci and squinted. “Who is this guy—your accountant? No wonder your financial judgment has been a mess!”

Emory took a step into Grant's personal space. “Let me tell you something—”

Chaunci wedged in between them. “Emory, calm down. Please.”

“He'd better take that damn smirk off his face before I wipe the floor with his ass.”

“And we both know you're more than qualified to wipe a floor.”

Emory pushed Chaunci to the side. She slid back in front of him. “Calm down.”

“Look, you need to go,” she said to Grant.

“Listen, if I was ever privileged to wake up next to such beauty, I'd want to defend my honor as well. However, while we're still in the business realm I need you to put on some clothes and get to the office today. Otherwise that one percent advantage I have over you allows me to fire you.”

“And I'll sue your ass!”

“Then I guess we'll dance in court. But make sure you can afford to do that, because I have enough money that I will have you tangled up for years. So my advice to you is to gather your pride, slide on a power suit and stilettos, and bring your ass into the office this morning. By nine a.m.”

I should slap his damn face.
“Are you done?” she asked.

“No, the question is: Are you done? Have a good day, Emory.” He turned on his heels and left them standing there, Emory with a clenched fist and Chaunci feeling a mix between pissed and intrigued.

 

“Ms. Morgan.” Julie ran around the counter and greeted Chaunci. “I thought I'd never see you again. I'm so glad you're back!” She whispered, “None of us can stand Mr. Preston. Do this, Julie; copy that Julie. Julie, Julie, Julie! And then he wants you in the building at your desk at nine o'clock. Even on a Saturday. Demanding that the entire staff does mandatory overtime! He's turned this place into a third world sweat shop. He will not allow any of the other employees to come to my desk and tell me how their night was. And lunch! He's slaughtered it! Exactly an hour. Not one minute longer, and if you are late from lunch, he's such a bastard. He demands to know what type of time you're going to use. He wants no fraternizing, no personal calls on the office phone. And every time I turn around, he has more work for me to do. I have zero time to meditate. He's such an asshole!”

“Excuse me, Julie.” Grant stepped outside his office door. “The next time you want to talk about how much of an asshole I am, you might want to be sure that your direct connect to my office isn't turned on.”

Julie's face turned beet red as Grant looked over at Chaunci and said, “I need to see you.” He turned around and walked into his office.

“Well, that will have to be after she sees me,” drifted over Chaunci's shoulders.

She quickly turned around and immediately her knees felt like brittle branches. She could've sworn she saw a ghost.

“Ms. Morgan,” Julie said. “Are you okay?”

“Yes,” Chaunci hesitated. “I'm fine.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

“Okay, well, Mr. Dupree here has been to the office every day this week to see you. He says it's extremely important.”

Xavier smiled and Chaunci gave him a nervous grin. She turned back to Julie and then looked up one side of the hallway and then the other. She no longer had an office, and at this moment she couldn't remember where her boardroom was.

“Ms. Morgan,” Julie said, “I fixed you up a new office. Mr. Preston was such a bastard for what he did to you!”

“Julie!” Grant yelled through the intercom.

“Oh dear, he's like the Wizard. He's everywhere.” She pointed. “Ms. Morgan, your new office is over there.”

Chaunci followed the direction of Julie's finger and spotted her name on the door.

“Thank you, Jules.” Chaunci nodded. “Mr. Dupree, will you follow me?”

“Sure will,” Xavier said, and as he walked behind Chaunci, his eyes soaked in everything in his path.

“After you,” Chaunci said, closing the door behind him.

Xavier walked in, sat down in the black leather wing chair, and propped his feet on the edge of Chaunci's desk.

She knocked them off. “What the fuck do you want?”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa. Why the hell do you have an attitude? I tell you, you and Journee are two of the most ungrateful motherfuckers I've ever seen. You two bitches have gone from strippin' hoes to living the life of Riley while my ass fought every day not to get shanked and wifed up in mess hall. And you have the nerve to be pissed with me? I'm sitting in prison for a crime we all committed and you two hos are on television, running companies, strip clubs, and are making lots and lots of money, while ten years of my life has been taken from me.”

“What. Do. You. Want?”

“Well, a little ‘hey, how are you?' would be nice.”

“I don't give a damn how you are! All I care about is knowing what the hell you want.”

“Not much.”

“What's not much?”

He stroked his chin and his eyes scanned her office. “Well, seeing this nice ole office you got here, I'd say about ten million will do.”

Chaunci lost her breath. “Ten million.” She struggled to breathe. “You want ten million dollars to disappear?”

“Oh, you want me to disappear? Now that will cost you a little more. To never see my ass again, I'll be needing at least twenty million. Cash, of course.”

Chaunci's heart stopped. Her life flashed before her. She could've sworn that the room had started to spin. She cleared her throat.

“I don't have twenty million to give you.”

“Well, you'd better figure it out. Didn't I read somewhere that you went to college and got a damn degree? Use that motherfucker. Sell some pussy; get your ass back on the pole. Hell, you were good at that. You could always rob a bank, again. Do whatever you gotta do, but I want my money and soon!” He stood up. “Have a good day, Ms. Morgan.” He walked out of her office and Chaunci knew for sure that she was due to have a nervous breakdown at any moment.

Get it together . . .

She picked up her phone and made a call. “I need you to meet me in half an hour at the Deck in midtown.”
Click.

She walked out of her office and spotted Grant giving Julie a pile of records to copy. “I need to see you,” he repeated.

Silence.

Chaunci turned her back and looked over to Julie. “Send all my calls to Mr. Preston. I'm taking the rest of the afternoon off.”