Boardroom Attraction - Book cover

Boardroom Attraction

Trinity Blue

Chapter 2

ALEX

My feet are throbbing with a pulse of their own by the time I clock out. But my future is looking brighter, so all I can do is smile.

“Wow,” Sharon says as I enter the break room. “Did we have a good day?” she asks, pointing to my face. “Judging by that smile, I’d say you got some pretty good tips today.”

“Tips were okay,” I say with a shrug. “My day has improved since this morning, so that’s something to be happy about.”

Sharon shakes her head. “Always a cup half-full with you,” she says with a soft smile.

I’ll be giving my notice soon, but I don’t want to say anything just yet. Someone might tell management before I get the chance.

Not to say that Sharon can’t keep a secret, but I’ve learned that most people around here can’t hold water. Besides, I don’t want to rub my good fortune in Sharon’s—or anyone else’s—face.

“Are you catching the bus home tonight?” Sharon asks.

When Sharon doesn’t get a ride from her boyfriend, we ride the bus together. We’re on the same route, although I get off a few stops before her.

We women try to stick together when traveling around the city at night. And for the nights I have to ride solo, I have a Taser and a can of Mace in my purse.

“Yep. Are you riding with me tonight?” I ask.

Sharon nods her head as she pulls on her jacket. “Yeah, Marco has to work tonight. I’ll probably be riding the bus the rest of the week.”

She’ll have to ride the bus alone soon and that makes me feel like crap. But I still don’t tell her. I’ll let her know after I talk to the manager tomorrow.

Grabbing my black peacoat out of my locker, I put it on along with my red knit cap. Nights in San Francisco are almost always chilly, even in summer, and it’s only February.

“I’m ready,” I say, settling my purse strap over my shoulder.

We head out of the restaurant and toward the bus stop located a few blocks away. We make the short walk in comfortable silence.

Reaching the bus stop, Sharon asks, “How are things with Bruce?

Sighing, I say, “We’re on a break.”

My boyfriend of two years, Bruce Chambers, suggested we take a break.

I don’t believe in breaks.

In my mind, we’ve broken up.

He wants to see other people. I don’t. That’s breaking up. Not taking a break. But I guess no one likes to be the one to say someone broke up with them.

Of course, he’s already dating someone else. That’s what all this nonsense was about in the first place.

Men are so damn selfish.

“We broke up,” I say, amending my earlier statement.

The bus pulls up. We get on it, taking our usual seats near the front.

“You don’t seem too broken up about it,” Sharon says.

She’s actually right. I’m not.

Bruce is a good-looking guy. He’s tall and muscular with smooth, dark-chocolate skin, and a beautiful, heart-stopping smile. He’s also self-centered, with a wandering eye.

We never really had chemistry in the bedroom either. I seemed to forget that very important detail every time he turned on the charm. Which was only when he knew I was getting tired of his games.

“C’est la vie,” I say.

Sharon looks at me quizzically.

“That’s life.”

Sitting around feeling sorry for myself if a waste of time. And, if I’m being honest, I never saw Bruce as my happily ever after. He was just someone to pass the time with.

In the end, I guess I was the same thing for him.

“This is my stop,” I say, standing up as we approach. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Luckily, my apartment building is right across the street. Walking into the high-rise, I take the elevator to the fourth floor.

The apartment is a small space, just over a thousand square feet. It has two bedrooms, two bathrooms, a galley kitchen, and a tiny living room.

But Shayla and I feel like we’re paying a ransom note whenever rent is due.

Shayla greets me when I walk through the front door. “Hey, Sugar.”

She says “sugar” with an impeccable Southern accent, adding all the unnecessary h’s.

“You must have a death wish,” I say.

Very few people know my first name, and this is the reason. Shayla knows I hate being called Sugar. That’s why she does it.

“Did you see the notice of intent to increase the rent?” she asks.

Shayla’s lounging on the couch in yoga pants and a T-shirt. Her deep-brown skin is flawless and her dark hair hangs to the middle of her back in Sisterlocks.

She starts twirling one of the long braids around her finger.

“Yeah. I saw it.” I pull the forms out of my purse, holding them out to her. “And as luck would have it, I was offered an administrative position at the Blandford Corporation starting Monday.”

Walking into the kitchen, I grab a bottle of water. When I return to the living room, I plop down on the couch next to Shayla.

“I didn’t even know you had a job interview,” she says.

I laugh. “Me neither.”

After explaining what happened, I take a sip of my water.

“Gurrrl,” Shayla says, letting out breath of relief. “And not a moment too soon.”

Shayla is a beautician. It’s actually how she and I met.

In my freshman year in college, I had been looking for someone who could give me a Brazilian blowout. A girl in one of my classes suggested Shayla, and I immediately scheduled an appointment.

Shayla gave me the best blowout I’ve ever had. Some friendly conversation along with more than a few good laughs, and we became fast friends.

We moved in together two years ago, after Shayla’s longtime, live-in boyfriend left her for another man.

“You need your ends clipped,” she says, picking up the ends of my flat hair. If it wasn’t for my regular blowouts, my hair would have a slight wave to it. But I find it easier to take care of this way.

Shayla tugs. “Get your cutesy little ass in the bathroom so I can trim your hair for you.”

There’s no argument from me. I hop up and head to the bathroom. Where else can you get a professional haircut and style for free?

“So what are you going to be doing at this new job?” Shayla asks as she begins to clip my hair.

“Honestly, I didn’t ask too many questions. I was working and I’d already spent a lot of time talking to Barbara, that’s the lady who offered me the job.”

Shayla turns my head for me, reminding me to face forward. I look at her in the mirror. “I’m guessing it’s answering calls, taking notes, writing business letters, and stuff like that.

“We both know I could do all that in my sleep.”

“Good. Maybe when you’ve been there for a while you can hook me up with a gig,” she says.

“What happened to opening up your own shop?”

Owning her own hair salon has been the one dream Shayla has been clinging to since she was a young girl. She’s been putting away every extra penny she earns so that she can one day realize that dream.

“I still want it,” Shayla admits. “But I might need to put it on hold for a while.” Lifting her shoulders, Shayla lets them fall. “Just until things start looking better.”

No. I don’t accept that.

“What was it that Langston Hughes said about a dream deferred?” I ask, my eyes boring into hers through the reflection in the mirror.

“Rest assured, little mama, I’m not letting my dreams dry up like a raisin in the sun.” Shayla dusts the loose hair from my shoulders. “Okay. I’m done.”

She runs her fingers through my hair, getting it to lie perfectly. “You look fabulous, once again.”

I place a hand over hers. “Thanks.”

“Anything for you,” Shayla says, pinching my cheek playfully.

I smile.

I’d do anything for the people I love too.

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