I’m not a small woman at five feet nine in my bare feet and six feet in my heels. Throw in my full D cups, round hips, and thick thighs, and I’m what a romantic soul would call Rubenesque. Some men—including exes—have called me fat ass or chubby. And they can go fuck themselves, thank you very much.
But my client, catwalk ready in her slim-fitting royal-blue pantsuit, towers over me by several inches. With her flawless features, at least size 4 figure, and excellent taste in shoes, no one would dare call her anything but perfect. If I hadn’t fought hard to be comfortable in my own space and body, I might be in the corner right under the black-and-white print of the Rossonian, sucking my thumb and rocking back and forth.
As it is, Imightbe holding in my stomach.
Judge not lest ye be judged, as my dad would say.
Smiling, I extend my hand toward her. “Welcome to BURNED Inc. I’m Zora Nelson, president.”
“It’s nice to meet you, Ms.Nelson.”
She accepts my hand, her palm cool, her grip brief before she loosens it and lowers her arm back to her side. Clasping her matching pink clutch to her waist, she scans the waiting area with an impeccably arched dark brow. Through her gaze, I take in the spacious lobby and the large smoked picture window that offers a view of busy Welton Street. Levi, Miriam, and I chose each piece of furniture and painting together, right down to the magazines and knickknacks that decorate the coffee and end tables.
It’s the first impression our clients receive of BURNED, and we wanted it to reflect a place they could have the utmost confidence in. We also wanted it to reflectus. The practicality of the tall reading lamps with their energy-saving light bulbs for Levi. The high-back couches and love seat upholstered in a beautiful but chaotic pattern of flowersand stripes with a pine frame, accompanied by matching pine coffee and end tables, are Miriam’s fingerprints. This business is truly a family affair. The black-and-white photographic prints of various historical Denver landmarks, especially African American landmarks, are all me. It’s truly ours.
Which is why when a faint wrinkle appears above her nose, my chest pinches, and I battle back a frown of my own.
“I was surprised to discover your offices were located in the Five Points neighborhood.” Valerie Summers pairs the wrinkle with a small sniff, as if smelling something faintly ripe. “But this is a quaint little place. Especially given the location.”
I grit my teeth and physically restrain the barbed comeback clawing its way up my throat. True, Five Points used to be pretty rough, but now it and RiNo are very nice, vibrant, and just cool areas. I barely restrain myself from channeling my mother and checking her about the neighborhood once known as the “Harlem of the West,” where jazz greats like Louis Armstrong, Billie Holiday, and Miles Davis played clubs like the Rossonian and the Rainbow Room. Today, the district is a beautiful conglomeration of modern and historic. Museums, hotels, and music venues mix with coffeehouses, craft breweries, restaurants, and art galleries.
Five Points is proud, eclectic, and brimming with my culture.
And I’m five seconds from telling her to watch her mouth.
Client, Zora Neale Nelson. Client.
Right. But don’t think for a second I’m not about to upsell her ass.
“Well, thank you. We like it.” Smiling, I wave a hand in the direction of the hall. “Why don’t you follow me to my office?”
Turning, I catch Deanna’s eye, and in a voice that’s just a shade too saccharine, she asks, “Should I bring in coffee or tea?”
I hope I’m the only one who catches the unspoken offer of wolfsbane. She’s a paranormal romance lover, our Deanna is. And wolves are a particular favorite. Hence, that particular poison.
Just to be on the safe side, I should probably sniff any beverage we give Valerie Summers ...
“None for me, Deanna, but thank you. Ms.Summers?” I pause and glance over my shoulder at the tall blonde. And silently will her to refuse.
“No, thank you.”
Silently, I breathe a sigh of relief. Don’t get me wrong. Deanna is a wonderful office manager, is an even better friend, and usually isn’t homicidal. But she’s just as protective of our business as we are and takes any slight against it personally.
Just another reason I want to warn her against crushing on my twin brother. I’d hate to lose her when she realizes that unlike the Tin Man, Levi has no desire for a heart.
Turning toward the corridor, I lead Valerie toward my office. When we reach it, I enter and gesture toward the large comfortable armchair in front of my desk before rounding it and sinking into my own desk chair.
“Can I be honest, Ms.Nelson?”
Valerie scans my office, taking in the large mahogany curved desk, the small caramel leather sofa tucked against the far wall, and the coffee table in front of it. Her gaze flits over the armoire that functions as a file cabinet as well as my prized Thomas Kinkade paintings. When her scrutiny meets mine once more, the same surprise that lit her blue eyes in the lobby is joined by a narrowed-eye speculation.
“Please do, Ms.Summers,” I invite, spreading my hands wide, palms up, in the age-old sign of welcome.
Better be careful what you wish for,a small voice whispers in my head.
That voice is not wrong.
“A friend of mine recommended you.”
