“But it captures the essence of what you actually do?”
He glanced at her. She was as sharp as she was beautiful. And those alluring eyes. If she wasn’t so damn mean, he thought, and then quickly caught himself. He had literally just gotten rid of Cynthia. And to go from that bat to this bat? Therewas no way he was picking up this particular bat out of hell ever. He didn’t care how cute she was. “Something like that,” he said.
“Let me put it this way,” she said. “Are your clients mostly Democrats or Republicans?”
“Republicans by far,” said Vince.
“Are you a Republican?”
“Yes I am.”
She looked at him. “Wow. You voted for Trump?”
“Not that that’s any of your business,” he said, “but no, I did not.”
“Why not? He’s a Republican.”
“Not my kind of Republican he’s not,” Vince said. Then he decided to turn the tables. “What do you do for a living?”
It was the first time he asked her anything at all about herself. “I’m a hairstylist.”
He glanced at her hair. She had plenty of it, but it was hardly a style. “A hairstylist who wears a ponytail?” He smiled. “Not exactly a ringing endorsement for your skillset, is it?”
Another blow to her ego. And she was tired of the hits. “I can’t do anything right in your eyes, can I?”
He looked at her. “As of right now? No,” he said bluntly.
She started to tell him to kiss her ass the way she usually would when somebody would hit a nerve with her. But she couldn’t bring herself to say that to him. She just couldn’t do it. She, instead, looked out the window again, and said nothing.
Vince exhaled again. Why was he so hard on her? What was his problem? He decided to ease up. “I’m sorry, alright?”
“No you aren’t.”
“No, I’m not. But I could have been more diplomatic.”
She looked at him. “You could have lied, in other words?”
“Yes. But since I’m not a very good liar, I didn’t.”
She stared at him a few moments longer. Because somehow she respected him more for being honest with her. “Apology accepted,” she said.
He smiled. “Thank you.” Then he decided to go there. “Since you know my name,” he said, “what’s yours?”
“Now you ask me that question?” she said, turning the tables on him.
He smiled. She was sharp, he’d give her that.
“My name is Rasheda Richardson. But everybody calls me Ricki.”
“Which do you prefer? Rasheda?”
“Ricki.”
He smiled. It was his guess that if he had called her Ricki, she would have preferred Rasheda.
She smiled too as she looked back out of the window and he returned his attention back to the highway. But the more she thought about her sister, that smile was gone.
Several more minutes passed. But he couldn’t get her off his mind. He glanced at her again. “Why is it so important for you to be in Milton before four this afternoon?”
