The dark-skinned beauty was that chick. Always had been. Always would be. Blak thought his eyes were playing tricks on him when he peeped the brown and white striped mini skirt with the matching top. Her 5’5 frame wasn’t as shapely as Averi’s, so the clothes fit a little different, but she still looked good. Approaching her with a cocked brow, Blak sized her up.
“This gotta be some designer shit, ‘cus you’re the second person I’ve seen wearing it today.”
“It’s Waydamin,” she stated casually as if he was supposed to know who or what that was. Noticing his blank stare, she giggled. “Jayda Wayda.”
Naomi may as well have been speaking another language because he was clueless.
“Lil’ Baby’s baby mama. She has her own clothing brand.”
“Oh. So which way we go?” Blak’s eyes darted around the building.
“It’s on the third floor.”
“Bet.”
Allowing her to lead the way, he stood behind her as they waited to go through the metal detector. He was really getting married. Although he had chosen to only see the good that would come from the situation for some reason, actually being inside the courthouse was making him nervous.
Family discount on bricks. Extra protection from law enforcement and organized crime families. The chance to more than triple his monthly income.
Blak thought about all the ways marrying Naomi would benefit him. There had never been any competition among him and Block. He expected everything to be passed down to Tech’s son. He was only the nephew, so he didn’t feel any kind of way about it. But marrying Naomi would make it so he surpassed Block in rank. He was almost certain that Block didn’t care. He’d been at it for a long time and was rich as fuck. No one expected him to remain in the game much longer. He had successfully held things down in his father’s absence, and Block was more than ready to just chill.
Blak on the other hand, felt like he was just getting started. The goal was to become filthy fuckin’ rich. The only problem he wanted was having more money than he could spend. Jameshad more than likely already surpassed that goal. Shit, Block probably had too. So now, it was his turn, and if marrying Naomi was how he would reach that goal, that’s what it was.
Once the applications were completed and the fee paid, Blak looked over at Naomi. “What’s next?”
“From here everything is going to start moving pretty fast. There are two wedding planners. They’re the most expensive ones in the city, and they don’t play. As for us, all we really have to do is be fitted for my dress and your tux. Make sure the bridesmaids and groomsmen are on one accord. Daddy wants us to all get together for an engagement party. I’ll text you the details on that. Even with hiring movers, me moving into your place in the midst of all this wedding shit will be stressful. I can officially move in after the wedding.”
Blak licked his lips and nodded as he attempted to log everything into his mental Rolodex. He almost felt as if he didn’t have a say, but Blak quickly reminded himself that he gave no fucks about being involved in the planning of a wedding. For him, the wedding was nothing more than a job. And the only reason he was going to show up, was so he didn’t get fired from said job.
CHAPTER THREE
After tapping lightlyon the door, Symphony turned the knob and entered the room with a smile. “Hi, Ms. Walker, my name is Dr. Simmons. You’re here for back pain today?” Symphony’s voice was comforting and soothing as she studied the young woman sitting on the examination table with a look of distress on her face.
“Yes.” Blonde tresses stuck to her damp forehead. “I’m moving, and I tried to lift the damn nightstand by myself, and I hurt my back. It hurts so bad,” the woman rocked back and forth with her eyes squeezed shut.
“Okay,” Symphony looked over the chart.
From her experience of having strained a muscle in her back, the pain increased with movement. When Symphony hurt her back, she could barely move, so rocking back and forth wasn’t an option. However, she was aware that there were different kinds of back pain, and everyone wouldn’t be affected the same. She also knew that sweating, aching joints, and stomach pain were often symptoms associated with opioid withdrawals. It wasn’t uncommon for drug seekers to come into the office or the ER and say they had severe back pain in an effort to get narcotics. Back pain could be very hard to prove. Symphony had seenpatients with debilitating back pain that was the result of a UTI. That kind of pain wouldn’t show up on an x-ray or scan. Simply put, back pain was the easiest to lie about because it was hard to prove.
“Most muscle strains will improve on their own after a few days of rest, but I can prescribe you muscle relaxers and Ibuprofen 800 milligrams to help with the discomfort.”
The woman’s head shot up. The agony had turned to panic. “Taking Ibuprofen is like taking Skittles for me. Last time I hurt my back, they didn’t help. You can’t get me like a day’s worth of Percocet’s or Oxycodone? This pain is unbearable.”
“I understand,” Symphony’s tone remained soothing and comforting. “If you have frequent issues with your back, I can refer you to a specialist. However, for back pain, I prescribe muscle relaxers and Ibuprofen. I can even give you a shot of Toradol, but that’s not something I prescribe narcotics for.” Symphony’s heart ached for the woman. It was almost like staring into the eyes of her sister.
The woman kissed her teeth as tears spilled over her eyelids. “Thanks for nothing. I guess I’ll go home, and fucking suffer because nobody cares about me!” she screamed at the top of her lungs. “You’ll be working for me after I sue this shit hole for hiring quacks!”
Ignoring her tantrum, Symphony stepped to the side as the woman yanked the door open and left the examination room. She was moving just fine further proving to Symphony that she didn’t have any back pain. She truly felt for the woman. The addicts were getting younger and younger. Judging was something she refused to do. Everybody had a story.
One of the nurses, Shawna entered the room with raised brows. “Drug seeking?”
“Yeap. Because from the way she hopped down off that table and stormed out of here, I’d say her back isn’t hurting.”
With a shake of her head, Shawna sighed. “If we didn’t get at least three a week, I’d feel like something was wrong.”
“I know right.”
Symphony hated that part of her job. Addicts were people too. Even if they were addicted to drugs there were going to be times, they felt pain that had nothing to do with addiction. However, if they fit the criteria or appearance of an addict, they’d be turned away every time. Early in her career, Symphony got into a full-blown argument with another doctor that was trying to turn a patient away that was going through a sickle cell crisis. It was obvious to anyone with eyes that he was in pain, but he was brushed off as being drug seeking.
