“Cassidy.”
I looked up from my workbook to my boss standing at my desk. I cringed internally before I gave him my full attention.
This nigga don’t never mind his fucking business.
“Sir?”
“Can I see you for a sec?”
Aw shit.
I was a little nervous because I was sure this had something to do with me doing other things while I was supposed to be working on reports. It was my last day of class before I became an early childhood and development specialist. I already had my certifications in CPR, childcare, and first aid, and I even had a degree in childhood education. I was finally at the finish line, so I was currently going over my notes for the test that afternoon.
“Sure,” I replied, closing my workbook. I followed him down the aisle to his office, which sat in the corner.
“Close the door, and take a seat,” he ordered. I did as he instructed, then took a seat in front of his desk. I smoothed downmy tie as I waited for him to speak. “How are those reports going?”
“They’re going good, sir,” I replied. I only had one more report to do, then I was going to send it over to him. Working at the brokerage firm my father helped me get into, I was still able to pay my bills while continuing to go to class to earn my certification and open my daycare.
“Then why aren’t they on my desk?”
“You told me I had until four o’clock. It’s only noon.”
“Listen, I admire your work ethic and your ambition to get things done, but when you’re here, the only thing you should be focused on is the work you have to do here. It’s never taken you this long to complete any task that I give you.”
“I know, and my apologies for the delay, sir. I’m going to get right on it.”
He was quiet for a moment, just staring at me as if he wanted to say more. “Get it done, Mr. Cassidy.”
I gave him a curt nod, then stood from the chair and exited his office.
He could have said that shit at my desk.
He just didn’t know that I was putting in my two weeks’ notice before I left this building. I was moving on to pursue my dream of becoming a CD specialist and, hopefully, opening my own daycare one day. A nigga loved kids. Ever since my brother had his first son, Brenton, I fell in love with the little guy and the three that came after him. Whatever they wanted from Uncle Baye, they got it. While they were in my care, I made sure they were properly cared for, learned new things, and could live carefree. My brother hated that I spoiled them, but he couldn’t deny when they were with me, they were in the best hands.
I did a few babysitting gigs in college, just to pay for the shit I needed, so I had experience with other children outside myfamily. I was just ready to stop doing this meaningless shit and get to where I wanted to be.
I went back to my desk to finish the reports until it was time to take my lunch. I wasn’t mad at my boss for interrupting my study session, because I was indeed on his clock, but I needed that little time to process my notes so I could pass the test to get my certification. I was serious about owning my own daycare, and there wasn’t shit that would stand in the way of that.
By one o’clock, I was done with the first part of the reports and decided to take my lunch and study some more. While walking out of Smith’s Brokerage Firm, I heard someone call my name just as I reached the door. I looked back to see Amara Kent approaching me. She was one of the brokers who worked on my floor and always made it her business to speak to me. Not to mention, she stayed bringing me snacks, complimenting me, and bringing me lunch every Friday. Her food was terrible, but I’d never tell her that. She wanted to fuck.
That much, I knew. It was just sad that I wasn’t the least bit interested. I was selective as fuck when it came to my women, and even though Amara was nice looking, she was built like a box with no curves. I didn’t judge a woman by their looks. It was their personality that I looked forward to analyzing. Amara was a big flirt, and if given the opportunity, she would have sex with any man who showed interest in her. I could see it in her eyes every time she looked at me, wanting me to be the one to beat her box—literally.
Her desperation was a turn-off, but I was always polite and never shaded her, even though I badly wanted to.
“Hey, Basil. Going to lunch?”
“Uh, yeah. I’m going to head to the deli up the block.”
“Oh, I made you some spaghetti. I was trying to catch you before you left,” she said, going inside her lunch bag, pulling outthe Tupperware bowl, and handing it to me. That shit looked dry and . . . dead.
Where the fuck is the sauce on this shit?
There was no way this woman thought her food was appeasing. I admired her effort, but shorty had to come harder on her culinary skills, or she’d never keep a man, especially a nigga like me, who loved to eat.
“I’ll eat it for dinner tonight. Thanks, Amara,” I lied.
“No problem.”
