At least that was what I was praying for. Ray, while out there in the media living his best life, was still harassing me and begging me for another chance whenever he wasn’t preoccupied with one of the groupies who’d caught his attention. He wasn’t calling as much, thankfully, but he was definitely still trying to see if there was a chance for me to take him back.
Unfortunately for me, he’d made it clear, privately to me and publicly in his interviews, that he wasn’t letting me go. I had no clue as to why he thought I’d come back to him after everything we’d gone through, and the fact that the girl he cheated on me with was claiming she was pregnant. But, clearly, in the land of delusion was where he chose to spend most of his time.
He’d caused me too much embarrassment for me to even think about spending a second hearing what he had to say. For a while, I wanted to be mad at Logan’s ass for ensuring that thenews about him cheating and the baby he had on the way landed on my desk, but I really wanted to thank her. She saved me from far more heartache, even if her intentions weren’t in the right place.
Logan had always been my rival at the office, and we were always competing. She knew I was with Ray and made sure I was assigned the job. Now, she was sitting in my office, working with my clients, and living the life that I used to enjoy. The bitch had played her game well, and I’d lost fair and square.
“Well, let’s not dwell too much on the past, baby. I’m going to whip up your favorite meal. You go get washed up and unpacked. I’ll be doing a Walmart order later this evening, so let me know if you need anything,” my mother said, smiling before kissing my father and disappearing into the kitchen.
Once I was inside my old room, I flopped down on the bed and stared at the ceiling above me. It was still covered in old B2K posters and other various artists I was in love with back in the day. As I lay there, staring at the ceiling, I was torn between redecorating the room to make it feel more like my space and leaving it be because I didn’t plan to be in my parents’ home for too long.
A part of me felt that if I took the time to redecorate the room, I would end up staying much longer than I intended. But, at the same time, how could I possibly thrive in a space that didn’t feel like mine? It was a hard decision to make, and one that I felt I’d know what to do about when the time came. For the moment, I was going to get rid of a few things that stood out, like the obnoxious number of posters and the hot pink lava lamp on the nightstand.
As I put everything into the large trash bags I grabbed from downstairs, I heard my phone buzzing on the nightstand. Diving onto the bed so that I could grab it, I opened it with anticipation that it was good news. These days, every time my phone rang,buzzed, or dinged, I hoped it was someone with a job offer. Each time, I was disappointed, but the pride in me wouldn’t allow me to give up on myself and my dreams.
Looking at the phone, I saw it was a message from Zaveah. She was inviting me to a ladies’ luncheon that might be good for networking. I really didn’t have it in me to suck up to a bunch of women who thought they were better than everyone else because of their credentials or last names, but I was desperate, so that meant saying yes to every opportunity that came my way.
ME:
Yeah, count me in. Is there a dress code or anything I should know about?
ZAVEAH:
No, just come dressed to impress. I have a good feeling about this one, Ken. I think the connection you need to turn things around for you is going to be in the room.
ME:
I hope so! Thank you for inviting me, friend. How much do I owe you for the ticket? I know these events are expensive.
ZAVEAH:
Ken, don’t fucking play with me like that. You don’t need to worry about the cost. Just make sure you meet me there tomorrow, and come ready to shut the room down.
ME:
LOL, okay, friend. Thank you again!
That was a much better way for me to end the day. I hoped that Zaveah’s intuition was right and that someone in that roomwould either have a job for me or know someone who did. I’d worked since I was a sophomore in high school, and waking up every day with nothing to do was really beginning to take a toll on my mental health. I was the type of person who needed to be busy. When my hands and mind were idle, that was never a good thing.
Deciding to get up and figure out what I would wear to the luncheon tomorrow, I began going through the clothes I had packed in my room to find the perfect outfit. I might’ve been desperate for a job, but I wasn’t going to look like it. Nope, when I stepped into that room, I wanted everyone to be curious about who I was and how they could get some of my time.
TWO
SINCERE
As I pulledup to the building where my assistant had asked me to meet her to sign the paperwork that they refused to allow her to sign, I double-parked my car because I knew I wouldn’t be in there for too long. I was already pissed that, instead of getting work done, I had to do this bullshit. The motherfuckers had already been paid for everything for the luncheon, so why the fuck did they care about who signed the fucking papers? They were just being assholes, and they were lucky I was working on myself and trying to be a better person because I had half the mind to go in there and knock all that shit over.
As I crossed the street, I assumed all the cars would stop for me, which they mostly did. All but one stopped and damn near hit me. If that bitch had touched me, I would’ve yanked her ass out of the car. I was working on myself, but I hadn’t reached the level it would take for me to just let her ass walk away from doing some stupid shit like that. I didn’t give a fuck if I was crossing in the middle of the street. Her ass was supposed to yield to pedestrians regardless of the situation.
“Maybe watch where you’re going next time, huh?” I heard her call out before speeding off and pulling into one of the open parking spots.
Sighing, I said to myself, “Breathe. Just breathe, Sincere. You didn’t come all the way down here to snap anybody’s neck. Sign the papers, and then get the fuck on.”
Ten minutes later, I’d signed the papers and was on my way back to my car. As I stepped outside, I saw the parking lot attendant attempting to put a sticker on my car. I knew one thing. If that motherfucker didn’t back the fuck up, all of that working on myself shit was going to go straight the fuck out of the window. I was in my brand new Bentley Continental GT Speed Convertible, and I dared a motherfucker to even breathe on my shit the wrong way.
“Aye, you need to back the fuck up and away from my car,” I barked, slowly walking over to where he stood. I didn’t rush to anybody, and I wasn’t about to start right now.
“I’m sorry, sir. But, you’re double-parked, and I have to give you a ticket,” he said, shrugging his shoulders.
