Chapter 4: Take Your Pick

Thursday

I wore my lack of sleep shamelessly the next morning. Mr. Leoné had me fucked up yesterday. So much so, I had to go back to the Leoné Investment site last night, but the last copyright was two years old–the US division, that is. Leoné Investments was a French-based investment firm started in 1982. There were two paragraphs about the growth, legacy, and all that good self-inflating 'yadda yadda'. Yet, the company organization chart didn't have any members of the American firm listed.

So just a few sentences in the origin story, but nothing else.

Being an online sleuth for an hour proved useless beyond finding basic articles linking Leoné Investments to top businesses in the metropolitan area and his profile in the online network of professionals. This led to the exaggeration of my exhaustion. On this popular networking site, I had an account too. One benefit of having access to different professionals and companies was that we could see who visited or showed interest in our profiles. But I felt uneasy seeing Ezra Leoné had visited my profile the day before.

Getting off the elevator, I sped down the left hall. I wasn't sure how well Mr. Leoné could see from his window, but I sped in the hopes to look like a brown blur to anyone peeping from a distance. I slowed and waved to a few friendly faces standing near my cube.

I put my purse down, but before I could sit, I heard, "Knock, knock."

I turned and squinted at Renee's sky blue dress and heels. Chris was in a nice starched dark blue button up and gray pants, but it was hard to see him first standing next to bright ass Renee.

I smiled. "Good morning."

"Morning, pretty! We're ordering Indian for lunch today? You in?" Renee asked before pursing her lips.

She widened her eyes. I knew what that look meant. Swiftly, I fell into my chair and docked my laptop into the dock to blaze through my login. My leg bounced as the mail and calendar app loaded.

"Yeah. I have nothing on... my...calendar," I said, stretching my answer. Circling around, I laughed, seeing Renee and Chris leaning forward in anticipation.

"Finally!" They mouthed in unison.

Yes, finally. Maybe the third day would prove to be the charm or just a 'normal' day. Damn, it felt good not worrying about being alone with Mr. Leoné. With warm relief they let me get on with the start of my day, and I felt great.

Until I scooted closer to my desk. My brows wove together, and I pulled my external keyboard back after seeing a yellow corner poke out from underneath it. My jaw tightened and a slew of profanities threatened to fly from my lips.

I jumped up and marched past the elevators and all the way to the end of the hall. Boldly, I peeked into Mr. Leoné's office. He must have heard me stomping down the hall because I already caught his attention through the window. I smacked his window with the post it note and ran my finger across the sticky side.

The note covered his flat expression over the window, but it was there when he pulled the door back and gracefully motioned for me to enter. Instead of sitting, I turned on my heels and waited for his door to click shut.

"I asked you to meet me at noon, it's 7:17 AM."

Dear lord, I wanted to fight about food not immediately think he was a snack in front of me. His gray suit jacket hung on the back of his chair, which meant I could see how cut his arms were underneath his white button-up. The crisp mixture of woody musk with a lemony zest in his cologne made everything worse.

I fought not to grab my hips. But I had to help ground my thoughts.

Here we go, you wonderfully scented asshole.

"Sir, this is my third day, and I don't understand why you keep inviting me here... for lunch"

"You don't like salads?" he asked, bending his brow.

I sighed before muttering, "I do. Just not every day."

"I am not a dog. I can't understand anything you say when you speak that lowly," he chastised.

He grabbed his hip, and I swallowed hard. There was something about the veins in his hands that made my thoughts instantly derail in the middle of a disagreement. His hands looked strong–strong enough to do things like hold me down, lift me up, and fold me in compromising positions I haven't been in for a minute!

I bit my lower lip and balled my fists. "I SAID I do like salads, just not every day."

That's right, focus! We're here wondering why we're explaining this to a grown man.

This was the first time I hoped he could read my mind–not when I was undressing and straddling him on that inviting couch behind him. It looked like he had been able to because his face transformed from confused to annoyed.

He took a step closer and made his eyes smaller. "Then what do you like to eat?"

He definitely hadn't heard my thoughts. I shook my head and begged, "Why?"

"You don't enjoy having lunch with the owner?" He looked genuinely insulted, wrinkling his mouth.

My panties immediately dried up. What a prick. Owner? If I had recalled correctly, the owner of Leoné Investments was still in France and wasn't him. I could have easily let those questions slip out of my mouth, but I figured questioning his position of power would leave me to find a head of iceberg lettuce under my bed sheets.

I didn't say what he deserved to hear, but I didn't hide my honesty. "No. I cannot say I've enjoyed my lunches with the owner of Leoné Investments. Plus, Chris and Renee already invited me to lunch."

I mean, technically, I've never had lunch with the owner.

His eyes leveled. "When?"

"Five minutes ago?" I leaned back. "Why does this matter?

"Well, the post-it was there before they asked." He grinned that stupidly attractive grin while having the nerve to think this was funny. The situation would have been hilarious to anyone with an abhorrently sick sense of humor.

I dropped my hands and pulled my head back. "No."

Good. That smirk disappeared, and he looked at me from the side. "No?"

"No, Mr. Leoné." I repeated. "And, just so you know, I don't like French OR balsamic dressing."

Then, I left his office, strutted down that hall, and plopped back into my seat. Did I just make wise decisions in the last five minutes? I trembled from the will it took to control my anxiety. I wanted to have a normal fucking day, and I was going to do it.

But was it a normal day, if I jumped at every notification sliding onto my screen? Was it normal if I had to keep coaching myself into being okay with telling Mr. Leoné no or constantly looking over my shoulder to make sure he wasn't approaching?

My paranoia relax around 11:45AM when Renee sent me a message via the business messenger that our food arrived. I turned in my chair and saw her waving from her office. Chris was already lounging on a single-seater chair with his head thrown back and his eyes closed.

The second I shut the door, he groaned, "Finally, we get to have you for lunch!"

"I'm calling HR," Renee said, putting her landline to her ear and pretending to dial.

I sat across from Renee's desk and released a well-needed laugh. Chris raised his head and sighed, "Girl, please, you know I am NOT into that category of entrees."

"But I am" she laughed at him with her tongue out.

"Call HR on yourself!" he pointed with wild eyes before unveiling a smirk.

It was day three, and I already loved them. They were a drastically refreshing change of pace than what was down that horrible hall of offices. Renee examined the first styrofoam to-go box and gave it to me. "Ada, as you can see, we're both messy. Tell us anything like why the hell Mr. Leoné is scheduling lunch with you."

My chest tightened in shock and my face grew hot. Chris tilted his arched brow in my direction while taking his food from Renee.

I twisted my face, but I had no judgement. "To be honest, I don't know. He's socially awkward though."

"We know sis, tell us more!" Chris demanded brightly.

"Oh, there's nothing going on like that," I dismissed, tearing open my plastic cutlery.

"You sure?" Renee asked, pulling apart at her naan bread.

There wasn't much someone could get past these two, I was sure. But I had to keep it light.

"Nah, he's definitely not my type." Did I lie, though? His overall character was rating high in the garbage category. Plus, he was too pushy for my taste. Super flavorful in my fantasies, but pushy.

"Aha, so you're single!" Chris laughed.

Renee frowned, pushing up her blonde bob with her palms. "Ugh! Another gorgeous single woman out here unappreciated by the tadpoles and toads."

"You have a girlfriend," Chris reminded flatly.

"Shut up," she whispered.

Chris rolled his eyes back to me. "So are you seeing anybody, Ada?"

"Wait a minute, you haven't spilled your business yet." I angled one shoulder away from him and put a hand over my chest.

With a pursed mouth and arched brow, he poked at his Tandoori chicken with his fork. "I'm single. Go."

I opened my box and sucked air in through my teeth. "Uh, I'm recently single."

And I hated how I ended up that way.

✧ ✧ ✧

A growl at the opposite end of the three-seater couch alerted me to my fluffy Birman mix.

"You better not today," I threatened with a wrinkled mouth and narrowed eyes.

My attempt to relax post-work on my couch failed, and the furious feline puff would not try my patience today. There was no room for all this anger in our small living room. She growled again to flash her leg and violently lick her fur. Moving quickly, I poked at one of the brown patches of fur on her butt. As expected, she hissed and scrambled into my bathroom.

"Try me again, Cinna Buns!"

She rebuked the name, returning each call with a hiss.

"I don't know why I adopted that cat," I complained to confirm to myself that phrase was now a mantra. Actually, I didn't know why I did a lot of things because not even a minute later, I was cruising through the Internet on my phone again. Fuck. I'm definitely fired after that heated exchange with "the faux-ner" this morning. My angst carried on by 6PM and concluded that a walk to a neighborhood cafe would serve as an appropriate change of scenery for the lonely. It should have been a pleasant change after two months of provincial habits where the boundaries didn't exist beyond my apartment.

After cruising a few blocks, I entered the storefront and eased into the long line. Instant regret struck me. I left out an integral part of breaking an anti-social routine: being prepared to exist around other people. To think I've been in my body and mind all my life, but I didn't understand why the fuck I was freaking out. I was okay in public and even going places alone, but waiting in line with strangers made me apprehensive. I didn't understand.

Was this another fucking mistake?

Was the person sitting at the table behind me staring at my shoes? The sneakers I had on were a little old. Was anyone looking at the flyaways I could see in the bakery reflection display? I wanted to look forward to their specialty teas, and I tried to be cheerful about the predictability. While waiting for my order, I reminded myself things were changing, but not everything changed.

I got my drink. I didn't feel better and uncomfortably excused myself through the café. Seconds from the door, I felt a vibration in my pocket. I pulled my phone out and felt shocked by what I read. I looked to my left where the text told me to. There he was by the window. As usual, he had a book. I smiled a little.

Not everything is changing.

I walked back into the café and approached his couch.

"Hey," he mumbled, still scanning the pages of his book.

"Hey," I returned quietly.

He raised his attention and finally showed me his brown, infectious eyes above angular cheekbones cutting down into perfectly squared jaw. I tried not to let them affect me, but God knew I loved them and the rest of him. Especially when he wore a low fade haircut with the curly trimmed beard. Not that long ago, I'd wake up to the sound of him brushing his beard in the bathroom. It was hard to forget the half-smile and glint warming his crescent-shaped eyes when I joined him in the bathroom to get ready. Andre didn't understand how much I still missed and cared for him. I took this moment to realize my wounds still bled. But I couldn't show him what my heart looked like.

"How have you been?" he asked, finally folding his page-turner and laying it next to a crumpled napkin.

He probably had a slice of lemon pound cake. I'm sure after two-months he hasn't changed his favorite dessert that I loved surprising him with.

"I'm good," I lied with a squinted smile. "How are you?"

"I'm good. I uh... I finally have residency," he nodded and bit his lower lip. Jesus Christ...

"Congrats, Andre! That's amazing," I cheered. "I know your mom and pops are shouting for joy about this."

He smirked and looked off to the side, "Yeah. They were screaming for a long time when they found out."

"Oh, I can imagine. I remember the last time your mom fell to her knees and started shouting in prayer," I recounted.

He was the first-generation of Cameroonian immigrants in America. This was a huge deal. He worked his ass off in undergraduate and medical school. When Andre had put his mind to something, he achieved it. That determination was the primary reason our relationship lasted so long after undergrad, his medical schooling, and then three years after. He made time for me when he could, and though it was hard, I never gave up on him. He tried because he loved me, and I befriended patience because I loved him.

I still do. I really do.

"So, when did you find out?" I pressed on.

"About two months ago," he admitted. His spirit faded, as did his ability to look me in the face. I couldn't ignore the dark cloud that suddenly covered us.

My voice cracked, "Two months ago?"

He licked the side of his lip and nodded. His gaze was far from me. I looked up to the ceiling and held my breath. His excuse for breaking it off had been hard enough, but this truth tore my heart open wider.

"Ada," Andre called.

I blinked rapidly and looked down at him. "So... what really happened is that you got this opportunity... and then broke up with me after eight years. Why?"

"Ada, don't make me explain again," he sighed flatly.

I knew he didn't want to hurt my feelings, but he shouldn't care about that. Right?

"Why?" I mouthed.

Andre clenched his fists before pressing his back against the couch.

"I wasn't good enough, was I?"

He didn't hold back, "Ada, you have three degrees. THREE. But you didn't know what you wanted to do or where you wanted to be. I was always trying to help steer you in the direction you wanted, but then as soon as you felt comfortable, you lost interest and started over somewhere new."

"Making permanent decisions over your career isn't easy," I argued.

He was doing his best not to jump from the edge of his seat, repeating, "Three degrees! You got them but didn't want to do shit with them. I don't understand why you committed all that time in school just for it to resort to nothing."

I looked around the cafe before I sat in the chair across from him and quietly defended myself, "I didn't realize it was a crime to be unsure of where I wanted to be as soon as I finished school."

He vehemently whispered, "You are so fucking smart! But you make no sense! You couldn't just choose something! I had a goal and followed it to the end. Why was that so hard for you to figure out in four years?"

"Did it make me any less of a committed person, Andre?"

"Well, that's not how it seems after standing by you for eight years," he said sadly, shaking his head. "Eight years of trying to help you get through it but–"

I would not let him finish what he had intended on saying. I slammed my drink on the table and clenched my fists, hoping to gather the strength to remain coherent under a non-threatening volume, "That's right. Eight years of standing by one another. Eight years of helping and being there when we needed each other the most. You weren't just a shoulder for me to cry on, Andre. I loved you, but apparently I wasn't good enough after all that time,"

Andre rolled his eyes. "That's not at all true and you know it."

"Then why would you leave us the way you did? I never asked you to guide my life, but be a part of it. That's why I still love you. It's not that easy to let go of someone that made me feel that I can set my mind to whatever I choose and potentially succeed." It was like I was practicing having a conversation with him in my head, but he was actually in front of me this time. How did I still feel so unheard?

"Do you even have a job now, Ada?" he snipped.

"Actually, yes. Yes, I do," I answered, rolling my neck.

The tension in his face lessened and his voice was soft, "Oh... wow. That's great. What are you doing?"

I stood to my feet and said, "I'm working at Leoné Investments."

"Sit back down, Ada," he tried.

"No, Andre," I shook my head. "You didn't even ask me to sit down in the first place."