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She says, “Yes. I met with the team and we decided your nickname would be Tez. We all have nicknames. It’s no biggie. Embrace it.”
My eyes narrow. I’m officially declassifying her as a sista. She’s been brainwashed somehow. This is not sista behavior. I ask her, “What’s your nickname?”
“It’s Zee. Jake is Bieber for obvious reasons. Ian’s nickname is Glasses and we call Mauve, Rockstar.”
“Interesting. What about Greta?”
“She’s not included, though sometimes, Jake calls her Greta the Great.”
“Ah, I see.”
“Count yourself lucky, Quintessa. We didn’t give Mauve her nickname until after she proved herself. You’re in already. But, as I was saying, those chicks who Mr. DePaul entertains—guess what? They’re not allowed to come to his fancy house. He has a luxury condo in a high-rise at Panama City Beach. That’s where it all goes down. And as for his house…why does a single man need a ten-bedroom mansion? Answer that for me.”
“For status I suppose.”
She shrugs. “And his driver—have you seen him? He’s completely adorable. He’s the total opposite of the dictator. One day, I saw him standing beside the Maybach waiting for Mr. DePaul to come out of the building, and he winked at me with his cute self. Woo-wee…I bet he has some stories to tell.”
Ugh…enough about Mr. DePaul already.
I enjoy getting the scoop about Mr. DePaul, but I don’t need it to take up my entire lunch break. I switch up the subject and ask her what a typical day for her is like when I watch her eyes grow big.
“Um…are you okay?” I ask.
She says, “O-M-frickin’-G. He’s here.”
My heart nearly stops. “Who?”
“Mr. DePaul!” she whisper-screams. “What is he doing in the café? He always sends Shanice down here to get whatever he wants. This is a first!”
“Maybe Shanice is on her lunch break.”
“No. He makes her eat at her desk so she’s always there. This is crazy, girl. Keep your head down.”
“What?”
“Keep your head down, meaning just eat and blend in so you’re not singled out.”
“Am I going to get fired for eating incorrectly?” I ask, amused.
“You might,” she responds, and the girl is as serious as a heart attack. She looks worried. Now, she has me concerned.
I follow her lead and focus on eating for a few minutes, then ask, “Zahara, why do you work here if Mr. DePaul’s very presence intimidates you so much?”
“Because I need dem dollaz. And even more important than that, you can get far in your career if you add DePaul & Company to your resume. Trust me, people are legit impressed and will pay you top dollar. I’m trying to work here until I hit the five-year mark, and then I can take that experience and move on to another company straight into a managerial position. I guess employers figure if you can survive working here, you can do anything. So, I do what I have to do and go home. That’s the same attitude you need to have. Do what you have to do, then leave. Get in and get out.”
I glance over to where Mr. DePaul is standing, momentarily defying Zahara’s advice to keep my head down. The man is gorgeous – so much so that he makes my eyes squint – but his attitude makes his attractiveness take a nosedive. At least that’s the way I see it. I know some women who might like it, though. Arrogance from a handsome, wealthy man is easy to take because it’s almost expected. Why not be cocky when you have it all – looks, money and the smarts to wrap it all in a neat little bow?
My gosh…
He has on a black suit today. I can tell it rests on broad shoulders attached to an athletic, muscular body. If you’re going to do it big in life – and surely Mr. DePaul is doing just that – you had to have the whole package, which included physical health. And the way he wears his suits…nothing looked more dapper on a man than a tailored suit anchored on a toned body. From this far away, his beard appeared darker, or maybe it’s fuller than the last time I saw him up close. Whatever the case, it makes his eyes look like they’re darker, too, and that adds mystery to the man who everyone is scared of around here.
He orders a beverage – I’d guess a Frappuccino. It must be one heck of a drink for him to come down here and get it himself. He takes a sip then answers his cell phone while looking in my direction, catching my eyes.
Time stands still.
Something shifts like I’m in the matrix. Zahara told me not to look up. I should’ve listened, but his presence is so powerful, I couldn’t resist. I need a blindfold like Sandra Bullock in Birdbox to ensure I make it out of the building safely without ever being on his radar or staring into his eyes again.
I look down at my plate, but take another glance up at him again.
