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“Do you still keep a copy of the company’s most important files in your briefcase?” It was a habit he had when he was working with dad.
“Of course. You never know when you’ll need to prove ownership of something.”
Prove ownership. I almost laugh.
In this case, ‘ownership’ never belonged to me. And even if it did, it’s changing hands now.
“I need you to give me something.”
“What?”
I reach out. “Yaya’s contract.”
* * *
She’s early.
The car drives up and José rushes around to open her door for her. She signs a ‘thank you’ and he dips his head.
She swings around, brown skin glowing from the inside out. She’s wearing a black dress that clings to her frame. Perfect for a funeral. My happiness in a casket. The dress is short, stopping right at mid-thigh, and it shows off every inch of her glorious legs. She probably wore that to taunt me with a taste of what I can’t have.
The sidewalk becomes a catwalk as she saunters toward the café. I feel the same pull as the night I first saw her. I didn’t care that she was a stranger, that she seemed young…
No, that’s a lie. I cared. I just didn’t let either fact stop me.
She takes a seat by the window. At first, I thought it was because she liked the sunshine. Now I know it’s because she can read lips better in the light.
Those dark eyes scan the street and then drop to her phone. A second later, I get a text.
Yaya:I’m here.
The thought of driving off and not having this conversation swirls in my mind, but I force myself to leave the car and walk up to the cafe.
Yaya spots me when I’m near the window and her eyes light up. She gives me a hungry, head-to-toe look and, for a moment, it feels like nothing’s wrong. Like yesterday didn’t happen. Like Henry isn’t even a thing.
But when I walk inside the café, her face is somber and her hands are folded in front of her, heavy on the table. That’s not normal. Yaya rarely puts her hands together. They’re always loose. Always ready to sign a joke or a greeting paired with a perfect, sunshine smile.
I slide into the booth across from her, drinking in her face. The waitress arrives to ask for my order and I don’t even know what I tell her. Must be something cohesive because she walks off to fulfill it.
Neither one of us starts the conversation.
A second turns into two.
My heart is pounding like I’m about to jump out of a plane.Ridiculous.
A few days ago, I was negotiating with the highest-ranking politicians in a foreign country and didn’t break a sweat, but now I’m shaking in my boots before the only woman who can destroy me.
I start signing first. “You look good.”
“Thank you.”
Another round of awkward silence.
Why didn’t you text me?
I waited for you. Like an idiot.
Forget Henry. Come to me. I’ll give you everything you could ever dream of.
