DEJONAE
The reporter waiting for me in the cafeteria is slim and pretty with tan skin, big brown eyes and a red-lipped smile. Her skirt and jacket are a bright yellow and the blouse underneath is black.
She looks like a fashionable bumblebee.
“Are you Dejonae Williams?” Her eyes widen when I draw closer. She blinks a couple times as if I might be a ghost.
“Yes, that’s me.” I extend my hand.
She takes it and laughs in shock. “I expected you to be older.”
“Sorry to disappoint.” I let my laughter ring.
“I’m Beverly Thompkins, reporter for the Financial State Magazine.”
“Dejonae Williams. I’m one of the instructors here at The Sazuki Foundation.”
She plucks a little notebook out of her purse and gives me a mischievous grin. “Oh, I heard you were much more than that.”
My heart smacks against my ribs. “You, uh… what?”
Did she hear about Sazuki walking me to class? Or that I went bowling with him and his daughter? Or that I think about him all the time to the point that it’s slowly becoming an obsession?
“Aren’t you higher in rank than all the other instructors? I was told you work closely with Sazuki.”
“Oh. Right.” I belt out a nervous laugh.
She chuckles along, but her sharp eyes are studying me closely. “What did you think I meant?”
“Exactly that,” I point to her. “Exactly.”
With a prim grin, she takes something else out of her purse. It’s a recording device. “Do you mind if I record us?”
“As long as you don’t mind if I do the same.” I set my phone on the desk next to her recorder. On the screen, there’s a running clock and a glowing red button.
Her eyes glint with amusement. “You’ve done this before?”
“My sister is a model. One of the first things she learned about giving interviews is the importance of having your own evidence.”
Beverly laughs. “Is your sister someone I would recognize by name?”
“Not yet. She’s still building her empire for now.” I put my arm on the back of the neighboring chair. “Before we begin, would you like to order something to drink?”
Beverly raises a hand. I glance behind me to see who she’s smiling at and notice one of the baristas approaching our table. She’s holding two trays of steaming hot coffees.
“I ordered for you. I hope you don’t mind.”
“Not at all,” I say, sitting back down.
Beverly blows steam from the top of her cup. Wrapping manicured fingers around the base, she looks over at me. “Why don’t we start with what the purpose of the foundation is?”
“At its simplest, we want to help every deaf child in the city experience the magic of music.” I lift my coffee and lounge back in my chair.
“How do you plan to do that when the children can’t hear?”
“Music isn’t just heard. It’s felt. When a song comes on, one that touches your heart, it’s not just about the rhythm or the lyrics. There’s something about it that moves you. Even children with disabilities can experience music. That experience might be different compared to someone who can hear it, but it’s just as powerful.”
Her lips arch up, but there’s a hint of boredom in her eyes. “You’re clearly passionate about your work, Miss Williams, but I think what people really want to know is who’s the man behind the money.”
“Excuse me?”
She leans her elbow against the table. “Sazuki put his own fortune into this foundation.”
I blink rapidly. “He believes in the good it can do.”
“Billionaires don’t simply create spaces like this for the brownie points. It’s usually because of a personal connection.” She glances around. “Or a political one.”
I drum my fingers on the table. “I can tell you about the mission of The Sazuki Foundation. I can tell you about our progress. I can even tell you that, over the past few days, we’ve had our first group of kids come in and learn music. Just yesterday, a little girl touched my hand and signed, ‘I can feel it’. For the first time, she was able to understand what those rhythmic vibrations meant and how to repeat them in a musical pattern. But more than that, she learned that being deaf is not a curse. It’s a gift—one that puts her in touch with a loving and supportive community. If that’s not what your story is about, then maybe we should cut this interview short.”
I start to rise.
She shoots out a hand. “Miss Williams, sit. Please. I didn’t mean any offense.” Her smile has a hint of contrition behind it. “You have to understand. The Sazukis have kept a low profile for decades. Despite being the world’s biggest album sellers, they never leave Japan, never tour and never give interviews. I’m this,” she pinches her fingers together, “close to one of the biggest stories of my life. It wouldn’t be natural if I wasn’t curious, right?”
I nod. “Maybe.”
She smirks. “You’re very protective of your boss.”
“And you’re very good at spinning a story. What in that entire speech made you feel I was protective of one person when, in fact, I’m very protective of the deaf community.”
Her eyes turn sharp although her lips remain frozen in a smile. “I can see why he put you in charge.”
“Should we carry on with the interview or have you gotten everything you need, Miss Beverly?”
“Let’s continue.”
We stick to the pre-arranged questions and then I give her a tour.
Purple Hair AKA Sheila Cottingham is in the music room with seven-year-old Ricky. She whips her head around when we enter and gives me a dark look. A look that quickly changes when she sees I’m not alone.
“Sheila, this is Miss Beverly Thompkins. She’s here for an interview.”
“Ah.” Sheila’s smile is so brittle that I’m afraid it won’t last for long.
“Impressive room.” Beverly takes a picture.
“It’s completely soundproof.” I gesture to the foam boards. “As you can see, great care was put into the design.”
“Why does it need to be soundproof when the students are deaf? It’s not like they’ll be able to hear anything.” She chuckles.
Both Purple Hair and I whirl around and pin Beverly with a dark stare.
“The soundproof foam is to keep the music and vibrations from bleeding out into the other rooms. Just because the students can’t hear doesn’t mean they won’t be disturbed.”
“I see,” Beverly says with a smirk.
Sheila gives me a can you believe her look.
I shake my head.
“Let me show you the concert hall.” I make a sweeping gesture to the door.
Jordan is jogging down the stairs on our way up.
Oh no. Please don’t talk to me.
His eyes latch onto me and he slides into my path. “Deej.”
Beverly stops abruptly.
I slant him a sharp look. “Not now, Jordan,” I say beneath my breath.
“You haven’t been answering my texts.”
“I said not now.”
“Then when?” He whirls around when I try to usher Beverly past him. Eyes beseeching, he says, “They sent me out for training I didn’t need and I didn’t see you for days. You keep saying we’re going to talk, but it’s like you’re avoiding me.”
Beverly arches an eyebrow. Intrigue glitters in her eyes as she glances between us. “Who is this?”
“This is the foundation’s in-house translator.”
“French? Mandarin?”
I scrunch my nose. “What are you talking about?”
“You said he was a translator.”
“I translate ASL.” Jordan lifts his chin proudly. “It makes it easier for the students to have someone who can quickly communicate what they’re trying to say or translate what the admin or a guest is talking about.”
“That seems like a lot of trouble to go through. Don’t most of the students and teachers already know ASL?”
“It’s not a lot of trouble,” I correct her right away. “It’s a way to make communication easy on all fronts. The easier communication is, the better the environment for the students and everyone involved.”
“Hm.” She nods with a glib smile.
Jordan arches an eyebrow in her direction.
I shrug. It’s clear this woman had very little interest in covering the story. Her empathic skills are severely lacking. If she hadn’t met me, she probably would have bulldozed her way into getting a story about Sazuki and his mysterious family. Now that there’s no hope of getting a single crumb about Sazuki, I feel a clear disconnect.
“This stage,” I gesture to the wooden floor in the concert hall, “is made completely of sound boards. At their first concert, the kids will be able to feel the vibrations of the music. Mr. Sazuki is also working closely with a renowned engineer to create a device for deaf music students. It’ll convey vibrations with more clarity than anything else on the market.”
“Mr. Sazuki sure is keeping busy.” She glances past me to the exits. “Do you think he’s back by now?”
“Mr. Sazuki will be in meetings all day, which is why he asked me to accommodate you.”
What is this woman’s problem?
My impatience is climbing, but I refuse to let her see my snappy side. Sazuki trusted me with the task. It’s one thing to share my knowledge of vibrations with the instructors and another thing entirely to be the first official spokesperson of the foundation.
I can’t mess this up.
“Do you have any questions about the concert hall’s construction or the measures taken to make the venue more accessible to deaf students?” I look hopefully at her, but deep down inside, I don’t expect any excitement.
She shakes her head. “No, not really.”
Well then.
“Could you point me to the bathroom?” she asks.
“It’s that way.”
“Thanks.” She offers a bright smile. “When I come back, I’d like to take a few more pictures for the article and then I’ll be out of your hair for the day.”
“No problem.”
Her heels click against the stage as she walks off. I cringe, wishing I’d insisted that she take off her shoes. When I asked her to do so earlier, she politely declined and I swallowed my insistence in deference to her.
It’s for Sazuki and the foundation, Dejonae.
I suck in a deep breath. No matter how ignorant she is, Beverly is the one who’ll be shining a light on the good things that we’re doing here. Keeping her happy matters.
The interview is almost over anyway.
My phone rings.
I set it to my ear, surprised when Holland Alistair’s wife starts talking.
“Hi, is this Dejonae?” Kenya’s pretty voice croons.
“Yep. This is she.”
“I got your number from Hadyn. I hope you don’t mind.”
“I don’t.” I tilt my head. “A while back, he mentioned that he was planning something for Vanya. I’m guessing you’re calling about that.”
“You’re a mind reader.” She laughs cheerfully. “Yes, this is a little something he planned for Vanya. He asked me to steal her away from the house and bring her to the farmhouse. Once we’re there, we’re planning on having chai latte and girl chat.”
“And I’ll bring the chai?”
“According to Hadyn, Vanya adores your chai just slightly more than she does him.”
“Slightly?” I snort.
“Okay, a lot. But he’s a man with an ego to protect.”
I burst out laughing.
Having to deal with Beverly’s ignorance was chipping away at my hope in humanity, but Kenya’s sunny personality is starting to bring a little light in.
“I’m just kidding. Vanya loves that man more than life itself. But Hadyn hinted that she’s not feeling well these days.”
“Does he know what’s wrong?”
“I think he has a suspicion, but he chose not to share it with us to protect Vanya’s privacy. I respect that. And it really doesn’t matter to me what’s wrong. All that matters is she knows we’re there for her.”
“I’m in. Did you say it was tonight?” I check my watch.
“Yes, tonight. By the way, Hadyn doesn’t want Vanya to find out that he set this whole thing up. Let’s pretend us stealing her was totally spontaneous and not related to her concerned husband at all.”
“Got it.”
“Perfect!”
“Do I need to bring blenders and ingredients?”
“No need,” she assures me. “Hadyn’s handling all of that. He said he’d have food catered and everything. The only thing his black card couldn’t provide was your fancy chai latte.” I can hear her smiling through the phone. “You know, I’m really curious about what Vanya finds so addictive about those.”
I smirk. “You’ll find out tonight.”
“I can’t wait.”
When we hang up, I check the time again. “Where’s Beverly? Did she run away?”
Reluctantly, I set out to the nearest bathroom and push the door to enter. Beverly’s voice carries through to me and I freeze with the door cracked open.
“I’m telling you, Voss, there’s no story here. This girl won’t give me an ounce of info on Sazuki.”
I lean closer to the door so I can hear better.
“I know. It’s like I’m wasting my time.”
My eyes widen. Does she think my time isn’t being wasted too?
“You know Chief and Sazuki are golf buddies. Maybe that’s why she pushed me to get this fluff piece. As if I don’t have better things to deal with than a story about…” The next word that comes out of her mouth makes my head spin.
Did she just…
Her laughter after saying such a degrading slur makes something crash in my head. Before I can talk myself out of it, the rage inside me takes control. I stomp the door down with my foot and it bangs against the wall.
Beverly lets out a bleating scream, almost like a cornered goat. Her eyes swing toward me and she gives a nervous little chuckle.
“Miss Williams… were you… did you… um…”
I storm over to her. “What did you say about my kids?”
She backs up. “Are you crazy?”
“How dare you call yourself a reporter and speak about children like that?”
“… you…” She struggles to speak.
“Those kids may be missing one of their senses, but they have more common sense and integrity than someone like you will ever have. You should be ashamed of yourself.”
“How dare you talk to me that way?”
“How else am I supposed to talk to scum?” I roar. “You think you’re brave to say that word about someone else’s child? No. It just makes you seem childish and ignorant. Should I let the world know what a piece of crap you really are?”
I see her hand coming at me and I block it, but she’s quick. With her other hand, Beverly grabs my hair.
I shriek and grab her back.
She drives me backward.
I slam into a bathroom stall almost ripping it off its hinges.
My back hits the door.
I go temporarily insane.
Hitting, biting and scratching are all on the table as we tussle, tearing at each other like rabid wolves.
“Oh my gosh!” I hear a new voice.
Beverly and I stop at the same time.
When I turn, I see Sheila gaping at us from the bathroom doorway. “Are you insane?” she screams.
I start to feel hope when I think she’s jumping on my side.
But I should know better.
Her eyes flit to the reporter. She hurries over and smacks at my knuckles until I release Beverly’s hair.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” Sheila barks.
“She—”
“This is a place of music and arts, Miss Williams. Don’t bring your ghetto here.”
Her words are a smack to the face. My jaw drops.
Beverly puts on a show. Her eyes get teary and she pats her cheek. “I was just washing my hands and she suddenly attacked me.”
“I’m so sorry.” Sheila pats down Beverly’s hair which is sticking up all over her head. “Let me get you some ice.”
While Sheila leaves with Beverly leaning heavily on her like a war veteran, I seethe in rage.
“Wait!”
The two women stop and look back at me.
With dark, burning eyes, I march closer to Beverly and raise a hand.
She flinches.
I don’t hit her. I open her palm and drop a clump of hair in it. “You’ll want this back.”
She grits her teeth at me.
“Really, Williams?” Sheila shakes her head darkly and carries Beverly out of the bathroom.
I limp to the mirror and peer in. There’s a scratch on my neck from where Beverly clipped me with her talons. It’s not bleeding, but it’s throbbing slightly. My hair’s a tangled mess of curls and frizz. One side of my shirt is hanging off my shoulder. It wasn’t meant to withstand a grown woman tugging on it like a leash.
On the other hand, I’m sure I gave Beverly a bald spot.
The grin I aim at my reflection is dark but satisfied.
Worth it.
I clean myself up as best as I can, scraping my hair into a tight ponytail and reapplying lip gloss. Then I go around the bathroom picking up the clumps of hair and making sure we didn’t break the door in.
When I’m satisfied that we didn’t leave extra work for the cleaners, I return to the main hallway.
My heart is still racing with adrenaline. I could go another round, but the evil Beverly has probably hopped on her broomstick and disappeared by now. I hope she learned her lesson.
And I hope she never disrespects the deaf community again.
Urgent footsteps clamor toward me. It’s Sheila. She’s marching like a drill sergeant ready to give the order to the firing squad.
“Before you ask, I didn’t throw the first punch. She did. And I had a very good reason for—”
“Do you know what you’ve done?” Sheila hisses, cutting me off. Her purple hair swishes in front of her face with the force of her head bob.
Uneasy, I lean back. “What?”
“That reporter just uploaded this to her social media account and tagged our foundation.” Sheila shoves her phone in my face.
I go cross-eyed for a second.
And then the photo becomes clear.
I gasp.
It’s a picture of Beverly holding the clump of hair I gave her. Beneath the picture, it says, ‘A mentally unstable instructor is working @SazukiFoundation. She grabbed my hair. People like her should not be taking care of disabled students’.
The world drops away until there’s just blurry chaos.
This.
Bastard.
I sit petulantly in the chair outside of Sazuki’s office. Right after Sheila showed me the post, I got a call from Sazuki.
“I can explain,” I said.
“Go home. Immediately.”
“But—”
“I do not want to see you when I get back.”
My eyes dart to the clock on the wall.
I twiddle my thumbs.
Sazuki sounded pissed over the phone. Is he going to kick me out of the foundation? Will I not be able to graduate?
The elevator door rips apart.
Sazuki storms in, strong and formidable. One hand is in his pocket. Akira is right behind him. She’s taking urgent steps, her loose pant leg flapping. She slants me an angry look.
I don’t pay her any mind.
My entire body is turned toward Sazuki.
His jaw clenches. His eyes turn into onyx jewels when he sees me.
I stand so fast my chair almost crashes into the wall. “Mr. Sazuki.”
“I told you to go home.”
“Give me a chance to explain what happened.”
“Akira,” Sazuki growls.
The bodyguard stands in front of me, blocking my way. She looks delighted to do so.
I stand on my tiptoes to see past her shoulder. Sazuki doesn’t look back. I see him dragging his tie down his chest just as the door clicks shut.
“Do you need me to escort you to the elevator, Miss Williams?”
“No,” I snarl.
My heart is pounding when I grab my purse and bag. The entire admin team gives me weird looks as I pass them.
The moment the elevator doors slide closed behind me, I press the back of my hand against my mouth. Tears are stinging my eyes. My chest swells with emotion.
I’ve seen Sazuki angry. Belligerent. Enraged.
I’ve seen him steely with silence.
And I’ve seen him annoyed.
But that look wasn’t just anger.
It was more.
Disappointment.
I didn’t think I cared about what he thought of me, but his expression left an imprint. It’s a weight I feel keenly when I get to the lobby and the instructors, who’d been huddled around whispering, stare at me.
My throat burns, but I keep my head held high as I walk out. When I’m outside, the sun caresses the top of my head. A gentle wind touches my face, whispering that it’s okay. That I did the right thing.
But it doesn’t help.
My heart is burning and the tears refuse to be held back.
I keep seeing Sazuki’s eyes. So cold. So stoic.
If he’d kneed me in the gut, it would hurt less.
I make a fist and pound it against my chest. What did I expect? That he would run to me when he saw the scrapes on my arms? That he would set me in a chair and kneel in front of me and dress my wounds the way he did at school? Did I expect him to fold me into his embrace and sway with me from side to side?
What the hell was I hoping for? And why are tears running down my face in the middle of the sidewalk?
I sniff and tilt my head back, trying to ease the droplets back into my tear ducts.
It doesn’t work.
I need to talk to someone.
Yaya is out with her Hearing Is Overrated friends, the deaf club that she attended in high school. I don’t want to drag her away from her time with them.
It’s too early for our girl’s night, but someone should be at the farmhouse, right?
On the ride over, I calm myself down. I know I acted impulsively, but it wasn’t like I meant to hurt anyone.
Maybe when Sazuki isn’t so angry, he’ll believe me.
“Are you okay?” Sunny asks, setting a cup of tea in front of me.
I accept it with a grateful smile. Or at least I try to. My lips aren’t working the way they should and I’m pretty sure I look like a feral cat right now.
“You showed up early. Hadyn hasn’t even dropped by with the decorations and snacks.”
“I thought… maybe I could help with cleaning or something.”
“Cleaning?” Her pretty eyebrows hike. “You came over here to… clean my house?”
I squirm guiltily.
Sunny sets a brown hand on top of mine. Her expression is full of worry.
I bite down on my bottom lip, trying hard to control the weeping that wants to burst out of me. Instead of thinking about Sazuki and his cold shoulder, I focus on Sunny’s face. She’s a tall and slender woman with shiny black hair that goes all the way down her back.
With her reddish-brown complexion, pointy nose and exotic eyes, I bet she could find work in modeling. If not, she can probably open a Belizean fry jack food truck and help her mom share their culture with the rest of the city.
“I can see that you’re trying hard not to cry,” Sunny says gently.
“I hate that I’m getting emotional. I swear I’m not always like this.”
“I know we just met and you probably don’t want to share with me, but I promise that what you say won’t go any further than here.” She gestures to the door. “Darrel went to get our boys and take them to the library. Kenya’s still at her publishing house and Dawn is a workaholic. I’ll probably have to send Max to drag her away from fixing a car.”
I chuckle because I did get that impression from Dawn that day. As small, delicate and classically beautiful as she was, she wore a pair of overalls stained with oil and talked about car gaskets and internal wiring all day.
“What’s going on?”
“It’s nothing big,” I whisper. My voice is suddenly tight. Probably because I’m using every ounce of will I have to keep my emotions in check.
“Sweetheart, if I pretended to believe you, then I wouldn’t be a very good friend.” She winks. “And that’s what we are. The moment you step through those farmhouse doors, you’re a friend. So don’t be shy.” She folds her arms over her chest. “Lay it on me.”
I tell her about the interview and overhearing Beverly in the bathroom. I skip the details about the fight and jump straight to Sazuki. “I didn’t want him to see the post without hearing from me. But he’d already been aware of it. He just… he cut me off and didn’t want to talk about it. I saw him in the office again and…” My bottom lip trembles.
She slides a tissue box over. “Was he rude to you?”
“He was just… cold. We haven’t seen eye-to-eye on a lot of things. It started that night at the gala and it’s only continued from there.”
Sunny bobs her head. “I remember the look on your face when you stumbled off the stage. If looks could kill, it would have been his funeral that night.”
“A lot has happened since then. I met his daughter, who’s absolutely incredible. He told me his vision for the foundation and it’s something I want to be a part of. I thought we were coming to some kind of understanding and it all just…” I make a ‘poof’ gesture. “Disappeared.”
“I see.”
I scrunch my nose. “What do you see?”
“Tell me, Deej.” Sunny clamps her hands together and leans forward. “What is making you cry right now? That you angered a reporter?”
“No. I would fight her again.” I scowl.
“That you might have caused damage to the foundation?”
“Of course that bothers me.”
“More than the fact that Sazuki didn’t take your side?”
My eyes lurch to hers.
The tears refuse to stay in their place. One comes slipping down my cheek.
“You care about his opinion of you. You want that opinion to be good. You want him to believe you even when all the evidence is stacked against you. But he didn’t.” Her words are soft and gentle. “Isn’t that what hurts you more than anything else?”
“No.” I swipe away a tear.
She pats my back. “No?”
“Yes,” I admit. Another tear falls. “But caring about Sazuki’s opinion of me would mean that I care about him.”
“Maybe you do.”
“I can’t.”
“Why not?”
“Because he hates me now.” I sniff. “He gave me a big job and I disappointed him. Even worse, I smeared the entire foundation. Everything he believed about me being young, impulsive and immature was proven true.”
“Is it true?”
“Am I young? Yeah. Am I impulsive, not usually.” I frown. “The thing is, he didn’t even ask me about my side. He took that reporter’s caption and ran with it. You should have seen the way he looked at me. I mean, he could barely make eye contact. If he’d just talked to me, I would have been able to tell him the truth.”
“You feel betrayed.”
“I feel like my head is about to explode,” I say with a tearful chuckle. “I can’t remember the last time I cried like this.”
She smiles sweetly at me. “Without realizing it, you had expectations of him. He might be disappointed in you and maybe you deserve it, but you’re disappointed in him too. And that’s something you should probably explore.”
“Disappointment? I’d rather not.”
“Not the disappointment.” She chuckles. “Where it comes from. Why did you expect so much of Sazuki even though you know how cold and ruthless he is? Why did you expect him to take your side against all odds? Why does your heart break because he didn’t?”
“Because I’m an idiot. Obviously. A monster never changes his spots.”
“Do you really think he’s a monster?” she prods.
I give her a dark look. “I thought your husband was the therapist?”
“I might have picked up a thing or two.” She lifts one shoulder in a casual shrug.
“You think… you think I like Sazuki? After everything he’s done?”
“You’re the one who needs to answer that. Not me.” Sunny sips her tea.
I sit back and let the silence soak through me, working past the pain in my heart to the root of it. The truth must be wearing knuckle rings because when it punches me in the face, I see stars.
“Oh crap.”
Sunny arches a brow knowingly.
I give her a frightened look. “I think I have feelings for Sazuki.”
