SAZUKI
“This place is incredible.” Miss Williams gawks at the machines in Adam’s ‘shed’—a vastly inaccurate label for his large, expensive, and eerie laboratory.
“Thank you.” Adam smiles at her.
Dejonae smiles back.
I grunt in distaste.
Miss Williams did not speak a word to me on the ride to Adam’s estate. Now that we are no longer alone, she seems full of conversation.
Her footsteps halt in front of a robot arm. “You design robots?”
“I don’t ‘design’ them per say.” Adam draws closer to her and places both hands on his hips. Gifting the arm with an admiring eye, he explains, “I put things together. Consider me like a toy builder. Except my toys are complicated and expensive.”
Dejonae laughs as if Adam just delivered the world’s funniest joke.
Adam sticks out his chest, preening.
I stomp forward. “Enough chatter. Tell her why she’s here.”
Dejonae slants me a scolding look.
I return a frosty glare of my own.
“Dejonae, let me introduce you to…” Adam walks further into the lab and clicks a button. A light flickers on and he makes a sweeping gesture with his arm. “MTB.”
“That’s a very uncomfortable-looking headband,” Dejonae says.
“It’s not a headband. It’s a highly sensitive sound engine receiver for deaf musicians.”
Her eyebrows wrinkle.
Adam’s hands flutter the way they do when he is excited and is forcing himself to slow down. “Think of the MTB as a Bluetooth device. It transmits ‘sounds’ via vibrations to the listener’s head. Different types of vibrations allow for distinguished ‘sounds’. In that way, someone who’s deaf can hear music.”
“Ah.” She blinks rapidly.
“Do you understand?” I ask.
“Of course. I understand everything.” Dejonae waves me off.
“You can ask questions,” Adam offers.
“What does MTB stand for?”
“Music to The Bone.” Adam looks at me and grins.
“He came up with the name.”
“I figured.” She smiles.
In spite of my frustration with her defiance in the lobby, I fight back a smile of my own.
“The reason we reached out to you,” Adam waves his arms at the device, “is because of your modified headphones.”
“My headphones?” She looks startled. “It isn’t as fancy as your headband.”
Adam assures her, “Maybe so, but the principle behind it reveals an understanding of vibrational resonance and timing. See, we’ve done a tentative test of the device, but something has been missing. We’ve seen that users still miss the right beats and get lost in the tempo.”
“You think I can help.”
“Sazuki saw you do it.”
She turns to face me, her eyes picking me apart.
“That day with Niko.” My voice is sober.
“Is that why you created this? For your daughter?”
“We didn’t exactly create it from scratch.” Adam lifts the MTB. “The technology to ‘hear’ vibrations already existed. It has for many years. In fact, you can say that a regular sound system can have the same effect on a larger scale.”
“How so?” Dejonae looks genuinely curious.
Adam traces a triangle in the air. “A speaker is made of amplifying cones. These cones push air around it, creating pressure waves that convey sound.”
A wrinkle appears between her eyebrows. “Okay.”
“When the speakers push out vibrations—”
“Adam, stop.” I lift a hand.
He goes quiet.
I motion to Dejonae. “She does not understand.”
“Yes, I do,” she says rebelliously.
I narrow my eyes.
Her mouth twists with defensiveness. “Quiz me.”
“This is not a classroom, Miss Williams.”
“You’re doubting my ability to learn and comprehend information. Give me a chance to prove that you’re wrong.”
“I’m rarely wrong.”
A spark of challenge rises in her gaze.
I shake my head. “Adam, explain it again and slow down for Miss Williams. Use smaller words so she can understand you.”
Adam arches both eyebrows as if he does not wish to get in the middle of this fight.
Miss Williams storms in front of me, her shoulders taut and her jaw clenching. “I said I understood.”
“Then show me.” I fold my arms over my chest.
“Fine.” Her slender hands suddenly cup mine, sliding down to my wrist and leaving a path of fire on my skin.
Electricity.
In the music room, I felt it.
But it’s stronger this time.
I snatch my hand away. “What are you doing?”
Adam gives me a puzzled look and I realize I sounded too harsh.
But Dejonae does not react in fear. She doggedly pursues me, wrestling my much larger hand between her palms.
“Scared?” She smirks.
I frown at her, fighting to keep my control. My body has a real, visceral reaction to Dejonae’s touch. It’s hot and intense, spreading from first contact until it singes every inch of me.
Rather than scared, I would say that she rattles me.
And I do not appreciate it.
Laughing softly, Dejonae guides my arm up to her face and sets the tips of my fingers on her neck.
Her skin is smooth.
Soft to the touch.
Temptation.
“The difference between noise and music is vibrations. In its simplest form, music is pleasant vibrations. Noise is bad vibrations.” She arches an eyebrow at me. “Just like a person can give someone else good or bad vibes, music can convey feelings that are real and true. It’s not superstition. It’s nature. It’s energy. It was humanity’s means to survive against big, bad predators like you.”
I scowl at her.
She shifts my hand so it skims lower down her throat, stopping just above her flickering pulse.
Her eyes gleam with confidence.
“Vocal folds produce sound when air passes through them and they vibrate. The vibration is what produces the sound wave of my voice.”
She is too close to me.
Her mouth is full and taunting.
Unwanted heat, plus something visceral and forbidden, twists inside me. I do not know what to make of it, or her.
Perhaps I should not try to unravel that thread.
I step back, but Dejonae steps closer.
“Am I wrong, professor?” she whispers.
“You have a simplified understanding of the mechanics,” I grumble. “Do not get cocky, Miss Williams.”
“I’m not the one who’s suffering from an over-inflated ego.”
I start moving and I do not stop until I am right in front of her. “Would you like a gold star?”
“I’d like you to admit that I know what I’m talking about.”
“You know a little,” I concede grumpily.
“What a fancy way of admitting you’re wrong.”
I grunt.
How easily she unnerves me.
Her hand is still on my wrist.
Mine is still around her throat.
I could so easily grip her neck and squeeze. Hear her whimper my name.
A flash of heat climbs my spine.
I could break her.
But she has no fear.
Her thumb, unconsciously, scrapes against my wrist as we stare at one another.
I cannot walk away first. Breaking her grip would be admitting that she affects me.
And I will not have that.
“Guys?” Adam says hesitantly.
I had forgotten he was there.
Dejonae takes a step back as if she’d forgotten too.
We both breathe in deeply.
Adam’s eyes dart between me and the feisty college student.
“You’re right, Dejonae. Speakers are, in essence, patterned off of our vocal box. In order for the sound to be clear, the vocal folds have to vibrate together, symmetrically. If it’s off by even a centimeter, the voice might be soft or hoarse. Engineers studied those principles and applied them to the modern sound system.”
Dejonae gives me a cheeky grin. “Then they fine-tuned it so speakers could become portable.”
“Exactly.” Adam nods in approval. “You know your music history.”
“A college class would not have given you such in-depth knowledge on vibrations. Have you done research of your own?”
She nods. “When my sister decided to be a model, she had a hard time walking to the beat. You know that most modeling shows have music, right?”
I did not.
Her brown eyes rise to mine as she continues, “Yaya could strut like Vanya Beckford on the runway, but if she couldn’t ‘feel’ the music, she’d move out of time or mess up her cues. It was frustrating for her and I hated seeing her come back home in tears after getting kicked out of another modeling class.”
“Is that when you found your headphone solution?” Adam inquires.
“I read about the different methods of siphoning vibrations and using energy to ‘hear’ music, but a lot of the devices out there were expensive or didn’t suit her specific needs.”
Adam makes a sympathetic sound in his throat.
My heart pricks in my chest. “It angers me when I hear that resources are inaccessible to those who need it. The Sazuki Foundation will, hopefully, address this.” I jut my chin at the MTB prototype. “And this is the beginning of our mission.”
“Once tweaked,” Adam says, “the MTB will translate vibrations with more accuracy than any other device out there.”
“I’m happy to help. What do you need me to do first?”
“You can start by handing over your headphones. We’ll send you a research contract. Once you agree to the terms, you can send us the blueprints and all your research.”
Dejonae fishes the headphones out of her purse and offers it willingly. “I’ll email you the rest.”
Adam sets the modified headphones on the table. “Next, I’d like you to check out our MTB. With your knowledge of vibrational resonance, you might be able to tackle some of the problems we’ve been facing. We’ll start with creating the scenario,” Adam explains. “And then we’ll—” His phone buzzes. He hurries to grab it out of his pocket. “That’s Nova. Excuse me.”
Dejonae and I remain alone in the lab.
She cocks her head, looking at me awkwardly. I wonder what that uncertain expression on her face means.
And then I wonder why I am curious.
Since Niko’s mother, I have never allowed a woman to take up space in my mind. Niko and the Sazuki Foundation have been my only focus for years.
“Do you know how to operate the MTB?” Dejonae asks.
“I do.”
She arches a brow, waiting.
I hesitate.
Not because I have no experience with the MTB.
On the contrary, I was the first to test it.
I am hesitant because Dejonae Williams is beginning to annoy me in ways I wish she wouldn’t. Like a common cold clawing at the throat, I feel the stirrings of something I would rather avoid.
Reluctantly, I approach the desk. Adam’s workstation is cluttered with a sauder iron, goggles, nuts, bolts, screws and various pieces of sawed-off metal. I reach past the stacks of calculators to the ear plugs he keeps in a jar.
“To create the scenario, we need to plug your ears to give the effect of being deaf.”
“You test the MTB on hearing people?” She sounds surprised.
“I do not wish to give anyone hope until we know for certain that the technology can work.” I pluck two of the plugs and hand them to her.
She cringes. “I’m not… great with things in my ears.”
“You use ear buds.” I remember her tapping them when I walked her to class.
“But they don’t… penetrate, you know?”
My blood turns molten at the images her words convey. Miss Williams. In my bed. Sweat on her skin. Mouth open, moaning, as I curve her neck, face down. Eyes on our connected bodies.
Inappropriate thoughts.
I brush them away and fight to keep my composure.
“The ear plugs will not pen—go further than they have to. It will not be too uncomfortable.”
She still looks squeamish.
“Would you like me to do it for you?” I offer.
She lowers her lashes, hiding her brown eyes from view. “Be gentle.”
The heat in my veins becomes a terrible blaze. I should stop to drink a cup of water and cool down, but I walk to Dejonae instead.
“Wait,” her gorgeous mouth trembles, pursing into a flat maroon line. “L-let me. I’ll do it.”
I offer the plugs to her.
She takes a deep breath and, with the expression of one about to saw her own limbs off, slips the first plug into her ear.
By the time she is done, her breath is labored and her curls are sticking to the sweat on her cheeks.
“I don’t think I can do this,” she pants.
“You have one more.”
“Here.” She stabs the ear plug at me. “You do it.”
How strange to see her confidence falter. Every time we meet, she has been strong and outspoken. To think that a little ear plug would shake her like this…
“Hold still.” I steady her shoulders.
She squeezes her eyes shut.
I brush a loose curl behind her ear to keep it out of my way. It springs right back, as defiant as the woman it adorns.
“Is it done yet?”
“Not quite,” I say, focusing on the curl. “Turn around.”
“What?”
“Turn around,” I speak forcefully.
With her eyes still closed, she gives me her back. I set the ear plug in the pocket of my blazer and gather my hands at Dejonae’s neck.
The moment she feels me taking out her butterfly clip, she whirls around. “What are you doing?”
“Fixing your hair.”
“I’ll do it.”
I brush her hand aside. “Stay still.”
“Don’t you know you should never touch a black woman’s hair without permission?”
“In this moment, you are a test subject, not a black woman.” I press the wings of her butterfly clip and watch her honey-tinged curls spring free. They fall against my knuckles, kissing my hands softly. “And your curls are in the way.”
“They do what they want.”
“Like their owner.”
She twists her head around to give me a dirty look.
I gently fix her head so she is staring away from me.
“Do you know what you’re doing?” she complains.
“I have done Niko’s hair many times.”
The mention of Niko makes her shoulders relax. “How often do you do Niko’s hair?”
“Almost every morning, except when I take her to a black hair salon to install braids.” I rake my fingers over Dejonae’s temple and into her scalp.
She moans softly and then slaps a hand over her mouth.
But it is too late.
My body burns with the memory of her soft moan and I know it will barge into my mind tonight as I ready for bed.
Making quick work of her hair, I fix all the stray tendrils into a clip and slide the ear plug in.
Dejonae turns to me the moment I am done and touches her ear tentatively.
“Can you hear me?” I ask.
She focuses on my mouth and yells, “What?”
I laugh under my breath and lean toward her. “Can. You. Hear. Me.”
She pushes up on the tips of her toes, her lips an inch away from mine. “I can’t hear you!”
This close, I cannot help but confront the truth of her beauty. Her brown eyes are obsidian marbles set in an exquisitely symmetrical face. Her dark skin, which seemed to drown in sunlight and gold outside, still appears a rich and flawless ebony beneath the lab’s artificial white lights.
Stunning.
In the moment, I do something completely out of character.
I press my thumb to her bottom lip and swipe.
Her eyes widen.
She drops flat on her feet, staring at me as if she’s been stunned by a thousand camera flashes.
“You are shouting,” I sign.
Her eyelashes flutter and she seems to buy my explanation.
Still looking flustered, Miss Williams signs back, “What should I do now?”
Adam returns to the lab. “Sorry about that. Are you ready to put the MTB on?”
“She is.” I gesture to her. “Adam, you take over from here.”
“I’d rather man the computer.”
“I will observe the results,” I insist.
Then I step back.
Away from the woman who has proven herself to be impossible, irritating, loudly opinionated, and frustratingly stubborn.
You forgot ‘gorgeous’.
My thoughts have taken a mind of their own. It annoys me to no end. Though I wish to despise her, I find myself—instead—intrigued by her dangerous mixture of innocence and sultry sensuality.
Dejonae looks at me with her big, enchanting eyes.
I turn my back. For her sake—and for mine—I need to keep a distance from her.
“I just left Adam’s lab,” I say on the ride back to the foundation. My phone is pressed against my ear, my tablet is on my knee and a document is open in front of me. “The programming we need is not as rigorous as I expected.”
Dejonae is quiet beside me. She has not said much since Akira brought the car around. At the moment, she is staring through the window, looking out at the gleaming skyscrapers.
“I’ve never thought to apply our algorithm to vibrational patterns and music. I’m excited to roll my sleeves up and get working on the code,” Alistair says through the phone.
“As are we. We would like to open the foundation to a beta group of students in the next week and roll out our first testing of the MTB two weeks later.”
“Not a lot of time to perfect it,” Alistair notes.
“Which is why we do not plan to officially announce the Sazuki Foundation to the media until after three months. It will give our team enough time to work out any issues.”
I hear a slight groan. When I glance across the car, I notice Dejonae’s expression shift in pain.
“I’m impressed by what you and Adam have done with the MTB. The specs are amazing. Maybe you missed your calling as an engineer, Sazuki.”
“I did the easy part. I told Adam what I wanted and he made the impossible a reality.” In the corner of my eye, I notice Dejonae sling an arm around her stomach. “Alistair, I will be in touch.” I end the call and frown at Dejonae. “Are you unwell?”
“I’ll be fine once I eat something.” She digs her hand into her stomach, her lips wrenched in pain.
“You should have had lunch,” I say sternly.
“I would have. But someone dragged me away to the lab before I could order something.”
Guilt pangs a tortured rhythm inside me. When I saw her with her ex-boyfriend, I let my irrational thoughts take over. It did not occur to me to check if she had eaten already before I whisked her to Adam’s lab.
“You should have spoken up earlier,” I grumble.
She slants me a death glare. “How comforting you are.”
I know better than to laugh when she is in pain. Pulling my lips in to hide my amusement, I ask, “Do you like sushi?”
“I love sushi. But I don’t know if I can handle that after skipping breakfast and lunch.”
“We will get you some soup. It will be lighter on your stomach.” I tap the front seat to get Akira’s attention. “Take us to Miko San.”
Akira dips her chin, but her eyes are cold when they meet mine in the mirror. I ignore the look and lift my laptop bag. Fishing around until I locate a chocolate bar, I hand it over.
“You keep Snickers in your bag?” She gives me a starry look.
I smile. “It keeps Niko quiet when I am unexpectedly caught up in a meeting.”
“So basically you’re calling me a cranky child,” Dejonae says teasingly, unwrapping the chocolate.
“If the shoe fits.”
Soft laughter flows from her lips. “You fed me, so I’ll forgive you for that.”
My chest feels lighter as I watch her laugh. I realize I enjoy this expression just as much as I do her stormy scowls.
My phone rings.
I am glued to the device for the rest of the drive to Miko San.
Once we arrive at the restaurant, I leave the car.
Akira does as well. She observes me with disapproving eyes. “You do not have time for this, Ryotaro.”
“Niko’s school will be out in an hour.” I check my watch. “I will take Miss Williams back to her university and pick up Niko after the final bell.”
Akira shakes her head. “It is better if I take you back to the foundation and you let her eat here by herself.”
Her suggestion irritates me. I glance over my shoulder to where Dejonae is waiting for me on the curb side.
Akira’s voice is low with warning. “You do not need to cross any more lines with her.”
“I have not had lunch either. Besides, it is not wrong for me to eat with a colleague.”
Akira’s eyes turn icy.
I jut my chin at the road. “Drive carefully.”
She huffs when she rolls her window up and leaves.
Dejonae stares at the SUV that is becoming smaller in the distance. “She won’t join us?”
“She will return to the foundation and wait for me there.”
“Why didn’t you invite her to stay? What if she hasn’t eaten lunch yet?” Dejonae cranes her neck as if she would invite Akira back.
I’m stunned by her kindness, but I hide it well. “She has eaten. She takes her lunch an hour earlier to accompany me.”
“Good to know not everyone is a machine like you, Sazuki.” Her lips quirk, letting me know she is only teasing.
I slant her an amused look. “Come inside before you faint.”
“Yes, please.”
I open the door for her and greet the hostess who calls me by name. She seems surprised that I brought someone other than Niko and Akira with me, but makes no comments.
We settle around a table. Dejonae peruses the menu distractedly. Her eyes keep darting around the room. There are no windows and very few lights, adding to a semi-dark atmosphere. The tables are low on the ground and the chairs have no backing. Cushions, flattened by years of use, keep customers from sitting on hard wooden surfaces.
“This place looks legit,” Dejonae says.
“Legit?” I repeat the word more awkwardly.
“I usually eat at the sushi bar or the buffet restaurant around my apartment. And neither of those places look or smell like this.”
“This is the smell of history. The restaurant has been operating for generations. The taste of the food does not change even when ownership passes hands. Miko San is as close to authentic as I could find in the city.”
“So it’s kind of like your secret place?” She grins.
“Perhaps.”
Dejonae bobs her head, her eyes sparkling. She is a lot more relaxed when the promise of food is evident. I make note of it.
The waitress arrives and welcomes us with a dip of her head and a smile.
“What will you have?” she asks in English.
Dejonae nervously shoves the menus at me. “You order.”
I smile at yet another display of uncertainty. Why do I find her shyness so endearing?
After ordering two bowls of miso soup and rice, I hand the menus back to the waitress. She dips her head again and shuffles into the kitchen.
Dejonae closes her eyes. “The music is really good.”
I take a moment to listen to the soft instrumental and realize that it is my grandparent’s song.
Curious, I peer at her. “What do you like about it?”
“It’s hard to put into words.” Eyes still closed, she lifts her hands and runs her fingers as if playing an invisible piano. “There’s something haunting about it. It gets into your head and it kind of… expands. But it doesn’t push anything away. The bigger it gets, the more it ties everything together.” Her eyes open and she winces. “That made no sense, did it?”
“It made sense to me,” I murmur.
“Really?”
I slide chopsticks from the bucket in the middle of the table and hand one over to her. “This song is my family’s.”
“No.” Her jaw drops. “Why didn’t I recognize it?”
“Most people would not be able to recognize it by the sound alone. We have no wish to be famous.”
“Yeah, what’s up with that?” She breaks her chopsticks apart cleanly. “Most bands would be touring the world, hitting every concert hall and television interview they can. It’s so weird that your family chooses not to step into the spotlight.”
“The music speaks for itself and this is all we need.” I shake my head. “The world has become so consumed with material things, flashy music, vapid connections that the things that lack substance seem to rise to the top simply because they’re louder or flashier. There is honor in stepping back and letting our work make the difference.”
She purses her lips. I am learning that this expression indicates her disagreement with a thought. “I don’t think flashy music is ‘vapid’ or lacking substance. Not every emotion has to be complex. Sometimes, there’s power in simplicity. Everyone can understand what it’s like to get their heart broken. Everyone can remember the happiness of summer. The simpler it is, the more people can relate to it. That’s important too. In my mind, music is supposed to bring people together. If we just use it to show how superior we are to the ‘vapid, flashy, material-obsessed’ people, then that just makes us snobs.”
I tilt my head. “An interesting take.”
“You’re talking to a future professional songwriter,” she says. “From what I’ve studied, your family is the exception, not the rule.”
“My family had a concentrated sound and the determination to work hard.”
“And the millions of singers around the world don’t?”
I lean back.
“Your family was unique enough to catch the eye of a huge movie producer. Your copyright lawyers are renowned for keeping your work safe. You made a killing by forging your own path and sticking to traditional music, but not everyone can afford an IP lawyer to hunt down the counterfeits. And not everyone can break out into the Sazuki family level of success by going against the grain.”
I watch her intently.
She licks her lips, her eyes darting to the side. “What?”
“You are very passionate about this.”
“Because it matters to me.”
I realize that I enjoy hearing her speak her mind. She has a clear point of view and a fervent way of expressing it.
Our food arrives. Steam pours from the miso soup and fried tofu. The rice is delivered in an iron pot.
Dejonae’s eyes widen. “Are we supposed to eat all of this?”
“You eat what you can handle.” I take my empty bowl, scoop rice into it and slide it over to her.
After sharing out my own food, I bring my hands together. “Itadakimasu.”
“Amen.” She squeezes her eyes shut.
I chuckle.
One eye pops open. “Why are you laughing? Didn’t you say grace?”
“Not in the Western sense.” I stir the noodles in my soup. “It is a way of showing gratitude for the food.”
“Oh.” Her mouth forms a perfect circle.
“Go ahead and eat.” I gesture to her.
She hesitantly picks up her chopsticks. When she takes her first bite, her eyes brighten. “Whoa. This is insane.”
I smile, enjoying her delight. The more time I spend with her, the more I appreciate her candidness. Miss Williams does not hide her feelings, whether they are anger, fear, indecision, or happiness. I find her transparency refreshing.
We eat quietly for a while and, for the first time in a long time, I realize I want to break the silence during a meal.
I set my chopsticks down. “What made you decide to become a songwriter?”
“Me?” She chokes on the food still in her mouth.
I pour her a glass of water and hand it over.
She takes it, her fingers brushing mine. Dejonae does not seem to notice, as occupied as she is with regaining her breath.
“I,” she coughs cutely, “was into music from a young age, but I didn’t have the discipline to learn notes. I wanted to be a DJ. I figured it would be easier to blend two ready-made songs together than try to create my own.”
“That seems like a fair assessment.”
She smiles. “After my sister started going deaf, our lives changed completely, but what I didn’t expect to change was the way people interacted with us. Suddenly, my sister was being bullied. Kids made fun of her right to her face thinking she couldn’t understand because she couldn’t hear.”
“And you decided to kill them with music?”
“Something like that.” She laughs. “I broke someone’s nose and got suspended from school. My dad sat me down on the porch swings and told me that I could beat a thousand people and not change one person’s mind or I could change a thousand minds with one song.”
“Wise words. However, it’s a little optimistic for a child to be so influential.”
“Hey!” She wads a napkin and throws it at me.
It sinks to the table harmlessly.
I smile. “Your father is a musician too?”
“Only an admirer. His dad was the musician. A saxophone player in underground jazz clubs.”
“Exciting.” I lean forward, eager for more. “Did you follow your father’s advice?”
“I did. I wrote a song for the summer talent show and dedicated it to my sister. It was about how strong she was and, simultaneously, how awful bullies are. I made sure to include all the awful things people had done to her in the song and I used their names too.”
“Name and shame. Very effective. You were not dragged off the stage?”
“The complete opposite. I got a standing ovation.”
“The song was that good?” I arch an eyebrow, impressed.
She snorts. “Oh, no, it was horrible. I’m pretty sure I stole the chords from I Will Survive’s bridge section. And I was cramming rhymes like a baby ramming a circle building block into a square hole.”
I laugh quietly.
She chuckles too, her eyes sparkling. “But in my defense, it was impossible to find a good word that rhymed with Xander.”
“Handler? Wrangler? For something particularly American… Star-Spangled Banner?”
She scrunches her nose. “You made that look easy.”
“It is easy.”
“In my defense, I was young and angry. What mattered was that I got the point across. After the talent show, people started protecting my sister when they saw someone messing with her. I practically saved the day.”
“I did not realize I was eating lunch with a hero.”
“I don’t do it for the glory, but if you’re really impressed, you can pay for lunch.”
“Did you think I wouldn’t?”
She smiles pensively. “We’re not exactly… friends.”
“A boss can pay for his employee’s meal,” I say. “They do not have to be friends.”
“True.”
The air gets tense again as she watches me, looking for something.
I glance down. “Are you finished?”
“Yeah. Just about.”
“I will get the bill.” I leave the table, rubbing my bottom lip with my thumb.
Dejonae Williams becomes more intriguing as time goes by. Keeping my distance may prove to be more of a challenge than I thought.
I pay for the meal and, as I wait for my receipt, dip into my pocket for my cell phone. When I don’t find it, I pat around my clothes.
Still no phone.
I start to panic.
Where did I leave it?
At that moment, I recall that I took the phone out and set it on the table while speaking to Dejonae.
I must have left it there.
After receiving the receipt, I march back to the table. Dejonae’s eyes meet mine. Her stare is so frigid that it sends a warning signal through my body.
“Your phone is ringing.” She lifts the device up to me.
On the screen, shining in big, bright letters are the words…
Niko’s Mother.
