Zori
“Paige, what the hell am I supposed to do now?”
One of my friends, Paige Prince, was ear-deep in my ongoing drama with Clinton, my douche-bag ex, who had not only broken up with me on our anniversary but also had the balls to tell me I wasn’t refined enough for him. What a joke. Me, not refined enough for him. Yeah, right. That was laughable. But as I tried to bolster my emotions, I was suddenly overtaken by the thought that once again, I was single.
I had been with Clinton for almost three years. We’d met at work. The law firm, Magalla and Carver, where Clinton Melon—yes, melon is his last name, but it’s pronounced like the city, Milan—was an up-and-coming attorney. I knew, I shouldn’t have gotten involved with someone in the workplace, but I worked for one of the partners, Mr. Carver, as his executive assistant, and had for more than three years. So when Clinton had walked in the door, I was hesitant at first, but he’d kept pursuing me.
Some said we were oil and water, but I’d set out to prove them wrong. Just because we weren’t on the same level financially didn’t mean we couldn’t have things in common. I’d even planned to surprise him with a weeklong getaway to an exclusive island. A vacation I had pinched and scrimped for. Like, didn’t get my mani-pedis for almost six months, and cut out my daily trip to Starbucks kind of save. While taking on a second job to boot. Just so I could foot the bill in its entirety for the trip.
Some guy named Aragon owned the island, and it was rumored that all your fantasies could come true there. My dreams were simple. I just wanted Clinton to propose. I wanted the ring, the house, and the safety that came with all that Clinton had to offer.
“I don’t know what to say, Zori. I could have told you Clinton McScumbag was indeed a…well, a scumbag. I thought the resort accommodations were non-refundable?”
“They are. Which is why I’m in a panic. Who’s gonna go with me now?”
Paige huffed over the phone as if she tried to come up with a solution to my problem. “You could always go by yourself? Meet someone on the island.”
I could, but then I’d be out eight hundred dollars. That could have been my feet, hair, nails, and decent food. Instead, I’d chosen to be a dumbass and purchased tickets for a romantic getaway that turned out to be pointless. I mean, what kind of person breaks things off on their three-year anniversary? Clinton does, apparently.
The door to the office opened, and I quickly told Paige I’d have to call her back. I was still at work, and although Mr. Carver didn’t mind me being on the phone, I didn’t want to take advantage of his kindness. Besides, he’d let me work from home the last three days. I needed the break. Clinton still walked these halls, and if the rumor circulating was true, he was up for partner. Which, in retrospect, explained a lot. A whole lot. Mierda.
“Ms. Lemes, I need you to schedule the conference room. Make it tomorrow at nine. Be sure to include Magalla and Melon on the invite list, would you? Also, have Rhonda from Human Resources, and Kent from In-House Legal there please.”
“Yes, sir.”
Mr. Carver had always been an efficient boss. He’d never once made me feel inadequate. Not like my previous employer, who would stare at my boobs constantly or make lewd remarks about my ass, while never giving me any praise on my actual work. Davis Carver wasn’t old either, probably mid-thirties at the most, and he wasn’t bad to look at—black hair, silver-grey eyes, and a body built for sin. He obviously kept himself in shape. But he was a perpetual bachelor.
After making some calls, I found that all parties were available to attend at nine and scheduled the room. This must be Clinton’s moment to shine. As if I’d summoned the devil himself from the pits of his fiery hell, he walked over to my desk with a smirk on his face.
“Zori, can you tell Mr. Carver that I’ll be about five minutes late to my appointment tomorrow?”
I wanted to turn up my lip at Clinton, but I didn’t. I was in my place of business, and I refused to let him get the best of me. Not here. Not now. Not…ever. So I tilted up my head as I typed on the keyboard. My nails clacking away, I smiled sweetly. “Yes, of course, Mr. Melon.” I purposely pronounced it the way it was spelled. His scowl of irritation was evident.
“One more thing, if you have a moment, Zori.”
I was back to staring at my monitor, but I acknowledged the prick. “Yes?”
“I want to buy those tickets off you. I know you could use the money.”
I lost it.
Did he think I was gonna let him buy my tickets so that he could take whatever woman he had dangling on the side?
“For your information, I don’t need the money, and I’m already going with someone else. So there’s no need for you to do me any favors.”
“Oh, really? You’ve jumped back into the game that quickly?”
He didn’t know if I had or hadn’t, and it was none of his business.
“How about you let me worry about my affairs, and you worry about yours.”
Clinton leaned forward with a sneer on his face at the word affair. “Are you saying you were seeing some other man behind my back?”
What I should have done was lie through my teeth, but I didn’t get the chance. Mr. Carver came out of his office with a scowl on his face. “Clinton, is there something I can help you with?”
“Ah, no, sir. I was just chatting with Zori here about the meeting tomorrow. I’ll be about five minutes late.”
“Why?”
I shouldn’t want to know the answer, but I didn’t move just the same. Not that I should have moved, but I knew how Mr. Carver was. He expected an answer—though not for my benefit, or even his. He was pissed--most likely because he thought what I did: Clinton thought he had a pair. A huge pair. Thought he could dictate things. But one didn’t show up to meetings late when both partners were in attendance.
“My fiancée needs a ride to the airport.”
His fiancée? Since when?
Clinton and I had only been broken up for a week! Which meant the fucker had been seeing someone behind my back the entire time. And if that weren’t enough, he’d just tried to call me out as if I were the one who fucked up the relationship. Insinuated that I was the one cheating.
Clinton had had no problems listing all the reasons we couldn’t be together when he’d broken it off. The partnership being one of them. He’d also said something about my family being too “Spanish,” and that my name was hard to say unless shortened. How is someone too much of something they were born to be? I was Cuban American. So the hell what? My parents immigrated when I was still in the womb, but everything about my family said we were Cuban. From the cute little house my parents bought a couple of years back with its colorful kitchen, to the yard decorations, to my mother’s incessant need to feed the entire neighborhood her signature ropa vieja or carne asada or fresh empanadas… Yum. Nope, I wasn’t ashamed one bit.
“Haven’t you heard of Uber?” Mr. Carver asked. His voice was tight, and his facial expression conveyed his irritation with Clinton.
“Yes, sir, but Mandy and I haven’t had a lot of time to spend with each other. She’s been away in the UK for almost three months.”
Yeah, the snake was a fucking douche nozzle to be sure.
“I don’t care, Mr. Melon. Work it out. My time is money, and I’m not losing out because you want to be five minutes late because of your girlfriend.”
Well. That said it all.
I loved my boss, and if he weren’t my boss, I’d probably think he was perfect for me. Not that I’d be his type. Mr. Carver only dated blondes. He had a preference.
“Zori, have you had lunch yet?”
“No, sir.”
“Great, let’s go.”
The man was made of awesome sunshine and amazing rainbows.
We left Clinton staring off into space without a backward glance.
* * *
Mr. Carter and I went to the local Cuban restaurant, Flor De Cuba. It was the most authentic Cuban food I could get outside of my mother’s kitchen, and it felt like home. Even my parents loved the place, which said a lot. Mom criticized everything. Right down to my outfit of choice when I went to work.
“Zori,” my boss said softly.
“Yes. sir.”
“Cut the sir crap, you can call me Davis.”
“All right, Davis.”
I smiled his way, but it wasn’t flirting, it just felt weird calling him by his first name.
“You can do way better than what you’re doing. You know that, right?”
I had no idea what he was talking about.
“Excuse me?”
“Clinton,” he said with no pretense.
I’d had no idea he referred to Clinton. I didn’t even know he knew about us…we’d been so careful. There wasn’t a policy at work that said we couldn’t date fellow employees, but I knew it was an unspoken law that those in higher positions shouldn’t fraternize with coworkers not their equal—at least in position or pay. I was just Mr. Carver’s administrative assistant. Clinton was an actual lawyer.
My eyes went wide when Davis placed his hand over mine, shaking his head. “Don’t worry, Zori, it’s okay. I don’t blame you at all. Next time, just make smarter choices. Clinton is all about perfection and influence. He’s not someone who can see past the things that aren’t important and glimpse the heart of a person.”
Davis, the perpetual bachelor, was giving me advice. Interesting. I hadn’t realized he paid that much attention to me.
“Thanks for the heads up, Mr. Car—er, Davis, but I can handle this. I just need to figure out what to do with the rest of my life now.”
I had put all of my eggs into the Clinton basket when I should have been out there, surveying all that Houston had to offer.
“You’re still young; you have a lot of time left to find someone special. Don’t block your blessings. There could be someone already there, waiting for their chance, and you dating Clinton screwed that up.”
The conversation had taken a whole new turn, and I wasn’t sure how I felt about it. I never got the chance to question him about what he meant, though, because our waitress appeared to take our order.
“Que bolaita, acere?” It was Rosa. We went way back. Like way back. My parents and hers came over to the States at the same time.
“Hey, Rosa, I’m excellent. How’s the family?”
Rosa raised a brow at my brush-off. I hadn’t responded back in Spanish, which meant she had something to say. She spoke perfect English, but if she didn’t want a non-Spanish-speaking person getting the heads-up on what she had to say, she reverted to her native tongue. I wasn’t in the mood for her antics.
“Family is good, but, what gives?”
Davis watched our exchange and said nothing.
“Tumba eso. Let it go, Rosa.”
“Fine, whatever, but I know your momma is gonna be mad. You were just in here with Clinton like three weeks ago.”
And this was why I couldn’t wait to move out of my mother’s house. She was always in my business, and had family and friends doing the same. Which meant Rosa would go running back the second she could, spilling the beans about how I had been in the restaurant with a man who wasn’t Clinton. Alma Lemes would be worried sick about her spinster daughter, who wasn’t married and at home pushing out little babies and making boliche or costillitas de puerco.
My mother had wanted a ton of kids, but she’d ended up with me. I had a boatload of cousins, though, and they each had at least two to three kids. My parents had struggled, and I mean struggled, when I was a kid. They’d just bought their first home a few years ago, and not easily. Before that, we were in a crappy apartment, in a crappy neighborhood, surrounded by crappy people. The only memorable thing about the old neighborhood was Mateo, my best friend. He’d gotten the hell out of Dodge the moment he could, though. Now, he lived above the garage where he worked, and was happier than shit. Granted, he didn’t have his own car, nor did he make the kind of money one needed to survive, but still…he was happy.
I wanted that, and a whole lot more. I wanted the happiness, the money, and the security of knowing that should the shit hit the fan, my man had my back financially as well as physically.
“The guy she came in here with three weeks ago is now obsolete. Zori and I have things to do back at the office, may we please order?” Davis gritted out.
“Right, may I take your order?” Rosa said in a snotty voice.
“I’ll have the carne con papas, and Zori…what will you have?
“Can I get an order of empanadas?”
“Beef?”
“Yes.”
Rosa walked off, and Davis eyeballed her with a strange grimace on his face.
“Did you come in here a lot with Clinton?”
“We came a couple of times. I think he did it mostly to impress me. Plus, my mother would go on and on about this place, and Clinton wanted to get on her good side.”
“That was a mistake.”
“Yeah, you can say that again,” I snorted. I knew better than to bring a guy I was dating around my family, but we’d been dating for about three years, so I figured it was safe. It wasn’t. Because now Rosa, the nosy waitress, was going to go back and blab to her mother, who would then blab to my mother, and so on, and so on, and so on. Mi vida.
After the food had been delivered, we ate in companionable silence. When Davis paid the bill, he placed his hand on my lower back as we left the restaurant. This is not good. So not good. I had no intention of giving Davis any idea that I was interested or available. I wasn’t about to fool around with Davis.
“Zori, I want you to know that I’m here for you if you need someone to talk to. I may be your boss, but I’d also like to think we’re friends.”
Friends?
Since when?
Sure, he was nice enough. I enjoyed working for him, but I wouldn’t say we were friends. Maybe I’d missed something, but the last time I checked, he only spoke to me when he needed something. Occasionally, we did lunch, but only in the office. Sometimes, we had dinner if there was a meeting I needed to attend. But, again, in the office. We never talked about anything not related to the workplace, and today was the first time we’d eaten outside of it together. Sure there were some non-committals like “how’s the family?” or “did your cousin have the baby?” But that was the gist of our outside-of-work conversations.
“Davis,” I said in a hurry. I didn’t want this to go south. That would be awkward. And brutal. He had never expressed an interest in me before, and I needed to know where this was coming from. “I just need to be clear on a few things….”
“All right, Zori, go ahead.” A grin tugged at his lips. A sly one. Like he knew what I was about to say.
“You mean friends as in, friends, right? Not friends friends.”
“Could you say that for me in an actual sentence?” he joked. But I went along with it anyway.
“As in, Zori and Davis are friends who have lunch occasionally but nothing outside of a shared meal. With possible shopping sprees funded by Davis Carver. Or…is this Zori and Davis are friends with benefits? Although how they got to that point is beyond me.”
His eyes went wide for a second with laughter before they warmed with heat. “Do you want there to be benefits?”
In another life, another time, heck yeah. But Davis was my boss.
Instead of allowing the conversation to sink further into the depths of the unknown, I tried to play it off.
“Davis Carter, you’re funny. Thanks, I needed the laugh. I’ll take door number one: friends. The one where we share meals with the possibility of shopping sprees—funded by you, of course.” I winked and walked ahead of him quickly, hoping I hadn’t just messed things up. I wanted to ensure that we stayed in the friend zone.