Total pages in book: 149
Estimated words: 142866 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 714(@200wpm)___ 571(@250wpm)___ 476(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 142866 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 714(@200wpm)___ 571(@250wpm)___ 476(@300wpm)
“You feeding me the company line, but you forget I know how bad you wanted to break into producing with this show. You sure Maverick is worth losing this shot?”
Two days ago, I would have answered with an unequivocal hell yeah. After discovering the owner of the Vipers is one of the assholes behind this lawsuit and that Maverick is in business with him…
Do you trust me?
Maverick’s question has been looping in my head ever since we spoke two days ago. We actually haven’t spoken since. I’m still grappling with that question for myself. I’m certainly not unpacking it for Chapel. Not yet.
“Zere and I discussed this,” I say, sitting forward and evading her question. “We’ve agreed it’s better for all concerned if I step away from this project.”
“Because she thinks you stole her man.”
I really wish Chapel was not so read between the lines literate.
“The situation between Zere and me—”
“And Maverick.”
“—has evolved and the smoothest road forward is with me operating in my capacity solely as your manager, and Zere taking the lead alone to helm the show.”
“And you’re sure you’re okay with this?” Chapel presses. “I don’t have to do it. You’re my manager, yes, but you’re also my girl and I—”
“Chap!” I close my eyes and take a beat to pull myself back from the edge. “Of course I’m disappointed that it’s not going as originally planned, but I want this show to have the best shot possible. That won’t happen if there’s tension between the two people trying to get it made.”
“If you don’t want me to do this, I won’t. We’ll do something else later.”
Look at her choosing me. The women in my life are constantly putting each other first. The men… jury’s still out.
“I want you to do the show, Chapel.” I kick off my shoes and wiggle my toes under the desk. “And I’m fine with this change since it’s what Zere needs to feel comfortable moving forward.”
“If you’re sure.”
“I am.” I sigh, ready to shift gears. “Now aren’t you going live with that beauty brand in like ten minutes?”
“S’posed to be.”
“Well, get on then.”
“Okay. I’ll get on then.” She laughs. “Love you, Hen.”
“Love you, too, Chap.”
I disconnect and flop back into Daddy’s chair.
“Tired?” Aunt Geneva asks from the office door.
I sigh and kick my feet up onto the desk with its chipped wood and wobbly leg that has somehow become beloved over the last few weeks.
“It’s been a long one.” I loosen the band securing my braids and let them fall down my back. “Feels like I’ve been on the phone with clients all day and I’ve had three interviews with news outlets about the lawsuit. I’m just… yeah. Tired.”
“Dinner’ll be ready in a bit. Just waiting for the fish to finish cooking.”
“Why are you making dinner? What about the church meal train?”
“Girl, I told them to stop bringing food. I can cook for us. I’ll be officially cleared soon to resume all normal activities, but I’m getting around so good now. Doctor says I have the body of a seventy-year-old,” she says, tongue in cheek. “Considering I’m seventy-seven, I’ll take it.”
I laugh and rise, crossing over to squeeze my aunt tight.
“We need to talk about next steps for Mama,” I whisper, squeezing harder when she stiffens. “Now don’t go all rigid on me.”
“We’re fine, Hen.” She pulls back to look at me. “I’ve got this.”
“You shouldn’t have to have all of it. Like you said, you’re seventy-seven years old. I know you’re in excellent shape and appreciate the sacrifices you’ve made, but it’s going to be too much. In some ways, I think it might already be.”
Her nod and the look on her face scream reluctant compliance.
“My name needs to be on everything, Aunt G, right along with yours. That’s medically, legally, custodially—whatever.”
“That makes sense.” She leans heavily into me, and I’m not sure if it’s how taxing the surgery has been on her body, or the emotional weight managing everything has become, maybe even if she didn’t recognize it. Aunt Geneva sniffs and grips me tighter. We stay that way for a few seconds while her tears soak my shirt.
“She’s my baby sister,” Aunt Geneva cries. “I’ve been so mad at God for letting this happen. You think I’m in my devotional every day praising Him, and yeah. There’s some of that, but we been in that room wrestling, me and God. I been asking Him hard questions and not always sure I can live with the answers.”
She pulls back and cups my face, now wet with tears to match hers. “But we have no choice, do we?”
“How do you do it day in and day out, Aunt G?” I ask. “I feel so unsure and inadequate most of the time.”
“He’s my very present help,” she says, and it sounds like a script she learned and continues to recite.