Feeling Some Type of Way Page 3

  As corny as this sounds, the feeling was rather magical.

  Helen may have a point. When we discussed my new position over crème brulee, it was clear it wasn’t going to be a salaried position yet. “I’ll give you 90 days to prove yourself. After 90 days, we’ll review your progress and promote you to be a full-time employee.”

  “That’s going to be difficult,” I countered, “what about the last little bit of school I have? I can’t work for you and do that at the same time.”

  “I told you I wanted you to concentrate on school as I take care of the small details,” his voice had a curious annoyance to it, “you’ll devote your free off day during the week and some select weekends to me before you graduate. All in all, it’ll be 90 days.”

  I had a peculiar feeling about Ian but I couldn’t quite place it. It wasn’t a ‘too good to be true’ but I didn’t feel I was being given the whole story. Maybe that’s just his MO. He’ll only tell me what I need to know and that’s that.

  “It’ll be an internship of sorts,” I lied to my best friends. I guess considering all that was discussed, it wasn’t quite a lie.

  Michelle wasn’t impressed with that answer. She came from a privileged life and saw firsthand how wealthy people acted. “Be careful with that one.”

  “You know tea?” Helen shot her eyes over to Michelle, who narrowed hers at me. “You better spill that bitch!”

  “No, I know his type,” Michelle shook her head, “brilliant, arrogant, and asshole-like. He’ll put feelings second and money first.”

  “Well, doesn’t everyone?” I countered back. “We all do things we don’t want to do to put food on the table.”

  “It’s different when you’re a billionaire. You already have the wealth so no one cares about getting more money. The power keeps them going. After they acquire all the money they’ll ever need, it’s the power they’re after next.” Michelle sighed and scooted off the bed. “Just be careful with that one.” She then left the room.

  Helen shook her head and sighed. “Daddy issues did a number on her. No wonder she’s going into psychology.”

  “Well, she made a good point. I have to be careful around Ian.” Helen turned around and gave me an amused look. “What?”

  “Ian? So you two are on a first-name basis now?”

  “He’s my boss, so yes, I have to call him by his name.” I shrugged it off. I grabbed my cell phone and saw I had voicemail from financial aid. Oh goody. They get to tell me in person how I’m going to get kicked out for non-payment. “There’s nothing more to it.”

  “Okay,” Helen got off the bed and chuckled. “I have extra condoms if you want them?”

  “I think I’m good but thanks.” I quickly showered and dressed. I have a long day of well, doing absolutely nothing. I might as well look fly and cocky fresh.

  ~~~~

  I’m really going to miss being on the USC campus. It’s huge and believe me, I’ve gotten lost more times than I would like to admit. But it’s home to me. I have my favorite areas where I can just chill. I know where to go for coffee. I know when’s the best time to head over to Hate Chicken (it’s really Chik-Fil-A. The awkward moment you hate their anti-gay stance but damnit if they don’t make some bomb-ass chicken sandwiches).

  I’m going to miss the underground parties. I’m going to miss everything.

  Going to USC was a fluke within itself. I applied to many colleges and universities, determined to get the hayle out of Baldwin Hills when I ended up being at home, after all. Samuel used to come up to see me, and take all of us out to lunch. He always gave me extra spending money and told me to be careful with it, which I never was. Hey, I’m a college student. This is the time for me to be stupid.

  Anyway, I used to see Samuel every other weekend until it became every month, until it was just the major holidays. I’m lucky if he even calls me now. I’m sure I haven’t been the best daughter but damn, at least call and check on your kid every once in a while, you know?

  Depressing story time is over as I begin the path to the financial nightmare. I scored a non-paid internship, which is great, but how am I going to pay bills? Speaking of which, I need to get Rhett Rochelle’s costume ready.

  “I’m glad you came in today,” the financial advisor greeted me with a huge smile like she won the lottery. “I have some terrific news for you!”

  “Oh?” I sat before her desk. “What news?”

  “Your tuition is paid in full!” She beamed as if someone paid off her tuition.

  “I don’t understand,” I’m in complete shock. I was literally about to go back home and work on my twerking and making my booty clap. Well, I might still do that anyway. “There has to be a mistake.”

  “There’s no mistake,” the financial aid officer smiled at me, “your tuition is paid in full. You also have a cashier’s check waiting for you.” She handed it over to me.

  My eyes bulged out of their sockets as I read the dollar amount. And then I re-read it for good measure. The check was for ten thousand dollars. “What? I mean…how?” I asked. “That’s impossible!”

  “No, it’s not.” She turned the computer to me and showed me the financial records. “Not impossible at all.”

  Maybe Samuel did come through after all. He knew I was struggling these past couple of semesters and maybe, Golddigger Candy convinced him to give me this one-time reprieve. “Did Samuel Kimbrough pay for it?” I finally ask.

  “No,” she made a few keystrokes, “it says here it was paid by Ian Ferguson.”

  I glanced down again at the check and read the fine print.

  It was also from Ian.

  ~~~~~

  Small details. Small details.

  I guess fifty thousand dollars are small details when you’re a billionaire.

  It began to make sense. Ian was insistent on me not worrying about the details of my education and that he’d take care of it. While I’m grateful to him, I’m also paranoid. Michelle’s warning about him came to the forefront and I only wondered what it all meant now.

  I owed Ian. Ian, in return, owned me.

  While I don’t have to worry about money, I do have to worry about when Ian wanted to cash in on his generosity. No man pays that much for a woman’s, well, anything, and doesn’t expect something in return. Something as in any of the available holes in my body.

  No wonder Ian didn’t want me to become a sex worker. He wanted me to be his personal whore.

  You know what? That’s fine. At least I’m sleeping with one guy who’s attractive, has a dreamy British accent, and he’s not obeast. If I have to be Ian’s whore, so be it.

  I could’ve gone to the bank to cash the check but I decided to hold off on it. I needed to talk to Ian and get clear details on what he was expecting from our newfound, ahem, relationship.

  Something tells me I just bit off a whole lot more than I can chew. I just hope I don’t choke.

  Five

  I went straight to Sentiment from the financial aid office. I figured since I met Ian here yesterday, there’s a chance he’d be here today.

  I still felt out of place. I briefly looked around and saw numerous executives brokering over their power lunches and thousand-dollar Gucci suits. I saw socialites gossiping about the latest surgery their adversaries did and how horrible the job was while they tried to laugh through their Botox-filled cheeks.

  And here I was, fly and cocky-fresh in torn jeans, worn eight-year-old Jordans, and a tank top that barely covered my navel. Yeah, I totally fit in here.

  I went up to the maître ‘d who looked at me if I smelled like day-old funk and collard greens. “Is Ian Ferguson available?”

  “He’s not here,” he replied in an arrogant voice that suggested he didn’t associate with anyone brown like moi. “May I help you?”

  “Yes, I’m Dominique Kimbrough. Can you tell him I came by?”

  “Oh, Ms. Kimbrough,” the maître ‘d’s face quickly morphed into a pleasant and warm smile. Apparently, I
just said the phrase that pays (a lot). “Mr. Ferguson told me you would be coming here. He has something for you.” He handed me a bulky envelope. “Your car is parked outside.”

  “I’m sorry, my what is what?” I knew I didn’t just hear what I just heard.

  ~~~~~

  Yesterday morning, I was down to my last dollar and praying to God to find a way to keep me in school and my finances in check. Today, I owe the Big Man all the favors in the world.

  My car…I’m assuming it’s mine…is a silver Audi.

  My first car was a used Honda civic and trust, I ran that car into the ground. It sat five but one time I managed to have eight of us in there (that’s another story).

  Now I’m rolling around in LA in a sleek Audi with all of the bells and whistles.

  I was given explicit instructions to drive to Ian’s home and not make any pit stops. His place was already programmed into the dashboard GPS so all I had to do is pull out of Sentiment and head straight there. I guess he knew I was going to have questions and he was prepared to see me.

  The list of questions seemingly grew by the minute:

  Why are you so generous?

  Is this a real-life version of Pretty Woman?

  Do you do this with all of your bitches?

  How am I supposed to repay you?

  Is this my car for keeps ‘cause I ain’t giving it back.

  Maybe I shouldn’t ask the last one.

  GPS led to a very expensive apartment complex I’m very familiar with. It was located directly across from the Grove and a few times I’ve driven through the open road in the apartment complex. It was a very expensive community (hell, all of LA is but this is really the cream of the crop) and I’ve always wondered who was able to afford to live there.

  Now I know.

  Per the instructions in the envelope, I drove up to the gate and entered a key code, which led the gates to immediately open. I parked at the designated spot and walked to the building that I assumed, housed Ian.

  As I took view of the plush green grass, tall palm trees, and bright California sun shining in my face, I wonder if this is something I need to get used to. Everyone always dreams of making it big and somewhere between graduating from high school and around 40, reality happens. You may not have given up on your dream but you become content for what is and you live with it. Some are happy with how their lives have turned out while some others, like myself, always hunger for a bit more.

  I took out my compact and refreshed my NYX Praline butter gloss, giving my pout a hefty smack. Then I was on my way to…you know what? I have no idea. All I know is that all I want is to feel Ian’s lips again. On the back of my neck. On the inside of my thighs. Kissing my sex as he worshipped my pearl.

  Damn, I really do need to get laid.

  I walked to the elevator and per the instructions given, I insert a key inside a slot and press the P button. Penthouse. I should be surprised but really, I’m not.

  I arrived at the penthouse floor and looked around. There was only one door other than emergency and I’m assumed that was the one I needed to be in front of. I rang the doorbell and just waited. These past 24 hours became increasingly stranger.

  The door suddenly opened and a smiling Ian, complete with dimples, stood behind it. He wore a fitted blue shirt with jeans. I immediately envisioned his muscular, athletic physique beneath it. He had a sensual, yet quiet masculinity about him as if he never had to prove anything. Take him or leave him.

  “Dominique,” his deep voice feathered my ears, “I’m glad you passed the first test.”

  This was a test? I do not like pop quizzes. “Oh?”

  “You do what you’re told with no questions asked,” his light eyes sparkled, “that’s very good. I don’t like repeating myself.”

  The immediate question in my mind was who else he’d given this test but I kept it cute and mute. “Duly noted.” He stepped aside and let me in. I was immediately floored by the hardwood floors, vaulted ceilings, and open windows from every corner. His home was spacious, yet understatedly expensive.

  The largest TV I had ever seen hung on the wall in the living room. The furniture was sleek, old-school, and fabric, accented with colorful pillows. A rug, I’m assuming was the stereotypical only-the-rich-can-afford Persian, laid out in front of the fireplace. A small staircase was hidden in the far corner. Several bookcases aligned the wall and I don’t have to assume if Ian read any of those books. He doesn’t seem like the type who would do things for show.

  It was a two-story penthouse and worth every single penny. It looked surprisingly lived in. It looked like a home many people had for years, and not one of the world’s most famous bachelors.

  “Did you find it here okay?” He asked as he walked into the kitchen.

  I followed Ian and sat down at the island with marble countertop. His kitchen, just like the rest of the home I imagined, felt wealthy. “Yes, no problems, at all.”

  “Good, good. I’m glad to hear.” He opened the refrigerator and pulled out a variety of groceries. “Hungry?”

  “Starving.” Just then I heard the sound of click-clack on the floors and I looked towards the direction of it all. A tall, blonde with swaying long hair and a body that suggested she spent more time hunched over a toilet than enjoying a meal, strutted up to Ian without acknowledging my presence. Well, fuck you too, bitch.

  “Ian,” she spoke in a tiny sing-song voice. “I need to go now.” She gave a pathetic frown. Really, bitch?

  Ian wrapped his arm around her toothpick waist and patted the piece of flesh I supposed was her ass. “Take care of yourself. Tanya, this is my new assistant, Dominique.”

  Toothpick Tanya’s face immediately became pleasant as she realized I wasn’t competition. “Hi Dominique!” She gave a saccharine smile.

  I don’t like her. I don’t know her and I don’t like her. How dare she sleep with my man? Yeah, he doesn’t know we’re dating but we are in my head, okay? “Hello,” I cordially replied.

  “I’ll see you later?” She turned back to Ian.

  “Yeah,” Ian replied. I was pretty sure he wasn’t sincere with his promise. I was also pretty sure it wasn’t in my place to say.

  Toothpick soon left, leaving me and Ian alone together. “Girlfriend?”

  Ian began chopping vegetables and shook his head. “No.” He didn’t offer any other explanation than that and I didn’t pry. Again, Ian will only tell me what he thinks I should know. I don’t need to know his personal life. Well, I want to but obviously, I’m not going to.

  I decided to turn the conversation to why I was there to begin with. “Thank you for paying off my tuition.”

  “You’re very welcome,” he briefly looked up and met my eyes.

  A warm sensation flooded my being and I tightly pressed my legs together in hopes to stop it from creeping upward and slapping me in the face. “And the generous check as well.” I replied. “But I have questions.”

  “I’m sure you do,” he continued chopping vegetables. “Go for it.”

  “Why?” I asked. “I don’t understand.”

  “You needed my help. I’m giving it to you.” His voice was matter-of-fact.

  “How am I supposed to pay you back?”

  “You’re going to work for me. You working for me is paying for your tuition, generosity, and new car. You’ll get a stipend, however, so you won’t be broke.”

  So, that Audi was mine. The news should’ve made me ecstatic and yet, I find myself apprehensive. “Am I going to be your whore?”

  Ian immediately stopped chopping and set down his knife. He let out a couple of deep breaths. Clearly, I just pissed him off. He looked up at me and whatever smile he had a couple of minutes ago was gone. Annoyance filled in the furrowed eyebrows and small creases across his forehead.

  First day on the job, last day on the job.

  “No. I wouldn’t spend a hundred thousand just to sleep with you.” He began chopping vegetables again.

 
A hundred thousand? He just dropped that much? What the…? “How long have you been watching me?”

  “For a while now,” he revealed, “you were always so nice and pleasant at Caffeinated. If you want me to be honest…?”

  “Please?”

  “I wanted to sleep with you and was planning to ask you out to do so,” he took out a steak and began seasoning it, “then I saw you at my bar and you looked like you needed a friend.”

  I was cute enough for him to sleep with but my broke ass literally saved me in other ways. I’m not quite sure how I liked he told me why I’m permanently in the friendzone.“So you decided to not sleep with me in order to help me?”