Zariah
These last two weeks have been a whirlwind. Watching Natasha as she bulldozed her smash cake was the highlight of it. Second only to me promising to Vassili that I will always be there, regardless of how scary his matches can be.
We had a great time in Brazil after the fight with Tiago. His confidence brings me life. Yet, my mind continues to roam to the night after the fight. When we went to the bar with Yuri and Taryn.
Sitting at Billingsley Legal, the family law firm I work for, I click the top of my pen, listening to the rapid sound, letting it soothe my constant worry. My room isn’t the biggest in the building, but it’s cozy with a custom suede couch and pictures of my family all around.
I haven’t been to work in over ten days, and I’m stuck on how Vassili gave me the cold shoulder at the bar, regardless of the fuck marathon we had before and the amazing sex we had after. All I wanted was one dance!
Usually, I can’t get his hands off me, not that I’d ever want to. But every once in a while, I’m stuck with the cold shoulder. We can be out, holding hands. There are certain instances where he won’t kiss me. But I swear the second we are behind closed doors, he’s all over me….
Like he most often is, out in public. I guess I hadn’t noticed it in the past couple of months because, hey? What can I say? We have argued about his return to the cage after the loss to Louie Gotti the damn Legion, who reminded Vassili of a man he murdered for me when I was seventeen.
We rarely talk about his parents. Damn, am I trying to make a connection here? He will become distant and need his space after mentioning something despicable his father did to his mother. But Vassili hasn’t talked to his father since the night we woke up married in Vegas. He told the bastard never to call again… So that leaves me.
I glance down at myself in a designer, peach colored pantsuit. There’s a little pudge to my stomach that I haven’t been able to rid myself of, but I always assumed that my after-baby hips weren’t too big. Heck, ass and hips are a good thing. And the thug of a man that I married never had a problem with it. I need to work on this tummy. With that consideration, I click faster, unable to concentrate on work. At 175 pounds, I am twenty pounds over what I was when Vassili and I met.
“I trick people well with custom suits and high heels, but damn, not in the bedroom.” My thumb moves in rapid succession with the pen.
Samuel pops his head inside the room. His thick eyebrows arch before he steps inside, a cream suit pops against his dark brown skin. The smile on his face fades. “Why so down?”
“Nothing, nothing.” I place the pen on the table.
He assesses me a second longer then offers a confident smile.
“Meeting in a few. We have a new—”
“Uncle Sammy, that new guy is a dream,” Connie sneaks into the office behind him. She’s a redbone with a slim shape, yet lord only knows she can wear blood red and not have this sexy oomph that most women have. She’s too starry eyed when it comes to love. She’s the woman I never wanted to be until I met Vassili.
“Who’s this new guy?” I ask, aware that whomever he is will be the topic of discussion at Pokilicious, me and Connie’s favorite lunch hour restaurant, tomorrow.
Samuel regards his niece with a look. “You two can chat about Mr. Nicks after hours. I don’t want him meandering down the hall, hearing anything that can cause him to file for sexual harassment. Zariah, how’s Mora?” His inquiry ends the previous discussion but presents an array of questions of my very own.
“She’s… good… as usual,” I begin. My eyes narrow in thought. It never fails, Samuel asking about my mom. He always uses her nickname, Mora, short for Zamora. Something my dad never agreed with. And damn it, but my mother and I can be deep in discussion or chuckling while watching our favorite show, and here she goes. Mom subtly asks about—
“Tyrese Nicks,” Connie butts into my thoughts. Her light brown eyes have a faraway look.
It’s on the tip of my tongue to tell Connie to stop playing ‘high school’ and go for the goal, but Samuel is mentioning lawsuits again on his way out.
“Counselor, you better leave him alone before you catch a case,” I joke.
With a tiny giggle, Connie leaves me to my own devices.
***
An hour later, Vassili texts me, “Lunch?”
Since Samuel is squeezed in the 11am meeting, and I’m not certain how long it will take. Especially if he has to introduce “Tyrese Nicks.” I bite my lip and respond.
ME: Make it late??
While stepping out of my office, there is an island of cubicles in the center of the room where the interns and secretaries sit. With Billingsley Legal, a new and upcoming law firm, there is room to grow. Larger offices surround the perimeter.
I head to the conference room, chatting with my assistant, Lanetta, about an upcoming mediation between my client and her ex-husband, when I feel someone watching me. Not with hatred or anything, but the intensity is real.
Lanetta turns around as I do. “Oh, Tyrese, please let me know if you’d like any help until a new assistant can be assigned to you,” Lanetta bats her fake eyelashes.
The man before us nods politely to her, although his gaze never leaves my own. Tyrese is a cool six feet, with creamy brown skin and the brother has a serious pair of dimples that place him in his late twenties at best, and also double as panty droppers. I can tell by the quality of his suit that he blazed through law school. Just like me. More power to my black brother for coming from a well to do family.
“Welcome to the team, Mr. Nicks.” I extend a hand.
“Zariah Washington, you don’t remember me?”
“Resnov,” I correct him with my award-winning smile. “And I can’t say that I recall…”
His brown orbs cloud at the sound of my last name. Shit, so now I can’t place Tyrese Nicks. Nevertheless, what I do recall is the fear that slammed into my chest the instant Vassili told me he was a Resnov. Mommy didn’t raise no fool. Apparently, he is aware of the name.
And he doesn’t associate the name with anything good. How to continue when one minute, the man is eyeing me like chocolate pudding and the next, sneering at the surname I married into?
Lanetta heads into the conference room, as he says, “Your father and mine were partners a very long time ago. I’ll never forget how… inspired you looked when sitting in on the Sullivan case. You looked at Samuel …”
The way you’re eyeing me? With a hunger?
“I heard my name,” Samuel cuts in.
“I was reminding Zariah about Sullivan.”
Samuel offers a grunt of disgust for the highly decorated cop who murdered four women.
“I was just about to tell her that you restored my faith in the justice system during his extensive litigation process.” Tyrese smiles at me, and the lingering gaze of his slowly slides away.
Samuel pats his back. “It’s trials like those that made me leave the DA office. Us defense attorneys need the police to assist with evidence. Felt like I was on my own.”
My mentor pats my shoulder as well. Damn, that was a dig at my father, who wasn’t too keen on cuffing his own, but every word Samuel just said was fact.
My phone buzzes as Tyrese holds the door. That’s a saving grace. Like hell do I want him ogling my ass as we walked in. I step a few paces away and they head inside.
VASSILI: meet at 2?
I smile and reply with a thumbs up while stuffing my cellphone into my pants pocket. Although skipping a meal will help counteract all my extra thickness, lunch with my husband and daughter is the cherry on top of the cupcake I shouldn’t have.