Money problems. Wow. To hear Dr. Victor Finch complaining with someone on the phone makes me wonder why and who he owes $500,000 to. I woke up around 3am to pee, just to overhear that Victor owes someone so much money! Vic owes somebody an actual home, I consider while placing the flowers at Urban Gardens outside the next morning. To think I keep meeting him at the Bulgari and he won’t pay a debt. Wow, he needs to get his priorities straight.
"Mmmm, shorty looking kinda right today," Deondre says from behind me. His eyes are undoubtedly plastered onto my jeans.
I straighten up and turn around. "Good morning, Deondre."
"What?" He begins with a smile while handing me a cup of coffee, "No, ‘I'm not short’ today as you roll your neck? No talking back?"
I take a sip of the coffee while trying not to smile. "Not today."
"Talk to me, ma. Tell me what's going on and why you aren’t giving your coffee or tea to Aliyah."
"So, you know I never drink it?" I chuckle. Wow, Deondre usually can’t get me to laugh. Or if I’m getting ready to start Aliyah comes sliding through all late.
“Yeah. Guess it’s just wishful thinking that one day our little chats will be over coffee. Man, I think I even ordered almost every kind of tea available, all just to see if we could chat for a while and it would lead to you going out with me. Miss Independent, you don’t make it easy on a brother," he provides a 1000-watt smile, of clear white teeth. If only I had made Deondre smile like this a few months back.
Now I’m stuck on Vic so this sexy sight does nothing for me.
“Deondre,” I bite my lip, “I'm not dating..."
“You sure?” Deondre gives an arched eyebrow that makes him look even sexier. “Word on the streets is that you got a white boy. And yes, I’m checking up on you, Lux."
I take another sip of the coffee, wanting so desperately not to answer that question. “It's complicated.”
“I see.” Deondre backs on out the door, with a smile. He really is a nice guy, despite the fact that he's a player and I know it. But why do I feel like Deondre has been waiting for us. Besides knowing that, his easy on the eye looks pulls him a bunch of random women, he has never brought them by cup after cup of coffee or tea. It’s like we had a chance, but I never even allowed it to start.
At this place in my life, I don't want to make any moves. Victor and his ever-changing situation has my mind in disarray. He's splurged on dinner each time we ate, and that hotel room must be racking up. His clothing is expensive, even his undergarments sport a tag name. Yet, he's in debt for more money than I’ll probably see in a lifetime.
$500,000.
He's bossy. Egotistical. One day Vic will be gone with the wind. But until then I’m captivated by his intensity. The sex is to die for.
Again, Mom’s words are in the back of my head. My dearest Lux, I wish you adventure on this journey we call life. Victor is nothing short of a jaw-dropping escapade. Then again, Mom said, “listen to your heart, and weigh out risks…” Of all Mom’s golden morsels of advice, I never pondered this one.
Heart and Mind.
Those two entities are so uncomplimentary that the bit of insight doesn’t even make sense.
“Mom that is the lousiest advice you’ve ever given,” I say to myself, while chuckling through my tears. The heart knows not the worries of risk. The brain knows not the depth of the heart…
This day turns out to be a very lonely one as Aliyah called about 30 minutes into shift to tell me that she wasn't feeling well. It's a Tuesday. Not many people buy flowers on a Tuesday, so I end up with my kindle reading one of my guilty conscious street lit books. As I'm engrossed in the never-ending suspense, someone steps inside. I look up quickly. The intensity of the person's presence makes me think that it’s Victor. Instead of hypnotic blue eyes threatening to possess me to the point of insanity, I look into the murky green ones.
The man is big, and I mean really big. Must be close to 7 feet tall. His buzz cut is a pale blond and almost matches his skin tone; one of his arms is the size of my thighs put together. He has on what may have been a white tee–now soiled yellow with spots and underarm stains– that stretches across his beefy chest, and army fatigues that appear to have been on his body for years.
"Good afternoon, Sir, how can I help you?" I smile despite the discomfort that I'm feeling while looking at the jagged scars in his arms, and it even appears that someone had attempted to slit his throat. There’s a raise whelp going halfway across the left side of his neck.
"Hello, beautiful," he begins in a tone that's meant for one of those Russian war movies. The guy leans over onto the glass counter, and more scars from his thick knuckles become apparent. "You have gorgeous eyes, wow," he says.
"Thank you," I instinctively step back. My neighbor, Trina, walks past the window of the store. My heart clenches as she continues on without coming inside.
"That is good, it's just me and you," the man says, looking back too. Then his attention is sole on me again.
"What do you want?" My arms fold, knowing the man is trying to be menacing.
"Your eyes." He makes this quick movement as if to show me how quickly it would be to pluck out my eyes.
The hair on the back of my neck rises, goose bumps dot my arms, and the Russian knows it. His lips curve and jagged crocked teeth begin to smile. This bastard is enjoying himself. Taking a deep breath, Lux from the Bronx takes over, "How funny, so you like my eyes, but that ain’t as funny as your ass being full of buck shots if you don't get the hell out of here!" I shout at him, and step toward the register as if to indicate that I have some type of heat if he continues. The man's hands again lean on the glass, and then he pulls himself up and slides over.
My heart drops into the pit of my stomach as I look up, up, up at him.
“Luxury, girl, stop playing with me, ma, really when we going … out?” Deondre starts into the store.
My eyes wrench away from this beast of a man to my friend. Deondre has this look as his head cocks to the side, and his chest puffs up.
"Hey, man," Deondre says from the door, pulling a gun from his pocket. "Step the fuck away from–"
Instead of heeding the warning, the Russian's hands wrap around my neck and he holds me back to him like a shield. A foul odor from his musty pits threatens to subdue me.
"I'll take this little bitch out, squeeze her head from her neck in one quick sweep!"
He begins to back away, while strong-arming my neck with one hand. The difficulty of breathing as my neck is being tightened, thrust me toward a hazy light...