The Game Never Ends. Zaire Crown
of paying restitution. Years back, she peeped the biblical connection between a man who had done so much evil under the name Caine trying to do good using the name Abel.
Tuesday always tried to downplay her sexy at work. She wore a navy-blue custom Dior pant-suit that didn’t draw too much attention to her curves. She complemented the look with a white blouse and heels appropriate for the office. Insecurity still made her feel like all the white faces stared at her.
The CEO’s office was on the seventieth floor. It was a massive space with plush carpeting and ultra-modern decor. The walls consisted of wooden tiles in a layered herringbone pattern, except for the rear, which was a floor-to-ceiling picture window. Its sliding door led to a narrow balcony, but the potential seven-hundred-foot drop made Tuesday enjoy her scenic view of the Pacific coast from behind the tempered glass.
Tuesday was relieved when her secretary told her she had a light agenda with no tedious meetings; however, that quickly changed when she found a mountain of paperwork waiting on the desk. Brandon’s office had delivered thirty different reports from twelve departments that needed to be read and signed by the day’s end.
When she first took her new identity as Tabitha Green, Marcus had given her a driver’s license, birth certificate, social security card, medical records, along with detailed work and credit histories. Later he added a Master’s in Business Administration once he decided to make her CEO. The forged degree from Wharton hung on the wall.
Tuesday had never stepped on a college campus and feared those working under her could sense it.
In their presence she knew to tone down the slang, to speak proper English. She knew so many others within the company were more qualified. The woman she sent on Starbucks runs actually had more education than she.
All these concerns were voiced to Marcus from the start, but as usual, he had convinced her she could handle it by running some smooth shit on her. He explained that a conductor doesn’t know how to play every instrument in his orchestra. It’s only his job to delegate, to make sure the wind, string, and percussion sections played together in harmony. Like a conductor, it would be her job to oversee the whole.
At the time, that analogy made sense to Tuesday but she soon found a huge flaw in it. They didn’t hand a baton to any random bitch off the street who walked into Carnegie Hall.
Over the past fifteen years, rappers and every nigga on the street had screamed “I’m a Boss!” until the word had lost all credibility. Even Tuesday was guilty of this, because back when she was hitting licks, she had the nerve to call herself Boss Lady, as if owning a rundown strip club earned her the right. Being at Abel made her realize that she had no idea of what it meant to be a real boss. Thousands of people were depending on her for their livelihood. Any poor decision on her part could sink the company, costing them their homes, cars, and savings.
Hours later, Tuesday was developing a migraine and was only halfway through the second report. Some division was asking her to allocate nine million dollars for some type of fuel research for their international cargo freighters. At least that’s what she got from it because the language barely made sense to her.
At lunch time, Tuesday exploded out of her office, eager to get away from the reading. Her tired eyes were starting to string the words together in an endless run-on sentence of nonsense. She needed a sandwich, a 5-Hour Energy, and a little cardio to recharge. After a cold cut combo from Subway, Tuesday was down in the company gym wearing yoga pants and a sports bra, working on an elliptical.
Tuesday had hardly built up a light sweat when she looked over to see Shaun walk in. Shaun was dressed in yellow Spandex and selected a machine only several away from hers. They always tried to keep things low-key at work but Tuesday didn’t know how Shaun would respond after their blow-up last night.
First the mixed-breed beauty did some stretching that advertised her flexibility to every straight male in the gym. Then she took a swallow of Gatorade, pulled out her iPod, and stuffed her ears with music. She started going hard on a stair-climber as if oblivious to all the eyes and erections pointed in her direction.
While Shaun didn’t even acknowledge Tuesday, she received the message.
Tuesday wasn’t surprised that a young bitch like Shaun was playing games but wondered what else she had up. She didn’t know if Shaun would keep things cool or was still planning to put their relationship on blast.
To Tuesday, the most important thing was that Marcus already knew, but still, she didn’t want a scandal that would embarrass the family. For the rest of the workday Shaun’s threat hovered like a storm cloud.
Chapter Seven
Marcus and Tuesday didn’t go out often, especially with her husband playing hermit lately. However, Tuesday talked him into a late dinner at his favorite restaurant. They left a sitter at the house with Tanisha and Danielle, who was still giving Tuesday the cold shoulder.
It was ten thirty when they arrived at Dominic’s on Wilshire Blvd. It was a family-owned restaurant that had been serving Los Angelinos the finest Italian cuisine for close to sixty years. Marcus had been a regular and then converted Tuesday when he introduced her to their veal scaloppini.
Even without a reservation, she and Marcus insisted on a table that gave them a view of the entrance without putting them too close to the bathroom.
Sometime after their order was taken, Tuesday presented him with a box containing a new Parmigiani watch from Cellini Jewelers. When he asked why, Tuesday simply said because she wanted to. They met over the table for a kiss.
Of course, the dinner and gift was just Tuesday trying to cushion the blow. She wanted to resign as CEO. She spent the whole afternoon looking for the best way to tell him.
After the lunch break she spent another hour poring over the reports before she finally gave up. The decision had been made right then. For the rest of the workday she just trolled social media and played games on her phone.
She needed to explain to Marcus that he might have changed her name but couldn’t change what she was. Tuesday Knight was not Tabitha King. Tuesday Knight was a hood bitch, not cut out for this corporate shit. She was not some lazy bitch who wasn’t down to pull her own weight, but she couldn’t handle running his company. She just wanted a cute little clothing boutique where girls larger than a size four could come get fly for a fair price.
Because of how they met, Tuesday always felt like she had to prove herself. She came into his life only looking to seduce and rob Sebastian Caine before she fell in love with Marcus King. Guilt over that kept her never wanting to disappoint her man. This made it hard for her to tell him how she felt at times.
She figured the conversation could wait until after they had eaten. Marcus might be less combative with a stomach full of pasta and wine.
While he inspected his new gift, Tuesday looked around the restaurant to notice something odd. Nobody was eating. The place was three-quarters filled with diners, most of whom had arrived before Tuesday and Marcus, but no one had been served. Most of the other patrons were couples, a few were in groups of three or four, but nobody had any food in front of them. Diners were laughing, talking, or in hushed conversation, all over spotless white linen tablecloths that held no Italian cuisine.
Dominic’s had a long-standing reputation for fine food as well as excellent service. Two waiters were coming back and forth from the kitchen, but Tuesday didn’t see either carrying plates. It also dawned on her that twenty minutes had passed since their order was taken and their table had not even received bread.
What seemed merely strange slowly started to appear ominous. Nobody was complaining or demanding an explanation. The fact that everyone was chatting and laughing as if totally oblivious made her suspicious.
Tuesday’s pulse quickened. Something felt wrong. It became hard for her to breathe. Her anxiety started to build the same way it used to just before she had a panic attack.
But that was impossible because she was over her OCD. She hadn’t suffered an attack in almost three years.