“And I will,” I countered. “I got you. I ain’t make no waves in the last week either, right?”
“I guess so.” She exhaled. “I just…” She paused while she thought of her next statement. “I just need you to do a little more than just survive and endure this marriage.”
“A’ight, well you tell me what I need to do and I’ll do that shit. I told you that.”
“I didn’t know you meant I literally needed to walk you through it.”
“Ain’t that the point of a publicist? To tell me what to do in public? If you want this reference and shit as much as you say you do, act like it.”
Chandler nodded once. I saw when she got in her head. She went back to cooking but I could tell she was actually formulating a plan for me and my fake ass marriage.
Chandler was amazing at what she did, but ultimately she only did it for me and Rome because we were family. She wanted to branch out and find another client. She wanted to work with someone who wasn’t us, and I understood her wanting to feel more independent, but unfortunately for her, me and Rome were both liabilities. It was a bad look for her to only have two clients and for both to consistently be all over media outlets for doing crazy or fucked up shit.
She’d asked us both to reel it in when she started seeking a third client and we agreed but I hadn’t lasted long beforethe altercation outside of Trapp’s little listening party and my impromptu marriage.
That was how I’d ended up stuck in the fucking marriage, at least until Chandler was able to get contracts signed.
I loved her. So if I had to fucking smile and wave and stop knocking mothafuckas out for a few weeks, that was the least I could do.
“I think today seems like a great day for you to hang out with your wife,” Chandler said after a while. “I’ll narrow down public appearances for you two but radio silence on both sides for an entire week isn’t a good sign and we don’t want you to pop out together for the first time and seem awkward or uncomfortable. You’re supposed to look happy and in love.”
“Yeah, alright.”
I sent my email then went back to Skroll and slid into Myome’s messages.
RealDrix: Lunch?
She read it and responded almost immediately.
Myyomee: Sure.
RealDrix: #?
I watched her number appear and added it to my phone to shoot her a text to set something up.
“We’re getting lunch,” I announced.
“Thank you.”
“Yeah, yeah.” I waved her off.
I whipped into Myome’s driveway and looked up at her crib. It was cool. She stayed in a nice middle class neighborhood. I opted to pick her up for the optics and she agreed since it made sense to her too.
She came out a few minutes after I parked, in jeans hugging her thick body just right and a cropped plain black shirt showing parts of her stomach as she moved.
She had curly deep brown hair that looked redish when the sun hit it and freckles littered her nose and cheeks.
I let my eyes drift over her while I hopped out to open the door for her. She stood there blinking at me for a moment before she actually climbed in. I did another onceover of her spot before hopping into the car.
“You in the mood for anything specific?” I asked.
“Nope. Surprise me.”
“Alright.”
I knew where I wanted to go as soon as she said she didn’t care, so I put music on and headed out to the old hood where I grew up. There was a lil diner out there with the best food I’d ever had and I’d tried enough five-star restaurants with people trying to dick ride me to know what I was talking about.
I hopped out first but Myome climbed her ass out before I could get to her side.