I pretended to think about it for a second, even though I already knew my answer. "Aight, bet. I'm down. Just text me the details. The date, time, what kind of dress I should get, all that."
"Wonderful." He looked genuinely happy, which was kind of cute in an old man way. "I'll send everything to you tomorrow. And Yah-Yah, Thank you. I know this is outside of our usual... arrangement. But I promise it'll be worth your while."
"Aight, I gotta go now. Text me when you tryna see me again."
"I will. Get home safe, Beautiful."
I grabbed my purse and headed for the door, my heels clicking against the marble floor. Just as I stepped into the hallway and the door closed behind me, my phone started buzzing in my hand.
I looked at the screen.
Rylo.
My face immediately twisted up, and I felt that familiar irritation rise in my chest. This nigga had some motherfucking nerve calling me. I hit decline so fucking fast.
"Ol' bitch-ass nigga," I muttered under my breath, dropping my phone back in my purse as I walked toward the elevator. "Got me fucked up if he think I'm answering his calls."
I pressed the button for the elevator, tapping my foot impatiently as I waited. My phone buzzed again but I didn't even look. He could call a hundred times for all I cared.
The elevator doors opened and I stepped inside, checking my reflection in the mirrored walls. Even irritated, I looked good. Hair laid, dress hugging me right, skin glowing. I looked like money.
As the elevator descended, I thought about Mr. Clyde's offer. Six times my normal rate. And all I had to do was put on a pretty dress and smile at some rich people for a few hours, that shit was easy money.
My phone buzzed a third time.
I pulled it out, fully ready to curse Rylo's ass out, but this time it wasn't a call, it was a text.
Rylo: Baby please pick up. We need to talk.
I didn't respond. I didn't even open the message fully so he couldn't see the read receipt. Then another text came through.
Rylo: I know you mad about Morgan, but it wasn't like that…just call me back.
Wasn't like that?
The audacity of this man. The fucking audacity. He really thought he could just text me some weak-ass excuse and I'd come running back.
The elevator reached the lobby, and I stepped out. A few people glanced at me as I walked through, but I was used to that, used to being looked at. I knew I stood out, especially in a place like this where most of the women were older white ladies in their sensible outfits.
But I didn't give a fuck. I belonged anywhere I decided to be.
I walked outside where the valet was posted up, and the night air hit me. It was cold as hell, because this was Chicago and it was never not cold. I pulled my jacket tighter around me and opened the Uber app.
My phone buzzed again. Another text from Rylo.
Rylo: I was drunk. I fucked up but it didn't mean shit….
Rylo: I’m sorry for putting my hands on you…
I literally laughed out loud. This nigga really thought that was a good excuse, I typed back quickly.
Me: lose my number bitch
Then I blocked him. I should've done it weeks ago, but I kept the lines of communication open, tryna give him a chance to explain, I kept letting him text me his weak ass apologies. But I knew I was completely fucking done. It was no way we could come back from this.
I requested my Uber, and it was three minutes away. I stood under the fancy awning, watching cars pull up and drive off, rich people coming and going like they owned the world.
That's what people didn't understand about girls like me. They looked at what I did and wanted to judge, wanted to act like I was supposed to be ashamed or some shit. But I wasn't. I was strategic. I was smart. I knew how to use what I had to get what I needed. And right now, what I needed was money, stability, and a way out.