“Me, I guess,” I told Harmony, shooting her a grin. It had been a few weeks since that first meeting at Duncan’s bougie restaurant, but I’d gotten a few work-related emails from Harmony, and had been on a couple of calls with her. Her uncle hadn’t given up trying to get me to sign his contract and it seemed to me he’d tasked Harmony with becoming some sort of bait to lure me in.
One glance at her sharp-looking, designer suit and three-inch heels and I thought maybe the man knew what he was doing. Those legs of hers were fucking killer and she knew how to work them.
“So if the barista gets to call you that, then can I?”
“Hell no,” I said, dunking the wet stirrer into the trash can.
“That hardly seems fair.” She stepped closer, moving into my space like she’d been invited. Couldn’t say I hated the attention she gave me or how Harmony adjust my collar and straightened my tie. “This is a good one.” She smoothed her fingers over the knot, her gaze on the red and gray pinstripe fabric. “But I know a guy who can custom-make you the best tie you’ve ever worn.” Harmony brought her attention back to my face and patted the tie, like she wanted to touch it one last time before she lost her chance. “My treat.”
“Now why would you wanna buy a man who’s not your man a tie?”
“Hmmm…” I kinda dug how the woman played, how she pretended to give my questions some serious thought, leaning against the counter with two fingers tapping against her chin. “Well, one, because I like the way my guy cuts his fabric.”
“And two?” I prompted when her gaze returned to my tie.
“And two, ” she said, returning her fingers to my tie just for a second. “Because I like the way you wear a suit, Mr. Nations.”
The room around us went a little quiet as I watched this woman, how her mouth went soft just as her eyes simmered. Harmony didn’t strike me as a woman who liked to play games. She seemed to be the sort to take what she wanted and apologize later.
It had been a long time since any woman not trying to juju up my aura or convince me there was some mystical damn reasons we kept running into each other had hit on me. Didn’t hurt my feelings that a fine, smart woman stood right in front of me now doing that very thing.
“Miss Shannon, are you working a game on me?”
Her smile came quick and there no apologies behind the gestures. “Of course I am. But you should know, I’m not a hit it and quit it type. Especially not with you.”
“Why me especially?”
She moved her hand to my shoulder, seeming not to care that I didn’t lean into her or that we weren’t alone in this coffee shop. Harmony looked at me like she wanted me and wasn’t acting all that bothered that she had an audience to witness it.
“Because, Nash, you’re gorgeous and smart, and one day I really believe you’re gonna change the world.” She leaned forward, moving her mouth next to my ear. “That turns me on. So damn much.”
“Hmm…” The noise was all I could manage for half a second. Then I stepped back, taking Harmony’s wrist because I wanted her to know I didn’t hate the idea of us together. “There isn’t a lot of time for anything but my work right now.”
“Good,” she said, moving that familiar Cheshire smile back onto her mouth. “For now, I don’t have time for anything but the thing that will satisfy the turn me on stuff. Everything else will come later.”
“You’re so sure there will be a later.” I shook my head when that smooth smile of her only got bigger. “Why is that?”
“Because, Nash, I plan on being around when that later comes.”
Harmony kissed my cheek, touching my tie one more time before she stepped back. “You got my number. Use it. Any time you want.” And then, she left the coffee shop, brushing her thick, auburn hair from her shoulder before she shot a wink back at me.
She was honest… and obvious, and for the first time in a long time, I had uncomplicated, basic thoughts. Thoughts about sex and desire and the kind of life I’d always believed I wanted. A life I’d only ever dreamed of: excess and money; wealth and prosperity. Why else had I worked so hard? What were all those long hours studying for if not to earn the prestige Duncan’s investment could give me, or the effortless companionship someone like Harmony made clear was available?
Roan had a limp, something I knew had gotten worse since I first met him as a punk kid at Howard trying to pass Chem 101. He’d taken time from his teaching duties to tutor me and something had clicked. He became the cool cat too old for students to notice, but to me, he was a man without limits. The kind of man I wanted to be. I kept in touch with him even after he retired, and he stayed my mentor through the years. It was Roan, in fact, who gave me the push to plant roots in New York. “Opportunity,” he’d said, “lives with the masses.”
I’d listened, and while I waited for Nations to make a little noise, Roan kept his birds, spending most of his time on top of the pre-war building he owned downtown. It was a run-down, shabby place that he hoarded, didn’t want company or tenants, preferring some quiet and solitude after years in academia, so I knew where to find him when my life was turning to hell.
The pigeons cooed and sang like it was Showtime at the Apollo and Roan was Steve Harvey, laughing at their noise like it was the sweetest music he’d ever heard. He was somewhere upwards of 6’2, a wiry old man who wore his salt and pepper beard a little long, a little unkempt but his clothes, which reminded me of some once-was player still keeping himself sharp and his swag on point, were pristine, ironed jeans with starched creases and a designer sweater, wool pea coat, and a page boy pulled low over his bushy eyebrows.
“Nephew,” Roan said, laugh low, amused at the small tease he’d shot my way. I wasn’t his kin but he still liked to call me that, and when he did, the word always made him laugh. Roan waved me onto the roof when I peeked out of the stairwell door. “Come on.”
“My man.” I greeted him with a quick slap of our palms touching before he gave me a one-arm hug. “How those feathery rats of yours?”
“Watch your tongue.” He still smiled despite my insult, those light eyes of his, almost green, lighting up as he messed with one of the cages; two pigeons jumped on the railing in the center, flying closer to the other side. “What’s up? You lost? Haven’t seen you in going on two months.”
“Been trying to perfect the code. Duncan is getting restless.”
Roan nodded, one corner of his mouth twitching up as he continued to adjust the broken side of the pigeons’ cage. “Seems to me, from what you say, that Duncan is always restless.”
“He wants to start throwing money at the company. I’m close. He knows it. He’s ready for me to sign a contract so he can start promoting.” This time Roan shook his head, nibbling on his bottom lip like he had to fight to keep something rude from coming out of his mouth. That never lasted for long. “Go on,” I told him, laughing as he shrugged.
“It’s not my business…”
“That’s never stopped you before.”
He smiled outright then, pulling off the gloves he wore so he could push his hands into the pockets of his coat. Roan leaned against the low brick ledge that divided the roof into sections. All around us that brick was covered in graffiti, artwork from gang members or punk kids he’d scared off some years back when he bought the building. He’d never bothered fixing the place up and now, if I came here to see him and that paint was gone, it wouldn’t seem like Roan’s place at all.