In Love with Ezra (Love Unaccounted Book 2) (15 page)

I could now hear Ms. Bethea confirming the other party was on the way. While she was on the call, Ms. Baker spoke up.

“Was that your only position with the city, Ms. Alexis?”

“Yes. I was with the rec for almost ten years,” I answered, and saw as Ms. Bethea hung up the phone.

“I was with CPS since 2001. It got to be too stressful for me in my old age. The system is so broke; we start off with defeat. Do you know Margaret Davis?”

“Oh, Marge? Yes. We go way back. We had each other on speed dial. She was a great help to our program, a total life saver.”

“I’ll have to tell her we met.” Kim smiled when she spoke.

“Make sure you tell her Lex. No one calls me Alexis. It actually sounds strange—”

“So, Ms. Alexis Grier?” I heard a familiar tenor rasp.

Not only could I no longer speak, I couldn’t breathe.
What is he doing here?

My body froze in complete shock, so I wasn’t able to turn behind me to confirm it was Ezra coming into the room. He’d never mentioned being in Harlem today, much less being a part of the interview.
What the fuck?
 

As he rounded the long conference table, his head stayed buried into the file he appeared to be fixated on. I assumed it was my résumé. He wore a blue suit, tailored to fit his large frame, a plaid dress shirt, matching tie and camel dress shoes. His beard was in a far more manicured condition than I last saw it this morning. It was dark, thick and neatly trimmed from his nose to neck. His hair was cut low with pronounced waves. It made no sense how my attraction to Ezra had increased tenfold since waking up in his bed every day. My mouth watered and pulse raced the moment his scent hit me.

And he wasn’t alone. Right behind him was the bitch growing as a thorn in my side each time I’d see her next to him. Why could he not be on this property without her shadowing him? Now that I could better account for my husband’s time or whereabouts, I wondered should I be concerned with how much time he spent with the princess here. Precious’ hair was swept back into a relaxed ponytail that bounced with each advancement she made behind him. She sported a peach two-piece suit, her skirt fitted just right to carve her femininity, but not enough to call inappropriate. I tried not to roll my eyes. At least I hope I didn’t.

“Ms. Grier, we usually make our interviews a two event process for prospective clients, but I was so blown away by our earlier talks that I quickly called these two in here to conduct the second interview,” Ms. Bethea explained. “This is the assistant pastor of
RSfALC
, Mr. Ezra Carmichael. I’m grateful to have caught him today, as he’s an extremely busy man and isn’t here every day.”

Ezra wouldn’t look at me. His eyes remained convincingly engaged in my resume.

“Next to him is our second in command for the business branches of the organization, including
Christ Cares
, Precious Graham. She acts as a liaison between all of the services provided out of
RSfALC
and reports back to the general church board.” My eyes lazily flitted over to Precious, who had her practiced smile flashing. I returned it without my teeth. “Mr. Carmichael and Ms. Graham will confer on my recommendations for hire. The position you’re applying for is supervisory, so they requested to screen all candidates I approve. I will allow them their questions now.” She nodded and turned her regard over to Ezra, and so did Precious. In fact, everyone did.  

I tried controlling my breathing. What the hell was he going to do if I didn’t answer their questions to his satisfaction? Divorce me? No matter how improbable that sounded, it didn’t relieve my anxiety. Ezra was a man of a certain elegance. He applied order. He’d always operated in deliberation, which is why his presence here concerned me. I had to perform well. Fuck if I got the job: I needed to deliver with dignity and confidence. Otherwise, I may have compromised his respect for me.

“Well,
Ms. Grier
,” he pronounced mockingly while still engaged below, flipping through the pages of my résumé and application. “I’m sure Ms. Bethea has gathered the preliminary information to determine your breadth of knowledge as it concerns the Social Services Coordinator role here at
Christ Cares
, so I won’t bore you with repetition.” He quieted for a moment, seemingly having come across something on there that caught his attention. We waited for a few seconds, the silence stifling. “Interesting résumé here. You either had a skilled composure or you winged it well.” That’s when his eyes met mine, amusement aligned them, but not the type I was included in on. Ezra was clowning me. I didn’t respond. I didn’t know how to. The jab was so unexpected. “At any rate,” he continued. “What I would like to ask are questions of matters concerning your availability as it relates to your personal world. Are you married…have children?”

My eyes bulged. Precious choked on her spit.

I quickly caught myself and replied, “I don’t see how that’s of any consequence to the job I’m applying for, Mr. Carmichael.”

His expression was deadpan when he qualified, “
Ms. Grier
,” there was that inflection of disgust at my name. “
Redeeming Souls
is the largest church in the state, and one of the largest in the Northeast region of the country. We’re a pillar to our community and have been looked upon to care for the less fortunate in our neighborhood. Currently the percentage of the population living below poverty level in Harlem is between twenty and thirty, according to the U.S. Census Bureau and New York City Planning Department,” he informed evenly and straightened his suit jacket in his seat. His presence and speech were intimidating, terrifying. “What that means is there are still people out there struggling for a warm bed, their next meal, educational opportunities, legal representation, and social advocacy. Their needs do not begin at eight in the morning and end at five in the evening. I need to be sure you’re willing to put in the unexpected hours required to meet the needs of our beloved city.”

“All of which I’m very aware, Mr.—”

“All of which can impede upon the well-roped social life of a single woman,
Ms. Grier
, hence my inquiry. Ms. Baker here, who would be the subordinate in this position, can leave at the end of the day, at a decent hour. But the Coordinator must stay to tend to the business of the day. Would you be able to endure possible twelve-hour days?”

If I wasn’t careful, I could forget his was the beard buried in my pussy just a few hours ago, pulling an orgasm from my sleeping body. It dripped of me. He was saturated with me. This motherfucker had just flipped the script. I didn’t want to answer the question of my marital status. It was clear to me that the only one outside of Ezra and me who knew we were married was Precious. I’d won over Ann independent of my relationship to her boss. I now questioned if Ezra was trying to sabotage my interview.

Suddenly, I thought of our chess games. We played together, at least, weekly. It was the only time I could have his exclusive attention outside of fucking. Ezra often applied life experience as rules of engagement on the board. He said time and time again,
when you learn your opponent, you can accurately predict their next move
.

“No,” I uttered, expression just as impassive as his.

“No?” his head pushed back, slightly.

“I’m afraid to inform you that you’re wrong, Pastor Carmichael,” I jabbed back, understanding he hated that title in most instances. It worked because his eyes widened, unusually. “The role of social services is not twelve hours a day. Similar to that of the pastor of a church, the job most often never ends. And contrary to your example of Ms. Baker leaving at her appointed time, she would not under my supervision. It takes a team to provide services to the underserved. If her or any of my subordinates’ roles were required, they’d stay with me until the need was met. So, I disagree that job can be fit into a timeframe, but can most certainly assure my availability and dedication to this role if I were hired.”

My breathing was erratic and I struggled to hide it. My heart was racing in my chest and mouth completely dry.

“Very well,” he murmured, nodding amicably then returned to my résumé and printed application. “What makes you think your qualifications can justify the salary on the table?”

That crisp question caused Ms. Bethea to clear her throat, her posture expressing her discomfort.

“Excuse me?” I asked with less than normal confidence.

“I see here on your CV you just recently earned your degrees. That’s two degrees at once, not just your Master’s after gaining a Bachelor’s like most professionals do. And here on your application”—He shuffled the papers—“you state you earned a humble forty one thousand a year.”
What the hell
… “The position offers sixty-seven thousand a year. How can you justify the twenty-six-thousand-dollar leap in salary with no academic application to your tenure?” He sat back expectantly.

Precious’ shocked eyes roved from Ezra to me, as did Ms. Baker’s and Ms. Bethea’s.

I swallowed hard. My thighs trembled underneath the table.

“My heart.” I licked my lips and focused on my husband. “In this field you have to have the heart to be lied to, cried to, and cussed the fuck out.”

Precious gasped. “Ms. Grier,
Christ Cares
is a religious-based organiz—”

With the lifting of one finger while his eyes were glued to me, Ezra silenced her rebuke.

“Please let her continue without further interruption,” he rasped. “Ms. Grier.” He nodded toward me. “Continue.”  

And I did, no longer giving a fuck about getting the job. I needed to think about the balance of my home if I didn’t stand my ground.

“Instead of responding in kind, you have to wear armor to get the job done, in spite of your feelings for the person you’re servicing. I know you must treat everyone the same and work your ass off to plug them into whatever services required to meet their need. This may call for you giving your last dime, your clothes to a crying baby whose mother has been told there are no more beds available at
Palladia
or
Residence
. It may mean you using your personal resources to check them into a hotel where Bobby, the baby’s daddy, can’t find the mother and beat the shit out of her for leaving in the middle of the night. It may mean calling in a favor to Bradley West, whom you used to fuck and promised a date with him if he’d represent Pookie, your client, who can’t seem to keep from sticky-gloving it at the local bodegas, but whom you see the next Stenton Rogers in.” My nose flared as my neck jerked.

“It takes heart to take on the city’s needs. I hope you recognized that, considering you’re handling their spiritual needs by shoving God down their throats and asking for a monthly stipend of ten percent of their earnings in the next breath. I’m here to help them live to fight another day. To preserve their Harlem Pride. It’s what I live, eat, and breathe. That’s what I bring, Pastor. My heart.”

The room went quiet. A feather drop could be heard. Ezra’s pupils were glued to mine as we eye-warred. In fact, I was almost sure all eyes were on me. I couldn’t give two fucks. This was status quo for us. It’s what we did. And today would be no different. I was no punk, not even in Ezra’s world.    

I don’t know how long we were at it, but I would not lose.

Suddenly, Ezra sat up, took a deep breath and let it out casually. Ms. Baker’s eyes and body sat stiffly in the seat as though she’d just seen a murder go down. Ms. Bethea’s movements were antsy in her chair. And Precious’ mouth hung open.

“Okay. That’s it for me.” He regarded Ms. Bethea. “Ann,
Ms. Grier
here has answered all of my questions satisfactorily. I’ll send you my feedback by the end of the business day.” He glanced over to a stoic Precious. “Do you have any questions for this candidate?”

Precious’s eyes hit mine. I popped my neck back, highly roused, prepared to take her on, too. I was livid.

She shook her head. “Ummm…no. Nothing. I’ve seen enough.” She slowly pushed back in her seat.  

“Very well.” Ezra stood from the table. His tall frame now towering me as he smoothed down his tie. “I’ll leave you to it.” He buttoned his jacket before rounding the table to leave the room.

Precious was on his heels, her face still expressing horror. This time I was sure I rolled my eyes—at both of them. Then I squeezed them shut, trying to gather some strength to leave yet another unsuccessful interview.

I heard him before I smelled him. He rasped in my ear so low, only I could hear, “I can’t wait to see the purple welts spread across your hips tomorrow morning.”

My lids collapsed again, and I heard his padding and Precious’ heels clicking out of the room.

“Well, that was interesting,” Ann Bethea chirped with fluttered lashes.