In Love with Ezra (Love Unaccounted Book 2) (32 page)

“Okay. Thanks, Ms. Bethea.”

“Good look, Ms. Grier.” She smiled again before leaving.

I froze at that name. While I was familiar with it, it sounded fraudulent in many ways. Look where I was standing, and the opportunity in front of me. The man behind it. It was the same one that provided my shelter, food, transportation, and now employment. Legally, I was attached to him, but in name it seemed too…fraudulent.

“Lex Carmichael,” I whispered to myself as I rounded my desk and got busy with the mountain of paperwork Ann assigned.

At ten-fifteen, I found my way to the conference room on the third floor. It wasn’t hard to find, the building wasn’t that big and there weren’t many rooms there. Six people were seated at the round table, one recognizable figure was Ms. Baker from my interview.

“I guess I can get started,” I informed the room, muscles trembling with nervousness. “Good morning, everyone.”

The group echoed the greeting.

“I’m Lex Grier, the new Social Services Coordinator here at
Christ Cares
. I’ve been involved in social services for nearly ten years. I was employed by the city, working for the recreation center off of Lennox. And…uhhhh…come with a Bachelor’s in Sociology and a Master’s…degree in Urban Sociology and Immigration. I’m a Harlem girl, born and bred, and I believe in the people. Couldn’t imagine another community I’d rather be in to help the underserved. The poor, the disenfranchised.” I swallowed with a dry mouth. “And…uhhh…” I exhaled. “Shit. I on’t know, y’all. I feel like a damn professor up here.”

The room went up in laughter. I didn’t know where my tension came from. That wasn’t usually me. If I took a guess, it was I knew I was being sized up. I was the boss; it was natural, I was sure. But I didn’t want to be that type of boss. I didn’t operate with a chip on my shoulder. I only expected people to do their damn jobs and nothing more or less.

Relieved at their response, I chuckled. It felt good.

“Honestly, guys, I understand my role to lead here. But I’m down to earth and won’t ask for much other than what’s written in your job description. I understand that shit—” I cringed at that curse word. I was really trying to cut back, but I was nervous as shit. “Damn.” I rolled my eyes at that slip, too. “I’m happy this office is off the church’s property.”

The small group laughed collectively again.

“Yeah. She’s exactly how you described her.” A tall Hispanic man with a plaid button up, indigo jeans, and a Caesar cut, murmured to Ms. Baker.

They slapped hands in agreement.

“How is that?” I asked with wrinkled brows.

“She said you spazzed in your interview. You basically told the boss you don’t give a fuck, and you could do the job. You know your shit,” he answered with an adorable grin on his full pink lips.

My eyes shot over to Ms. Baker and I winced again. This time from shifting too fast in nervous haste. In the recesses of my mind, I reminded myself of being spread and plummeted into last night. I was definitely paying for it today.

“I guess I did, huhn?” I grunted. That wasn’t my best behavior, dealing with Ezra in front of others. It reminded me of my bitter feelings for him on our first fake date with Thaddeus and that Miranda. I wanted far away from him that night—from all of them. “Well, I see you know
some
thing about me. I want to know about you. Tell me your name, credentials, and role here.” I turned my attention back to the Hispanic man. “Let’s start with you.”

“Okay.” He straightened in his seat. “My name is Eduardo Ramos. I’m an outreach worker. I’ve been here for three months. I have a Bachelor’s in Sociology, too.”

I nodded and moved my attention to the right of him to Ms. Baker.

“I’m Kim Baker. We met at your interview.” I nodded. “I’m lead social worker. I just finished my Bachelor’s from Montclair State in Jersey. I live in Englewood—
not to be confused with Englewood Cliffs
. I ain’t got no bank.” That made me laugh along with the rest of the room, although I knew shit about Jersey besides where I lived and the places I’d interviewed this summer. “I used to work for the city in CPS for years.”
She did mention she worked in Child Protective Services that day
. “And…I guess that’s it. I bake my ass off and love cats.” She shrugged.

The Caucasian man with greasy brown hair and wire framed glasses spoke next. “I’m Richard Romo—no relation to Tony,” he joked in the softest, calming voice. “I have a Master’s in Psychology, and have been here since 2009, providing crisis prevention services.”

“Nice.” I gave him a neck bow. “Looking forward to working with you, Tony—I mean Richard.” I shook my head in jest. The group laughed in unison. “I’m kidding, your voice is so calming. I had to break it up a bit. But one question.”

“Of course,” he agreed to it.

“Do you speak to your lady that way after she cusses you out about random stuff?”

He smiled wide at that tease. “I imagine I do. I also use the same tone when I want favorable acts from her.” He winked.

My head flew back as I laughed my ass off. The room went off hooting and hollering, too.

After some time I pointed to the man to the right of Richard.

“Hey, guys! I’m Larry Harrison!” He began cheerily with a flick of his big wrist.
Oh, shit.
I knew then. “I’m an outreach worker with
Christ Cares
. I been here for like nine years. I was hired by
senior
.” I knew from my conversation with Ann earlier, he was referring to Bishop Sylvester Carmichael, Ezra’s father. “And that’s too bad, honey, because I would have sucked my way here if his son interviewed me!” Larry’s chestnut arm shot into the air and he snapped his fingers, confirming my assessment. Larry was a gay black man. A queen, who apparently crushed on my husband. “And don’t act like I’m the only one either, honey! Y’all all know how fine that man is.”

The three women in the room all provided some form of validation, either verbally or slapping palms.

“Mr. Carmichael got swag and shit, but he ain’t better looking than me,” Eduardo asserted.

“Shiiiiiiit,” the unnamed woman to the left of me hissed. “That man is so fine he gives me every bit of life!” she declared. “Larry said he got married this summer, but errrrrm!” she smacked her lips. “I bet ole girl don’t know how to work that man below the waist!” she slapped hands across the table with Ms. Baker.

“Don’t none of y’all know what y’all doing down there. I do though.” Larry snapped his neck. “‘Cause I got the same equipment.”

An unnamed emotion shot through me. “Let’s get back on track here!” I tried to carve a smile on my face. They were talking about Ezra!

“Yes, please. I’ve known Pastor Carmichael for years,” Richard provided with Zen, yet gaining the room’s attention. “He’s the one who hired me before there was talk of his father retiring. He’s a good man. An extremely shrewd member of the clergy with an uncompromised moral compass. He doesn’t deserve this.”

“I think you judging, Dick,” Larry claimed with a palm in the air and his spine arched perfectly in his seat. “Ain’t that your nickname? Just because I say he fine and I could make his toes curl if I got below his waistline don’t mean I disrespected him. Women do that all the time and ain’t harassed. But when a gay man say it, everybody wanna get all up in arms!”

“No judgment,” the woman to the right of Larry appeased him. “Because I feel the same way. When that man interviewed me, I couldn’t hear nothing. All I could think about was what he was working with underneath the table, and what I could do wit’ it.”

“Okay!” Larry cosigned and slapped hands with her.

Ain’t nobody fucking that man but me. Ain’t nobody working the big ass tool below his waist but me!

“LET’S BRING IT IN!” I demanded even louder.

The room went quiet. I was careful with my response to their lusting over Ezra. It was clear no one knew I was his wife. Richard communicated something, too, with his eyes. I could assume he was offended by their outbursts. Little did he know, I was, too.

I managed to maintain a poker face, and navigate us back to the agenda. The last two women were Tamara and Melanie, respectively. They were hired in the same week, back in June. Tamara was an outreach worker with an Associate’s degree, and worked with Larry out in the field. Melanie was the program nurse. A registered nurse, she handled all testing from pregnancy to STIs. It was hard for me to take her seriously considering her unveiled desires of my husband.

Midway through her introduction, Precious strutted in and quietly took a seat next to Melanie. It was crazy how everyone straightened in their seats, cutting their vulgar outbursts. Except for Richard. He remained his usual calm self. While I listened to Melanie talk about her qualifications, I struggled to block Precious out. The way she entered the room with stiff and perfectly squared shoulders and an upturned chin announced her role of authority. I refused to let her knock me off my A-game. Talk of Ezra almost did, but I’d just rebounded from that before she breezed through wearing brown boot cut slacks, a cheetah print blouse that hung low covering her hips and a gold chain belt to expose the contour of her thin frame. She paired it with brown leather, high heeled boots. Her long hair hung with big bouncy curls over her shoulder, but today she wore darker stained lips. She looked every bit of a model straight out of a whack ass
Boston Proper
catalogue.

“Okay. This was good.” I stood to grab my note pad from behind me. “Now, I need to know where to plant my feet. Let’s discuss current services and cases being taken on here.” I picked up my pen, totally ignoring Princess Precious, and continued with work. “Starting from Eduardo again, tell me what you’ve done since you started, and then we’ll go around the room again. No thesis here, just a summary so I can gauge the output.”

I cued Eduardo and began taking notes from all of the staff. Most of them weren’t doing much but punching in, collecting a check. They were told this would change once my role was filled. That was sage advice, because I had a game plan I’d developed the week before in the event this was the case:
Christ Cares
had been pushing out shit for social services. As each person finished with their input, I assigned them a few things to do to get their feet wet in the community. Precious remained quiet, which I preferred.

It wasn’t until I dismissed the staff for lunch that I acknowledged her. Not that I had any choice.

She approached me as the room was clearing out. “Initiative,” she remarked. “I like that. You seem to have settled with the staff well.”

As I straightened the pages from the writing pad, I thought to say, “
It’s what I do
,” but thought wisely. In all honesty, Precious hadn’t done anything to me yet, besides go crying to Ezra about me not speaking to her the night we returned from our honeymoon and attended Bible study. But I knew in my gut I shouldn’t trust her. Yeah, I had to measure intuition against my strange jealous tendencies regarding Ezra; nonetheless, there were serpentine characteristics in her, lurking.

By the time she reached me, I’d straightened in my stance, towering her by mere inches. Precious wasn’t an average height woman either. That fucked with me, too. Ezra always pointed out his appreciation and fondness for my giraffe stature. Precious wasn’t far behind me on the charts.

“Ms. Bethea said I’d be meeting with you today,” I remarked, not wanting to make small talk.

There was a pause as Precious processed the wall I’d erected for her. I wished so badly I could’ve delayed it, but I wasn’t good at being phony. Precious had fucked my husband, and no matter how long ago that was, she seemed to be too familiar with his person even now. There was the way she looked at him when they interfaced, the way she’d possessively take stage to set him up or retrieve his things from the pulpit when he preached, the way she grabbed his biceps when she laughed, and the gnawing fact that she still disregarded me after weeks of seeing me at church since I married Ezra.

Precious snorted. “Good afternoon or a simple hello would have been a nice gesture.” A grin playing at her thin lips.

“Funny. I’ve been thinking the same thing every day I’ve seen you for the past few weeks.” I tucked my writing pad under my arm and rested on one hip.

“Yes. He said we’d reach the day to confront this.” Precious scratched the side of her nose with her wine coated nails as her eyes skirted into the distance.

“Wise man. I’m ready whenever you are.” I switched hips.

With her eyes cast downward, Precious shook her head. “Okay. Good afternoon, Ms. Grier. Welcome aboard the
RSfALC
business wing. I’d like to show you around the building, talk to you about your role and take any questions you may have about the packet Ann got you started with this morning.”

I swung my arms in the direction of the door. “Thanks, Ms. Graham. I’m eager to get started.”

After a small period filled with estrogen charged silence, we left the conference room.

“Since we’re here on the third floor, I can start with the only two offices up here.” I paced behind her bouncing curls. “The one at the end of the hall has been used for storage for the past few years, seeing Bishop Carmichael has never been interested in making himself at home here.” She opened the door to an airy room, on the floor just above my office, only this one was more spacious. In fact, it was almost triple the size of my office. There were boxes, desk chairs, and random computer equipment dispersed throughout the room. “Pastor Carmichael says he’ll be setting up shop here, but between his moving into the
Bishop’s Lounge
at the church, his office at the lab, the one he used to rent for his counseling, and the one at his house…” She shook her head and chuckled familiarly. “I doubt if he’ll have any use for this.”