Pleasure Under the Sun

As soon as Raymond Gooden left her office, she gathered his paperwork, slipped it into his file and put it in the outbox for her secretary. Bailey had digital backups of everything, but she enjoyed the touch of paper. It gave her a sense of security the intangible digital material did not have. Funny, since people would say what she did with money—trading, multiplying and moving it around in a world far removed from paper—was the ultimate triumph of the intangible over tangible. But she didn’t care; she lived with her contradictions as well as anyone else.

As she flipped through her notepad to see what notes needed transcribing, someone knocked on her door.

“Come in,” she called out.

She’d expected her secretary coming in to tell her she was heading out to lunch, but instead, it was Raphael Fernandez, the less appealing of her two bosses. He came into her office, took a small bottle of antibacterial spray from his pocket, spritzed his hands, then wiped them on a handkerchief he took from his breast pocket. Apparently, he’d had to touch her germ-ridden doorknob on the way in. Raphael swept inside, attempting to take up most of the space in her office. Luckily, they’d given her enough square footage so that wasn’t possible. So instead, he loomed over her desk.

In a tailored charcoal suit, with his handkerchief once again tucked into the pocket of his jacket, and an American flag lapel pin, Raphael presented the perfect picture of a wealthy and patriotic gentleman. Though he dressed the part of an urbane man about town, his face was like a fighter’s—rough-looking, with a scar slashing across his right cheek and a nose that looked as though it had been broken a few times. It was a contradiction that pleased the clients. Maybe they thought he was one who would protect their money at all costs.

“Bailey,” he said. Unlike Mr. Braithwaite, Raphael preferred the more casual approach. Although, with him, his use of her first name was almost patronizing. It was a skill Bailey sometimes marveled at. “Harry told me you were here working until the small hours last night.”

“Not that late, Raphael. A few things came up with a potential client. It didn’t take very long. Mr. Braithwaite caught me when I looked the busiest.” She gave him a cool smile.

“Nevertheless, I wanted to tell you that you’re doing a good job. Your work here at the firm has not gone unnoticed.”

“Thank you, Raphael. I’m merely doing my job.”

“And doing it in an exceptional way,” he said.

Although she didn’t like Raphael as much as she did Mr. Braithwaite, she found that he had a grudging respect for her that made itself known at the most bizarre of times. Like now. She merely leaned back in her chair, lacing her fingers together under her chin to watch him posturing, instead of entering into a battle with him over the physical position of power in the room. The scar on his cheek lifted his mouth in a vaguely menacing smile.

Bailey smiled back at him.

Raphael smiled again in approval and stepped back, ready to leave her office. Then something on her desk caught his eye. Her notepad.

“Do you know Seven Carmichael?”

She looked down at her desk to see what he’d noticed. Seven’s name scrawled on the yellow legal pad along with some financial figures.

“Ah, yes. He came in yesterday for a consultation. He’s relocating to the Miami area and is on the hunt for a local firm to handle a few things for him.”

“Did he bite?”

“No. I don’t think he’d be a good fit for us.”

“Good fit? My dear, this man is worth millions. Not just that, his art is being collected by every bank and bored housewife with a garden. Get him to change his mind and come with us.” He lifted an eyebrow. “Unless you don’t want that partnership, after all.”

Bailey winced. Not this again. Every time she thought she’d done something good enough to catch the attention of the partners, another test or hurdle appeared. Would it end? Bailey clenched her back teeth, cursing herself for not ripping off the page with Seven’s name and throwing it away when she first got into the office.

“Okay,” she said. “I’ll see what I can do.”

Bailey almost slammed the door into Raphael Fernandez’s back as he left her office. Was she really going to do this? She looked down at the traitorous notepad with Seven’s name written in her clear cursive. She hadn’t written down more than a few notes under his name, but that had been enough to bring him to her boss’s notice. Bailey cursed softly.

* * *

After work, she resisted the urge to call Bette. Her sister would only laugh at her for wanting the partnership so badly. With most things in Bailey’s life, her sister was able to listen, laugh and commiserate over the appropriate adult beverage, but this job at Braithwaite and Fernandez was something Bette didn’t understand. She thought the job was getting much more out of Bailey than she got out of it, and if she ever got the partnership, that inequality would only get worse.

She had a sneaking suspicion that Bette was right. With that depressing thought, she pulled her car into the Whole Foods parking lot near her office to grab a few essentials for the week. She slung her purse over her shoulder and stepped from the car, pressing the remote to lock the convertible and turn on the alarm. There was a grocery list in her purse somewhere. She rifled through the thick black bag, still making her way toward the entrance of the store.

“Bailey Hughes, is that you?”

She looked up from her purse, empty-handed at the sound of the familiar voice. Oh, great.

For once, she’d left work at a reasonable hour, so the parking lot was full of the after-work crowd doing the same thing she was. She’d barely been able to find a parking spot. If anyone asked her later on, she’d use that as an excuse for why she didn’t look in the right direction when she first heard Clive call her name. She glanced once over her shoulder, knowing he wasn’t behind her, then kept walking toward the entrance of the store, moving swiftly through the crosswalk and past slow-moving pedestrians.

“Bailey!”

Damn. He was almost in front of her, walking briskly toward her at an angle from the store’s exit. It was hard not to notice him there, an attractive man of medium height, light brown complexion and startling hazel eyes.

He headed directly for her from the grocery store, pushing a shopping cart with a toddler strapped into the attached child seat. A brown-skinned woman with a long ponytail walked next to him. She carried her purse over one shoulder and distractedly scrolled through something on her cell phone. He stopped the cart a few feet from Bailey, forcing her to acknowledge him.

“Clive.” She greeted him with a deliberate lack of enthusiasm. “It’s been a long time.” I wish it had been longer.

“I thought that was you. I haven’t seen you around in a while.”

“Why? Were you looking for me?”

At her words, the woman looked up from her phone. Her eyes narrowed as she took in Bailey, from the top of her perfectly pressed and sculpted hair to the tips of her Jimmy Choo black python ankle boots. Bailey may have felt like hell this morning when she left home, but she had been determined to look good. The woman put her phone away and sidled closer to her husband.

He chuckled. “Of course I wasn’t looking for you. But I do know you don’t work too far from here. Remember how you used to go crazy for the chicken wings at this place?” He jerked his head toward the market.

That’s what you remember about me?

Bailey shrugged, then looked past him toward the store. How much longer was he going to prolong this?

“Oh, this is my wife. Charmaine.” He gestured to the woman, who tucked her hand in the crook of his arm and smiled brightly at Bailey. A child. She barely looked twenty-five.

“Hello.” Bailey greeted her with the smile she didn’t have for Clive.

She didn’t give the woman her name. The girl looked young enough to be one of his graduate students, which was probably what she had once been. From the way Charmaine was holding on to Clive, she was well aware of his inability to keep his penis in his pants when away from home. Charmaine stroked the toddler’s curly Afro.

The child grinned and waved his arms. “Dada.”

“And this is our son, Kofi.” Clive touched the child’s arm flailing in his direction.

“That’s great,” Bailey said to Charmaine. “You have a handsome boy there.” She nodded toward the child in the shopping cart so the girl wouldn’t mistake her meaning.

Charmaine’s smile widened. “Thank you. Isn’t he just? Clive and I are working on a little sister or brother for him to play with.”

“How sweet,” Bailey said. Did I really need to know that?

“So what are you doing these days?” Clive asked.

“Grocery shopping.”

He gave a hearty and fake laugh. “You were always so funny, Bailey. How could I ever forget that about you?”

“Yes, how could you?”

She, Clive, Charmaine and the baby stood in uncomfortable silence for a moment. Then Bailey had enough. She nodded at the young woman. “It was good to meet you, Charmaine, but I have to run. Clive, take care of yourself.”

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