Page 7 of Cause When You Love Someone

We entered an office covered in brown walls and decked out in leather furniture. Mrs. Rose ordered me to sit in the seat in front of her desk. I checked my surroundings and watched Clarke sit on the couch on the other side of the room.

“All right, Mr. Harden,” Mrs. Rose started. “Before we get down to the important things, tell me about yourself.”

“What do you need to know?”

“Tell me about your experience. Have you ever worked in law enforcement? Do you have a military background?”

“No.”

The women traded an unreadable glance, then their eyes came back to me.

“Mr. Harden, your good looks won’t?—”

“Have anything to do with making sure your daughter makes it home safely every night.” I straightened my glasses, then entangled my fingers as I leaned forward.

“I don’t have any formal training. I’ve been looking after the women in my life since I hit puberty.

I protect those close to me with my life because I’m built that way.

Drama doesn’t interest me. Famous people don’t excite me. We all bleed and shit the same.”

Mrs. Rose dropped her frisky smile. “I like you. I don’t like that you don’t have any formal training, but I may be able to look past that.

I may not know much about you, but I’m familiar with Shiloh and his wife, Stevie.

Stevie grooms my dogs. I suppose we can move on in good faith.

” She traced the end of her pen over her bottom lip.

“Do you have a driver’s license? Gun license? ”

“Everything is in the file you requested.”

She abandoned her seat and rested the tips of her fingers on the desk. “I hope your schedule is free. I want to conduct a trial run before I have you sign a contract.”

Clarke sucked her teeth. “That’s unnecessary.”

“So is your opinion,” Mrs. Rose argued. “Before I put my money maker in the hands of a stranger on a permanent basis, I need to see how you two work together.”

“Ma, you don’t need to tag along. If this is supposed to be a trial run, it should mirror a real scenario. Most days, you’re somewhere with a drink, a dick, and that slow ass Dell.”

Mrs. Rose opened her mouth to respond, but I interrupted her by raising a finger toward the high ceiling.

“Excuse me, ladies. I need to make something clear. I’m not working for you; I’m working with you. The trial run works two ways.”

Clarke stomped away, leaving me alone with Cruella Deville .

When I tugged my eyes away from the empty hallway, I caught Mrs. Rose staring at me.

“The girl claims she has some errands to run. You’ll tag along, and we will pay you for your time. Her driver, Rock, will handle transportation,” she stated as we journeyed back to the front of the house. “I promise we aren’t as bad as we seem.”

“You don’t need to explain yourself to me. I’m here to work. I’m not interested in the family drama.”

“Yeah, okay. Make sure you remember that.”

Clarke resurfaced after about thirty minutes, and she looked like a different person.

Her natural hair was gathered in a long ponytail that hung down her back, and she exchanged her spandex one-piece for something colorful.

Had I not seen the denim bottoms when she bent over, I would have believed all she wore was a hockey jersey and knee-length boots.

Without acknowledging her presence, I walked past Mrs. Rose and followed Clarke to a black truck. A short, dark-skinned man stood near the back door. He moved to open Clarke’s door, but I stepped in front of the handle.

“I got it,” I declared before pulling the door open and stepping to the side.

Clarke’s driver stared at me like he wanted a problem, but he didn’t move.

“It’s okay, Rock.” Clarke snickered. “This is . . .”

I reached for his hand. “Ishmael. It’s nice to meet you, sir.”

“Likewise. Will I be seeing you around?”

“We’re figuring that out now.”

Clarke stepped between us. “ I’m figuring that out. Remember, if I hire you, you work for me, not with me. I don’t care what you think.”

I saluted her. “Yes, ma’am.”

She pushed me back and got comfortable on the last row of the Escalade. My need for space guided me to the row in front of her.

A text from my sister caused me to glance at my phone. I grinned at her kind words and the encouragement she offered. I told her I’d accepted the position within the firm, but I didn’t go into details about who I was meeting with.

Before I could write her back, Clarke’s conversation reached my ears.

“Why do you keep calling me? I blocked your number, your mama’s number, your baby mama’s?—”

Her phone was so loud, I heard the other end clearly. Other than apologizing, the deep voice professed his love.

“Chaz, you don’t need to come to the photoshoot. I spoke to the photographer, and we’re going in a different direction. Just return my laptop and come get your things.”

She ended the call, and I listened to her breathing venture from an anxious huff to an even pace.

I knew it wasn’t my place to ask about her relationship. Still, my interest in other things made me twist around and face her.

“Why do you need protection?”

“You really don’t know?”

“I don’t keep up with people in . . . your industry.”

“Okay. It feels like you’re being shady, but whatever. I got robbed about a month ago. I’ve been getting threats ever since.”

“And you’re still running wild?”

A smug expression controlled her features, and for the first time, I spotted the dimple in her chin. “A girl’s gotta live.”

“You’re living wrong, girl.”

“You’re one to talk. I read your file. Your juvenile files are sealed, but that’s enough to know you’re a criminal.”

“And you’re a walking lick. Don’t tempt me.”

As soon as the truck stopped in an underground parking lot, Clarke slipped on a pair of sunglasses and let herself out. She walked over to a metal door in the corner of the structure, and in seconds, the door opened from the other side.

“Darwin!” Clarke exclaimed.

“C. Rose! My baby! It is so good to see you.” A chubby man with pale skin stood in the doorway with his arms stretched wide. “Come inside. Your pieces are ready, and I have some new things to show you.”

Rock remained outside while I tailed Clarke and entered the back entrance of the store. Any questions I had about where we were got put to bed when we stepped onto the main floor of the jewelry store.

Amid her shopping spree, Clarke answered a FaceTime call, but this time, she didn’t sulk in her skin when she spoke on the phone.

“You know I love jewelry like I love sushi!” She giggled and placed a bracelet in the camera. “Do you like this bracelet?”

“It’s cool,” the person responded. “What did you get me?”

“Ugh. Stop being a brat, Simone. You know I got you something. Darwin is packing up our pieces now.”

“I know you got me. That’s why you’re my best friend.”

Clarke’s shoulders lowered a few notches. “Whatever. Are we still—” Her mouth hung open when she caught me watching her. “Simone, I’ll call you later. There are too many eyes on me.” Clarke smirked at her passive statement, whereas I shifted my weight from one leg to the other.

“Next time, you need to send the call to voicemail,” I suggested after she put her phone away.

“Excuse me? You can’t tell me what to do.”

“I can if you’re not being mindful of your surroundings. Someone robbed you, and instead of keeping your head on a swivel, you’re distracted and posting pictures of your location. Tighten up, Clarke.”

The tension in her forehead caused wrinkles to disrupt her smooth peanut butter complexion.

“Yeah . . . this isn’t going to work.”

“I agree. If I stick around, you’re going to be the death of me.”

Blotches of red ambushed her high cheeks as if I offered a compliment. “I may be able to bring a little spice in your life.”

“No, thank you,” I replied, then stepped back.

Clarke’s focus went to her jeweler when he reappeared with four velvet cases in his grasp.

When he peeled the top back on the boxes, diamonds and emerald stones danced under the overhead lights.

From afar, I studied every piece of jewelry Clarke picked up.

The bust-down necklace was predictable, but the diamond-encrusted ballet slipper charm piqued my interest. Most of the pieces looked like they were for women, yet a watch I’d seen on one of my club brothers was amongst the bunch.

The idea of it being a gift for the nigga who had her drowning in her skin earlier almost made me snatch it from her.

“Darwin, I don’t know about this one. That idiot doesn’t deserve a new watch.” She grunted and closed the case.

“It’s already paid in full, beautiful. Take it home and give it to your next man.”

I shook my head at the awful advice and stepped forward to retrieve her bags. The rigidity between us didn’t stop me from being a gentleman.

As soon as we returned to the truck, I noticed Clarke sitting in the back seat with her full lips balled up.

“You didn’t have to purchase the watch,” I suggested. “I know a store like that has a decent return policy. You should’ve given it back.”

“It’s not your place to tell me how to spend my money.”

“I wasn’t telling you how to spend your money. I was reminding you to watch how you spread your kindness. People don’t deserve it simply because you share a bed or bloodline.”

Her vision coasted down to her phone. “Why do you care?”

The quiver in her voice made me tune her out instead of responding. I had already spoken out of turn, and I didn’t want to extend guidance I wouldn’t accept from a stranger.

We made it back to her mom’s house faster than we got to our destination.

Clarke rushed out the door, but I took my time.

Truthfully, I thought about getting on my bike and leaving without saying a word.

The only thing that anchored my steps into the big house was the idea that I would pass up twenty bands because I had to work with a spoiled brat.

“Ishmael.” Clarke approached me with a brazen grin. “We appreciate you interviewing, but I don’t believe we’re a good fit. I’m actually positive this shit won’t work.”

Her mother entered the room, peering over a teacup.

“I beg to differ. If he’s pissed you off to the point where you’re walking around with your hands balled into fists, he must’ve checked you on being reckless.

That’s what I like to hear.” She spun around to me.

“Mr. Harden, I have a file ready with everything you need to know about Clarke and my expectations. If you want the job, it’s yours. ”