Page 82 of Invisible Bars

Once the door closed behind him, Chi gave a slow whistle, arms folded like he’d been waiting on it.

“Man… when Gatez gon’ come back out to play? We might just have to visit ol’ boy after hours… knock a little humility back into him.”

I didn’t answer right away. I just sat down, staring at the empty chair, stewing in the silence.

“You might be right,” I finally muttered, my voice calm but dangerous. “That nigga didn’t walk into work for me; he walked in to try to redefine me. And I don’t play that shit.”

Chi shook his head. “Some interviews end with a handshake… others end with a warning.”

“For him?” I leaned back slowly, heat still riding the edge of my voice. “A death wish. How many more interviews?” I asked, not in the mood for anymore of Chi’s humor.

“Two,” he answered, glancing at the clipboard. “You ready for the next one, or you need a minute to cool off, so the next person don’t end up catching your wrath by association?”

“I’m good,” I replied tightly. “The quicker we get this shit over with, the better. And for their sake…” I paused, voice dipping lower, eyes locked on the door. “I hope they’re not white. As a matter of fact,” I added, fixing Chi with a look, “if there’s anybody else white on that list, tell ‘em I got sick or some shit and we gon’ have to reschedule.”

Chi gave a slow, crooked grin. “Say less. I’ll hit ‘em with the ol’ Mr. Kors had a sudden case of ‘hell no.’ Real tragic.”

I didn’t laugh.

I couldn’t deal with another white presence that day—not after that entitled bullshit. I was liable to really spazz the fuck out, and me fully displaying Gatez in the daytime? That wasn’t good for nobody.

Not for business. Not for my image, and damn sure not for the next muthafucka that thought my silence meant softness.

The next candidate swaggered in with that loud kind of confidence that made my eyebrow twitch on sight and me sit up straighter.

He wasBlack,tall, broad across the chest, like he played ball in another life. His navy suit was sharp and probably custom, hugging his build just enough to make a point. The loafers? Clean. Shined. He even had a fresh lineup—the kind barbers only pull off when a nigga tips heavy or books in advance. Even his damn pocket square matched his socks. Adding to that, he smelled like money and arrogance wrapped in a clean resume.

He was giving“I’m that nigga”energy—like the rapper Future walking into court and still pulling numbers. No lie—his ass was lookingandsmellingalmostbetter than me. Shid, I was about to ask him if he came for the publicist position ormine.That type of calculated clean let me know he wasn’t just trying to make a good impression; he wanted to be remembered.

“Good morning, gentlemen,” he greeted us with a smooth, commanding voice. “Jasper Perry. Thank you for the opportunity, Mr. Kors.”

Chi tilted his head. "Perry? That name sounds rich as hell. You related to Tyler Perry or something?"

Jasper chuckled with a charming smile. “Not that I know of but wouldn’t be mad if I was.”

“Let’s get into it,” I said, gesturing to the chair, having no time to waste.

Jasper sat with perfect posture, hands folded neatly.

“Before we begin, let me get this out the way so we don’t waste each other’s time because I just dealt with this in the last few interviews. If you’re on the down low, here to flirt, or using this job as a front for something else, this isn’t the place for that. If you don’t have real knowledge of real estate, no understanding of how this business functions, or think professionalism is optional depending on your mood, you’re not a fit.

And if you bring ghetto energy into my boardroom—loud talking, personal agendas, slick comments, street code behavior—you won’t last a damn minute. This is my father’s company, yes, but in all honesty? I’m really the CEO at this point. He put me in charge of overseeing the parts that matter most, and I take that seriously. So if you’re not here to work, contribute, and operate on a level of discipline and clarity, then we can both save time.”

The man nodded once, straightening his posture as he folded his hands in his lap.

“I can assure you, Mr. Kors, I’m herestrictlyfor business. I’ve studied your company—everything from the property acquisitions to the marketing shifts you implemented over the past two years. I’m not here for clout or comfort. I’m here because I believe I can add value, and I respect what your team has built. I understand the environment you’re trying to protect. If given the opportunity, I’ll work to uphold it.”

“Very well then. So tell me about your last three clients and one major challenge you solved for each.”

Jasper pushed a folder across the table.

“That’s my portfolio. It includes analytics from my last campaign, crisis response strategy templates, and some mock-ups for reputation revamps.”

I hesitantly opened it.

“Client one—celebrity divorce scandal. We spun it into a brand reinvention centered around self-love and therapyadvocacy. Client two—corporate embezzlement issue. We coordinated a complete internal restructure and ran a two-month transparency campaign. Client three—an athlete with multiple social media controversies. We rebranded his image, booked him for youth mentorship events, and got a sneaker deal out of it.”

I narrowed my eyes. "Metrics?"