Page 11 of Tell Me I'm Not Dreaming

LYRIC

L yric wakes up to the smell of sausage, pancakes and coffee.

Did this man …? Did he make me breakfast ?

She looks at the other side of her bed when she remembers Ranson insisted on sleeping in one of her spare rooms. Since she was wiped out after their encounter by the door, he didn’t want to crowd her.

She didn’t protest because she needed room to think about what happened between them.

What did it mean? Clearly, there’s an attraction between them, but it’s too soon to call it anything real.

Funny you’re saying that after you let the man stay at your house .

“Shut up, brain,” Lyric mumbles.

She gets out of bed and heads straight to the kitchen, even before washing her face and removing her bonnet.

Ranson has on a T-shirt and a pair of sweats, courtesy of his assistant who brought him an overnight bag last night.

He’s wearing ear buds as he plates the sausage.

He must feel her watching behind him because he turns around and smiles.

The man is way too fine to be real .

He stares at her for a minute, his eyes warm and dreamy with his heart-melting smile intact. He finally removes the ear buds. “I’m sorry, but I couldn’t take them out sooner. My favorite part of the song came on, and I wanted to hear the lyrics while I looked at you.”

“What song are you listening to?”

“ Iris by the Goo Goo Dolls.”

“What part of the song were you on?”

“The part about you being the closest to heaven.”

“The song’s not about me. I was fourteen when it came out.”

He shrugs. “I was eight. And it is about you, at least it is to me.”

Lyric looks down, her face flushing.

“No, no, no. Look up and let me see you,” Ranson says.

She looks up with a heated face and meets his heated gaze. “Stop staring at me like that!” She giggles.

Jesus, I’m actually giggling like a schoolgirl around this man .

He chuckles. “It’s cool, you give me butterflies, too. As a matter of fact, MJ’s version makes me think of you as well.”

She takes a seat at the kitchen island, and he gives her a plate with a mug of coffee and a glass of tangerine juice. She digs in. He makes his plate, gets his juice and joins her.

“Do you want to talk about last night?” Lyric asks.

“Sure, are you okay with what happened?”

“More than okay, I’ve thought about it and wasn’t sure where your head was at, that’s the only reason why I didn’t invite you to stay in my room.”

“I understand.”

She takes a breath before putting herself out there. “You can stay in my room tonight, if you’d like.”

He looks surprised, his eyes wide as he fumbles his words. “I’d … uh … I’d love to. But I’m having tea with two princesses later, and I usually stay over at their palace after I have tea with them.”

Lyric’s brows furrow in confusion.

“I’m staying over at Mike and Hunter’s place. Chance and the girls are coming by and so is Sef and his family. My presence has been requested by my two nieces, Chance’s girls. They insist that Uncle Ranson stay over when I see them,” he explains.

“Oh, that’s adorable.”

“Thank you.”

“I love being an auntie.”

“Yeah, being the cool, rich uncle is fun as hell. I love spoiling my babies. Bridget’s kids get spoiled by you too, don’t they?”

“All the time. All of us aunties are pitching in to get her eldest, LJ, a car for college. The plan was to get him a car if he got into one of his top five schools, and he’s gotten into three.”

“That’s what’s up! Congratulations to LJ.”

“Bridget’s always getting on us about spoiling him and his sister, Tanya.”

“Forget that—spoil those kids. It’s tough enough for Black kids in this world. They need a safe space, and their family should provide that through love and buying them stuff.”

Lyric snorts out a laugh. “Bridget would look at me and say, ‘Not you using the Black card to spoil my children, Ric . That’s weak .’”

She does the perfect imitation of Bridget, making Ranson almost spit out the juice he was sipping. “That’s the second time you’ve almost made me do a spit take.”

“One day, I’m going to make it happen.”

“I don’t doubt it.” He becomes serious. “Believe me, Lyric, if it weren’t for my prior engagement, I would be in your bed in a heartbeat.”

Heat creeps up her face again. “Stop making me blush, sir.”

“I’m going to make you scream my name soon. Believe that,” Ranson states.

“While I have no doubt of your ability to do that, and I don’t mean for this to sound bad?—”

“Uh-oh,” he says.

“No, it’s just that your name isn’t moanable.”

“I’m sorry?” Ranson looks at her aggrieved.

“I’m sorry, baby, but it’s not. You’re sexy as all get out, but your name ain’t moanable. What’s your middle name?”

“It’s Shakir, but I’ll have you know plenty of women have had no problem moaning my name.”

“Shakir works for me.” Lyric thinks for second. “Mmmm, Shakir,” she moans. “Yeah, that works.”

Ranson looks at her like a wolf who just found a juicy, injured deer.

“Do that again,” he says gruffly.

“Mmmm, Shakir,” Lyric moans slowly.

He lets out a grunt. “Yeah, that works for me, too.” He nods rapidly.

She giggles at his antics.

“That makes up for all the times I got made fun of for my name.” Ranson takes a bite of sausage.

“Really? What was the worst you got teased?”

“Let’s see. I got called ‘Rancid.’ Oh, then there was my personal favorite, ‘ We’re going to kidnap Ranson and hold him for ransom.’”

Lyric burst out laughing.

“What the hell, woman? Being kidnapped is a huge fear for rich kids,” Ranson complains.

This just makes Lyric laugh even harder.

“That’s cold.” Ranson shakes his head.

Ranson drops Lyric off at work. She leans over and kisses him. Soon, their mouths are locked, with them each taking a nibble of the other’s bottom lip.

“What time do you usually take lunch?” he asks.

“Around one, why?” She wipes her lipstick off his lips.

“I’ll make you lunch, then drop it off later. What would you like?”

“Not you being a house husband already,” Lyric jokes.

Why are you talking about marriage this soon ? Really, L ?

She chalks it up to how comfortable Ranson makes her feel. And he doesn’t seem phased.

“I still have to work for a living, so I’m not exactly at house husband status. Not to mention, I have to put a ring on it first.” Ranson takes her hand and kisses it.

Lyric smiles. “We’ll give that some more time. I’ll see you later with my Cobb salad.”

“Yes, you will.” He grins.

At one o’clock on the dot, there’s a knock on Lyric’s office door.

“Come in,” she says.

The door opens and instead of Ranson, she’s sees Morris DuBose, Parker Hamilton’s assistant/henchman.

Ranson

Ranson takes the elevator to The Firm’s floor. When he gets off, there’s a weird vibe in the air. He instinctively rushes to Lyric’s office, and sees Lyric at her desk, looking like she’s two seconds from serving someone a two piece and a biscuit, and not the kind from Popeye’s.

He smells the cause of her mood before he sees him.

Morris.

He’s worn that same cologne for as long as he’s worked for Parker.

And he’s been his lackey since Ranson was fifteen.

He’s only four years Ranson’s senior, but he looks decades older.

That’s what working for Parker gets you.

A lot of stress and not much else of value.

Yes, Morris is compensated handsomely, but at what cost?

He’s unmarried, no kids, and dedicates his life to having his head up the ass of a man who wouldn’t piss on him if he was on fire.

Morris is Smithers to his father’s Mr. Burns.

“Lyric, are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” she says, still looking at Morris like he can still catch some hands.

“Ranson, good to see you. I was simply congratulating Ms. Fuqua on your new coupling. It is very new indeed. It’s almost as if you two are dating in order to deflect from something more important.”

“If you’re here to threaten Lyric?—”

“Relax, I’m here to let you both know that this little situation”—he gestures between the two of them—“can be put to a stop as easy as your angel investing, if you make the wrong decision. Ms. Fuqua can find herself out of work just as much as you. You would hate to be the cause of that, wouldn’t you? ”

“Do not threaten her.” Ranson seethes. His words are calm, but they’re laced with venom.

“So, this is actually real? Even better.” Morris smirks. “Either tell Shandola and Lee to look for money elsewhere or your girlfriend will find herself starting an Only Fans.” Morris looks at Lyric. “She pretty enough, I’m sure she’ll get lots of subscribers.”

A second passes before Ranson has his hand around Morris’s throat. He slams him up against a wall. Hard. So hard the door opens, and two big niggas come into the office.

“It’s okay,” Lyric tells them. “Roc, Pete, this is Ranson. Ranson, this is Roc and Pete. They work for Big Head.”

Ranson looks at them. “Tell Big Head I got this.”

The two men nod and exit.

Ranson turns back to Morris, who looks terrified.

Fucking, shit-talking weasel .

“Apologize to Ms. Fuqua,” Ranson orders.

“Let go of me,” Morris croaks.

“Apologize,” he says through gritted teeth.

“Sorry.”

“To her, motherfucker,” Ranson shouts.

Morris looks at Lyric and says, “Sorry, Ms. Fuqua.”

Ranson lets go of him and says, “Tell my father that going after Lyric was too far. I will be giving Lee his money. He can do with that what he wishes.”

Morris gets up and straightens himself out before leaving in a huff.

“I’m sorry, Lyric?—”

Before Ranson knows it, her lips are on his. He pulls her closer and moves his mouth to her ear. “If you’re not careful, I will fuck you in this office.”

She giggles and says, “I was going to invite you anyway, but you definitely earned yourself an invite to my Uncle Doc’s house this weekend.”

“Word? What’s happening at Uncle Doc’s?”

“The Fuqua family fish fry.”

Ranson’s eyes light up. “I get to meet your family and have some good home cooking? I’m down.”

“Are you scared about what your dad will do?”

“A little, but you shouldn’t be. You let me worry about that.”