Page 9 of Tell Me I'm Not Dreaming

LYRIC

W ell, it was nice while it lasted , Lyric thinks as she parks her car into her designated spot.

That’s another perk gone. So far, she’s counted the following perks she’s about to lose: more money, better snacks and lunches in the staff kitchen, more diversity and now a better parking space. These are all the things Lyric is going to miss when Roger dismisses her.

After her kiss with Ranson, while she was still reliving it in her head and floating on cloud nine, she got a text from Roger.

Roger

Care to explain this?

He followed his text with a picture of her and Ranson kissing from TRNN ’s website with the following article from their most popular pop culture contributor, Capri:

Ranson Hamilton Caught Smooching with his New Lady Friend!

The eldest Hamilton was canoodling with Lyric Fuqua, a publicist that works at The Firm. The Firm is a Black-owned PR firm known for helping rapper, The Emperor Julez during his custody battle with Danissa Carter.

Ms. Fuqua is a UCLA grad who is six years Ranson’s senior. Y’all, a Hamilton man with a Black woman, I never thought I’d see the day. JK, I know most of them fuck with sistas. It’s their trifling ass daddy that doesn’t. It’s nice to see that some things aren’t genetic.

But on to this new pairing, I am loving it.

A professional Black woman who has her shit together and is older?

Ranson, baby, I’m thirty-eight and I’ve been right here!

JK, Ms. Fuqua! Y’all know I always go up for Black love.

So, what do you all think about this new It couple? Sound off in the comments.

Roger

Be in my office tomorrow morning, 8am sharp.

She called her friends, and they tried to talk her down, but c’mon, she’s toast. There is no way she’s not getting fired. She finally gets her dream job and an amazing opportunity to prove herself and what does she do? She fucks it up over a man.

What the hell was I thinking ?

Lyric gets in the elevator and hits the top floor. She exits and walks like she’s going to the guillotine.

Roger’s assistant lets her in and smiles at her.

Great, the pity smile .

She sighs. Might as well get this over with .

“Roger, I?—”

“Lyric, there you are,” Roger greets her with a huge smile on his face.

Okay, I did not see this coming .

Lyric is so shocked by Roger’s greeting that she didn’t even see Ranson’s big handsome self until he says, “Good morning, Lyric.”

“Good morning,” she replies, her eyes wide with surprise.

Ranson clearly sees her confusion. “I was just explaining to Roger that our intimate moment seems to have intrigued the public. This will help with any impending drama.”

“Would public opinion really matter that much to your father?” Lyric asks.

“Not normally, but between the article and the comments, he’d be foolish to strike against us.”

Lyric read the article but not the comments. She was too busy having a panic attack over potentially losing her job.

Ranson hands Lyric his phone, and damn, the first commenter came out swinging.

Commenter 1

I completely agree, Capri! It’s nice to see that the marrying outside your race to a much younger woman gene skipped Ranson.

Commenter 2

That’s what I’m talking about. He got his self a Black queen and she making moves and being a boss.

Commenter 3

This is the type of shit we need to see with these rich dudes. Get with a real grown ass woman that has her own bag instead of these young girls they can manipulate.

Commenter 4

I am so glad he ain’t with a white girl like his bitch ass daddy.

Commenter 5

She ain’t white, she’s Latina.

Commenter 4

Whatever, she ain’t Black and she’s way too fucking young for his old decrepit ass.

Commenter 5

I’m not arguing, and I completely agree.

I’m just saying if we’re throwing shade, sis, let’s get the details right, lol!

But that man had three Black queens and threw them all away, and now he’s on wife number what, eight or something, and they keep getting less melanated and younger. The shit’s gross.

Commenter 4

No worries, boo. And you’re right as rain. Wife number eight is same age as his daughter! That shit is fucked up.

Parker’s current wife, who is actually referred to as “number eight” by the media, is a thirty-two-year-old he met at a gala and married in a surprise ceremony three months later. Parker is sixty-five.

Yikes ! Okay, so maybe I’m not getting fired .

Ranson confirms her suspicions. “This saved us some time. The ladies commenting are the same demo that watched Michaela and Hunter’s wedding and the celebrations leading up to it.”

It’s a shame Michaela Hamilton doesn’t want to go into the family business because she would take Hamilton Media into the fucking stratosphere.

It was her idea to have the weeks leading up to her wedding be filmed, and to air it on Hamilton Media’s streaming service as a reality mini-series.

It was a huge hit! And now that’s she’s expecting her first baby, the cameras will be back on her and Hunter, showing the couple as they tackle their first year as parents.

Michaela was tired of hiding and wanted to create her own narrative without the likes of TRNN interfering.

She and Kimber were always unfairly maligned by news outlets, much more so than their brothers.

That can be chalked up to good old misogyny.

It got so bad that, years ago, she left the country, which is how she met her husband, Hunter Lawrence, award-winning film composer and the son of director Claude Laurent and actress Ann Marie Laurent.

Ranson continues, “Michaela allowing our father access to her big day made Hamilton Media a lot of money. With the public praising us and going after my father, he wouldn’t dare do anything to hurt Lee’s business.

These ladies and others like them would just see it as him trying to get back at Momma Dola. ”

“And the last thing he should be doing right now is going after a Black woman,” Roger adds.

Thank God for Black women !

“So, what’s the plan?” Lyric asks.

“You and I are officially a couple, sweetheart,” Ranson answers in that deliciously husky voice of his.

Gulp .

“The article from TRNN is just regurgitated bullshit. The original article is from the Melanated Queen website. Geneviève Synclaire wrote a thoughtful piece. Here, listen to this,” Bridget reads from her phone.

“This new relationship between Mr. Hamilton and Ms. Fuqua carries with it a lot of weight. Whether he realizes it or not, Mr. Hamilton is dismissing the idea that young rich men are nothing more than one-note, sex-addicted bachelors. For that, look no further than his brother Braxton Hamilton.”

“Ouch,” Aimee says.

Bridget shrugs. “I mean, the nigga has a whole volume of sex tapes, so she’s not wrong.”

“And yet you all picked him,” Lyric teases.

“Yeah, but that was just purely about sex,” Aimee answers.

Lyric playfully rolls her eyes.

Bridget continues reading.

“Lyric Fuqua is a forty-year-old UCLA educated; Gucci-clad Black queen with an MBA in Marketing. She has worked in PR for years and is the type of woman who knows her worth. Ranson Hamilton is showing that at the age of thirty-four his interest in a romantic partner does not include younger and more malleable ladies, unlike his father Parker Hamilton.”

“Poor Parker and Braxton are catching strays.” Bridget titters before finishing the article.

“ Instead, the junior Hamilton is choosing to be in a partnership with a grown woman. And I, for one, welcome this change, and hope to see it in more men of his ilk.”

Aimee and Bridget are having sushi with Lyric in her office.

She called her girls the minute her meeting with Roger and Ranson was over.

Suchi isn’t there because she’s at work in Brentwood, but she’ll be joining them later tonight for an emergency girlfriends’ dinner at Lyric’s.

Her head has been swimming all day from the attention, and she needs her friends to keep her centered.

“I still cannot believe you kissed a millionaire. How did it feel? Did his lips feel rich?” Aimee asks.

“Aims, how would lips feel rich?” Lyric pops an edamame in her mouth.

“Girl, I don’t know. Well taken care of. They’re soft, they’re full, they’re lush, they’re?—”

“Moisturized,” Bridget adds.

“That too!” Aimee points at Bridget in agreement.

“They felt good. Plump and full like I like ’em.”

Lyric says the last part in a playful, sultry voice.

The ladies cackle.

“No, but seriously”—Lyric continues—“kissing him felt natural. It was an organic moment. Even though we don’t really know each other, it didn’t feel rushed. It made sense.”

“Do you think he might be the guy Ukweli was talking about?” Aimee asks.

“I wouldn’t go that far,” Lyric says.

Her phone buzzes. Her office phone hasn’t stopped ringing.

An intern had to assume the role of her assistant so her actual assistant, Tracee, could take a break from saying, “No comment.” Her work cell has been on DND for hours.

But this is her personal phone. The caller is listed as private.

She answers, hoping the media hasn’t gotten ahold of her personal info.

“Hello, Lyric,” Ranson says.

“Hello, Ranson.”

Bridget and Aimee look at each other, then Lyric, and smile like the big goofs they are.

“I’m not going to beat around the bush. I took a chance yesterday when I kissed you, and I don’t regret it even the tiniest bit. Quite the opposite, actually.”

“Now that I know my job is safe, I don’t have any regrets, either.”

“Your job was never in danger. The minute I saw the article and pictures, I called Roger and told him that I kissed you, and if he penalized you, I would take my business elsewhere, and I would find you another employer.”

“Damn, thanks.” She simpers.

“My pleasure. Let me take you out. We are dating now, after all.”

“Um …”

“Come by and have dinner with us,” Aimee suggests.

“Aimee!” Lyric chastises.

“What? He has that deep, husky voice. We can hear everything he’s saying,” Aimee argues.

Bridget nods.

Lyric puts him on speakerphone. She might as well, since they can hear everything.

“Hello. Aimee, is it?” Ranson asks.

“It is, and Bridget is here too. We’re Lyric’s best friends. Us and Suchi, you’ll meet her tonight, if you join us.”

“I’d be happy to. But only if I can make you ladies dinner,” Ranson replies.

Rich, handsome, and he cooks, too ! If he is the guy Ukweli was talking about, then I hit the jackpot .

“I’ll send you my address. We typically have dinner at seven,” Lyric tells him.

“I’ll be there.”

Lyric ends the call and chuckles, as Aimee and Bridget’s silly asses grin at her like fools.