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“How are you guys liking the party?” D'Andre adds.
Jackson peeks at me to answer, and when I don’t, he replies, “It’s all right. Great vibe.”
“Yeah, it is,” D'Andre says, then goes quiet.
An awkward wave of silence rolls over the group. Finally, Aliza speaks up.
“So, I was telling D'Andre how I thought it’d be nice for the four of us to grab dinner together one of these nights. Or when we all get back home. You’re both in Pittsburgh, right?”
I squeeze Jackson’s arm, hoping he’ll pick up on my signal. Please say hell no, please say hell no.
“I’m actually in New York, but yeah, I think either would be great. Don’t you, babe?”
Jackson and I exchange a glance. The anger undoubtedly flashing in my eyes has got to be unmistakable, but I don’t hesitate to agree with him, furthering our boyfriend-girlfriend charade.
Aliza says something else, but I’m so distracted by Jackson’s approval that I tune her out, only coming to when they walk away. Jackson faces me and chuckles.
“What’s so funny?” I frown.
“You do realize you just positioned yourself as my girlfriend, right?”
Confused, I stare blankly at him.
Jackson elaborates, “You have to be mine for the rest of this trip.”
Blood rushes to my head as I come to terms with the fact that he’s right. But I’m too stubborn to accept it.
“No! Not happening,” I say adamantly. I yank my arm from his and rush to get as far away as I can. As I move through the crowd, his smug laughter follows me.
I press shuffle on my Spotify playlist and smile when the sounds of Daniel Caesar flow from my iPhone. Tonight, we’re having a gala-style dinner in the main dining hall. The cruise host is using it as a sort of welcome aboard dinner, a chance for everyone to officially meet and network. From what I was able to gather when I spoke with one of the staff members, each dining event will have strategic seating. The ship is filled with burgeoning business reps and eager investors. I guess by mixing up the seating chart, people will have a greater chance of potentially forging new partnerships. I love that plan. After all, it’s my primary goal to expand my business and subsequently my net worth— by any means.
I want to be prepared, so the days leading to my arrival, I took the liberty of pooling my resources and gathering a few names, even though many of tonight’s participants are unknown to me. That doesn’t matter, I’ve always been great on my feet wherever business is concerned, and this event will be no different.
As a new song plays, I begin to dress. It’s black-tie attire, and I do believe I brought the perfect ensemble. A burgundy, floor-length, off-the-shoulder dress that hugs my curves while providing the perfect amount of elegance. The thigh-high split adds just a dash of sexiness.
I carefully lay my outfit across the bed, then stroll into the bathroom to brush my teeth. Once done, I gather my makeup supplies for tonight’s look. My skin is smooth and clear of blemishes, so I won’t need any foundation. I take my deep-brown eyebrow pencil and fill in my brows, giving them that perfect arch. Next, I apply my eyeliner, creating subtle winged tips to accentuate my eyes. For my lips, I blend together a couple of colors until I achieve my desired shade of red. Satisfied, I smile, remembering the saying my grandmother often shared: There’s nothing like a bit of red lipstick to bring the sexiness out of a woman. It’s because of my nanna that I don’t go anywhere without my red lipstick—that and the fact I love the way it makes my melanin pop.
I move on to my hair, using a wide-tooth comb to bring my short bangs forward, then pick out the crown for added volume. Once it’s styled to perfection, I go back into the bedroom. The song changes to the X-rated remix of When We by Tank, and I find myself sliding my dress up my body in rhythm with the bass. I put on my shoes, a pair of black stilettos with a clear strip across the toes and thin, rope-like straps that I double-wrap around my ankles. For the finishing touches, I add a pair of crystal chandelier earrings with a matching cuff bracelet.
People chatter outside my door as I take one last glance in the full-length mirror. I retrieve my clutch from the desk and step out into the hall, which is full of people dressed in equally lavish attire. Pleased I won’t need to pull out my map of the ship, I fall in step with the crowd. A few attendees smile at me during the walk to the dinner location on the third level. The elevators are jam-packed, and it takes three trips before my group can board the lift. Soon the doors chime and open, thrusting us into an even larger crowd that’s gathered outside the banquet hall.
There are two lines formed, I assume to help speed up the table check-in process. I reach the front of one of the lines and provide my name and cabin number to the young lady. She searches her log and highlights the page. Soon another staffer dressed in a white shirt and black blazer approaches, escorting me to my seat. He pulls the chair out, and I motion towards it.
“Thank you!” I say, lowering myself onto the plush cushion.
He leaves, and I skim my gaze over the empty table, committing every name on the place cards to memory. Some I’ve heard of a time or two over the years, while others are brand new to me.
After a few minutes, more folks enter the room in search of their tables. A waiter comes, filling the water glasses while another server places champagne flutes next to each. Soft music starts to play, drowning out the echoes of conversations.
After a while, most of the seats are occupied. Except for the one right next to me. Bernard Oxford, the place card reads. I stare at it, wondering what Bernard looks like and what he does for a living. Suddenly, a hand reaches for Bernard’s place card and switches it with another.
Confused, I glance up to see Jackson settling in beside me. Annoyed by his appearance, I roll my eyes with an aggravated breath and sink into my seat. He glances at me with that same smug expression from the other night, only frustrating me more. I snatch up my flute, spilling a little on the linen tablecloth and devouring the drink in one swallow. I stare straight ahead, hoping he’ll eventually look away, or better yet, move to where he’s supposed to be sitting. But he doesn’t. I swear it’s almost as if he enjoys bothering me. With another deep breath, I lean forward, snatching up his glass and repeating the process until this one is also empty.
“I drive you to drink, I see. But it’s so soon in our relationship,” he jokes.
“Why are you here? That seat belongs to Bernard,” I say, knowing damn well this man couldn’t care less who the chair belonged to. From our brief interactions, it’s safe to assume that Jackson doesn’t care about anything except what he wants. If he wants something, I have a strong feeling that nothing will stand in his way. Obviously!
“Oh, you thought I was joking?” he adds. “You’re my girlfriend, remember? At least for the duration of this trip.”
