Harlem: Good morning. You didn't have to rush out. We could've had breakfast.

Torryn smirked as she read the text while standing by Thalia's desk. She hadn't been at work for thirty minutes before getting summoned to her boss's office. She wasn't surprised. Royce MacAlister, a FIT grad with elite East Coast roots and a prim & posh persona was an uber type A personality. It was days like this when she wished she was Dallas' associate and not the owner and founder of MacAlister Design. But her training in classical piano was the quirk that helped her solidify a relationship with Royce and garner a job straight out of college hence her being the right-hand to the boss.

"Is that the guy that stole you away from us last night?" Thalia chimed in as she strolled around to her desk with a stack of colored folders in hand.

"Is that where you scurried off to?" Cassandra lowered the polka-dotted mug from her eager lips. "To go see some guys during girls' night."

"It wasn't a girl's night." Torryn slipped her phone in the pocket of her black trousers. "It was cocktails after work."

Cassandra gasped with a hand to her chest. There was no mock shock there. She tended to be a tad more dramatic than most.  "Is she downplaying our get-togethers?" She asked Thaila, who was behind the desk busying herself. "We're a clique of professional women. A sisterhood at this establishment."

"As you can tell someone was upset. " Thaila lifted her brown eyes covered by her rimless glasses. "By your early departure."

Cassandra's head inched to the side. "Bonding makes for a better workplace. Less hostility. We should be a family since we're here so many hours of the day."

Torryn and Thaila blankly stared at each other. It wasn't Cassandra's fault that she grew up sheltered and without an internet connection before the age of thirteen. She was homeschooled by a retired teacher and her parents were older than most of her peers' parents by thirty years. She was a late-in-life baby and an only child. 

"We are a sisterhood," Torryn clarified to the doe-eyed girl before her with a pat on her shoulder. "But I had a friend fly into town and we needed to catch up."

"Catch up," Thaila air quoted before flipping open another folder. "Is that what they call it now cause I've been out of the game for a couple of years."

Thaila's cushion-cut engagement ring never failed to capture anyone's attention.

"Did you have a date last night," Cassandra inquired, glancing across the modern, art-deco-designed lobby to see if her boss was still on the phone. He was. "Because then I'd understand."

"It wasn't a date." Torryn blinked down at her watch—Ali was taking longer than usual, she wondered if she needed Thaila to pick up the office phone and tell her that she was waiting outside her office. "Harlem and I just haven't seen each other in a minute and needed to get together"

That was all they needed to know. She was cool with Thaila and Cassandra but they were work acquaintances. They weren't Autumn. She wasn't tell-everything, hang-out, text-thread best friends with them. She didn't need them knowing that she spent the entire night with a guy at a hotel having room service and good, no...great sex. They weren't privy to that part of her life.  

"We had fun. He wanted to do breakfast..." She shrugged like it was no big deal. But she had never reconnected with any of her 'flavor of the months' the day after. It was a no-go for her, she didn't need them getting any ideas of things being more than what they were. "Which isn't happening?"

"Why not?" Cassandra asked, her perplexity storming back on her tawny face. "He probably misses his girlfriend."

"Cassie," Torryn started as Ali's movement towards the closed office door caught her attention. "I'm no one's girlfriend. That's not for me." 

She didn't see a white dress, bouquet toss, or a picket fence in her future. Dating and marriage weren't her forte. She'd had a front-row seat to how limited relationships could be. Being the only child to a four-time married mother painted a vivid picture of how complicated things could be when you tie your life to another human being. Torryn had worked hard to be a part homeowner before the age of forty with a promising career and wasn't going to have someone derail her progress. 

Ali's door swung open, claiming Cassandra and Torryn's attention. The raven-haired woman who wasn't a day older than forty-five donned her go-to work outfit of black slacks and a half-tucked paisley button-down. Her dark brown eyes went directly to Cassandra as her red pumps planted firmly in the doorway.

"Is there something you need, Ms. Ross?"

"N-No, Ma'am." Cassandra stuttered as her back straightened.

"Then why are you loitering outside my office." Ali's thick eyebrow rose. "I'm sure Dallas has something for you to do. If not, I can toss some tasks your way."

"No, no, that's not needed." Cassandra scampered back to her side of the office where Dallas was pacing as far as the generic office phone would allow him.

Ali slid her eyes to Torryn, "Why is she so skittish?"

"I think it's a caffeine sensitivity."

Thaila snickered under her breath with her eyes planted on the forms in the folder.

"Well, she should invest in decaf."

Ali turned on her heels and Torryn knew my instinct to follow her into the spacious, post-modern colonial-designed office. A faint gray wall stood behind the simple minimalist  desk and a massive window gave an expansive view of the busy highway and the lush tree line on its other side. The glittery gold abstract artwork that hung in the middle of twin bordering bookshelves constructed from brass displayed the various design books Ali collected over the years and the few pictures of her personal life she desired to show her clients that she was a doting wife and a loving mother.

"This weekend is going to kill me," Ali sighed,  lowering her pilates-sculpted body in the tufted executive chair. "Whitaker has a checkup. William needs me to host a dinner party for his boss and Chestnut needs to be dropped off at the groomer. Plus, I have a renovation property to oversee. These contractors refuse to stay on schedule. It's not snowing up North anymore. My glass tile from Montana should've arrived already. And now I have a new client to meet with."

"This is where you use me," Torryn affirmed as she claimed the chair in front of her boss' desk. "I can take on some of these tasks for you."

Ali's eyebrows drew together, "I don't think Chestnut can fit in your VW Bug?"

"It's a convertible," Torryn shook her head, "But I wasn't commissioning that duty. Dog hair is difficult to remove from..." She peered down at her lime silk blouse. "I don't want dog hair blowing in my mouth."

"Oh, you want to try your hand at one of my properties."

Torryn nodded, "I've been shadowing you for three years now. You know I have the vision and got the lingo down. Plus, middle-aged women love my swagger. I'm ready to design a residential property."

"You are very popular with the over-forty crowd but I can't put a massive renovation in her hands. Designing an estate isn't the same as a corporate space."

"Let me handle the new client." She scooted to the edge of the chair with excitement. "I've had the privilege to accompany you on countless consultations. I can do this."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes." Torryn stood with confidence. "Let me prove it."

"Okay, Ms. McNeil." Ali tore the top sheet off her initialed notepad. "Make me proud."

Torryn retrieved the sheet from her boss. "I will." She read the address. "You'll see." 

******

The address Ali scrolled out on the cream notepad wasn't known to Torryn. A notion of no surprise to the Guam-born, Germany-reared beauty. Her thick Teutonic accent was all about gone from several years of being Stateside and she was even picking up on some of the Southern phraseology from her Texan housemate and best friend. However, she didn't know all the roads, streets, lanes, and avenues of her new hometown.

  She relied solely on Siri's satellites and artificial intelligence to get her to her destination. This destination, unfortunately, wasn't in the common neighborhoods where most of the customers resided. The automated voice streaming from her speakers led her on a path flanked by the thicket of tall trees. Her car was the only one on the freshly paved road and with every mile, she feared she was going to speed onto a pick-up truck packed with klansmen.

Houston was diverse but it was still Texas and she was still Black. A reality she always remembered while traveling abroad. A shred of discomfort always sullied her easy-going, laid-back persona. As she journeyed away from the interstate and heavily populated areas she became more hypervigilant over her surroundings; what vehicles were trailing her and the ones she approached.    

Although she did come into contact with a pick-up or two, it wasn't a menacing one with a Confederate sticker proudly on its bumper. She made an easy right at the intersection near a sign boosting housing prices and model homes for viewing in the community of Evergreen Cove. She nodded as she fed the car a little more gas, that's why she hadn't heard of the area with a master-planned gated community that boasted about its man-made lake and houses starting at five hundred grand; it was new.

A smile rose on her lips thinking about the rewards if she did a good job. Nope. She shook the 'if' out of her mind. She wasn't going to doubt her skills. She knew how to make a living room pop and create an ambiance of peaceful splendor in the bedroom with the right accent rug, artwork, and throw pillows. She was a pro. This one job was going to open more doors than the ones that lined the Hemlock Way.

Torryn swung her convertible into the driveway of the contemporary new build and brought it to a smooth stop beside a sleek silver Mercedes. She switched off the vehicle she was still making payments on and took a deep calming breath.

"You got this. You can do this." She squeezed the bottom of the steering wheel and then let her hand fall to her lap. "Torryn McNeil is a boss. And I'm going to rock this shit."

A big smile spread across her face as she grabbed the keys from the ignition and her Coach bag. As she closed the door she thought about the Chloe bag was going to splurge on when Ali gave her a raise after styling the elegantly crafted, white French-Modern abode that stood before her.

She put on her award-winning smile as she pranced up the slate pathway with her eyes trained on the sophisticated black-haired woman peering down at an iPad.

"Good morning, Mrs. Davis!" She boasted as she held out her hand drawing the woman's attention.

She let out a light laugh as she shook her hand, the simple diamond bracelet dancing on her lank wrist. "I wish."

"You're not?" Torryn's eyes widened in mortification. Her inflated confidence dropped far away from a hundred percent from the silly mistake. "I'm so sorry."

"It's fine." The woman slid the device into the briefcase resting in the hook of her elbow. "I'd love to be sharing a bed with the beautiful owner of this house. It's a custom build." She glanced back at the black lacquered door with pride as if she hammered each nail and erected each plank of wood. "I'm the real estate agent."

She turned back to Torryn, "You must be the decorator."

"I am."

"Good." She keenly nodded. "He's going to need all the help he can get with four bedrooms, a great room, a theater, a living room, and a formal dining room."

"That's a lot of space." Torryn inched towards the door. "I better get started then."

"He's in the primary closet." She pointed down the foyer as Torryn stood in the doorway. "Take a left down the first hallway and you'll find the master suite."

"Thanks."

Torryn closed the door as the woman pranced to her car already on the phone with another client. She took in the raw oak hardwood floors, lantern light fixtures in the foyer, the alabaster walls, and the wall of windows in the living room that displayed the beauty of the lush green backyard. The ideas flooded her mind. She nodded to herself with a drum of her nails against the iPad's rose gold case. She could make this house into the perfect oasis in suburban splendor. Colors and fabrics streamed in her mind. All she needed to do was meet the client, get to know them, and feel their personality to help create the perfect design.

She didn't have to follow the directions the travel agent gave her. A light serenade of R&B called to her like a siren directing her footsteps towards the master bedroom, which was bare of furniture like the rest of the house.

Her heeled feet paused in the doorway. She tapped her knuckles on the door making her presence known. The last thing she wanted was to startle a prospective client.  

"Hello," She called out. "I'm Torryn McNeil for MacAlister Design ready to make your house into a home." She hated reciting the cheesy line but it was always a good-selling slogan that made the clients smile when Ali did it. A happy, relaxed client was the best client.

"In here." A masculine voice sounded from the closet.

The deep, easy octave of the voice struck a chord in her. Lines drew across her forehead as she took tentative steps to the room with boxes bordering the doorway. He sounded familiar. Too familiar.

She rounded the corner and all the questions disappeared from her thoughts. Her jaw dropped at the sight of the man whose back was to her busy hanging dress shirts on the railing in the spacious closet.

Fuck my life, she thought as she dropped her head in her hand. This wasn't happening. This couldn't be. Her habitual hookup was standing before her.

She strode over to the man ready to repeat the line she orated early but when he turned towards her it all melted from her mind and all that remained was, "Your last name is Davis."

"Helga!" His brown eyes lit up and then he eyed her with suspicion. "Where's your accent?"

"Fuck." She dropped her head remembering her biggest lie.