"Don't save me I'm in no need of saving."

KHALID | BAD LUCK

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a a l i y a h

"On a scale of one to ten, how important is it for a guy to be circumcised?"

Talon Keane, my best friend, drew one leg over the other and brought her pink cosmopolitan to her sultry, red-painted lips. She was relentless with her alcohol, and it was as if she was always celebrating something, even her failures.

Our favorite restaurant was tucked away in Harlem, rustic and ornamental with high ceilings, low-hanging brass lights and plants, wooden accent tables, evocative paintings, and the smell of rich mahogany leather sofas.

"Ten. Why?" I answered, and picked up a hot tempura prawn.

The candles cast an amber glow that accentuated the warm, and smooth jazz melodies dancing through the chatter-filled air.

"I mean, I thought it wouldn't matter, but then this guy I hooked up with yesterday wasn't." Talon tossed her pin-straight chestnut air over her shoulder.

I snorted. "I've been down that road before. It's like fucking a wall of flesh."

Jade Kiyoko, one of my best friends since our college dorm days at NYU, shut her monolid eyes and dropped her fork on the table. She shivered with disgust. "Does anyone care about the fact that I'm trying to eat here? Let's save this discussion for another time, preferably where I don't lose my appetite for a forty dollar meal."

Talon laughed, even though it sounded more like a suppressed giggle. "I'm trying to lighten up the mood a bit," she said and shoved a finger at me. "Look, she just got fired and the last thing we should be talking about is our jobs."

I sunk back into my seat shifted my weight onto the right heel of her creme boot.

"Uhm, no, I did not get fired," I said, matter-of-factually.

From the way Jade raised her thin brows and ran her fingers through her platinum blonde bob, it was apparent that I wasn't very convincing.

"OK, so you were given an ultimatum in a way," Talon shrugged, nodding with a glint of optimism in her hazel cat-eyes.

Admittedly, Talon was possibly the most gorgeous friend I'd ever had. She could've been the star actress for a Mexican telenovela if she wanted, and she was definitely dramatic enough to fit the role. And she knew it, too.

"Well, no, considering Mikayla set you up with the most so-called difficult client—you're definitely on the road to being laid off," Jade argued. "Look, at my firm when we get clients like that, there's a high chance we don't win the case."

Watching my two best friends discuss literally anything was like watching an epitome of realism and idealism clash and collide. Talon, an Instagram brand ambassador, preferred to live a life where she could edit her mistakes. Jade, a corporate lawyer, who spoke nothing but the cold-cut truth, was every bit pragmatic.

Oil and water.

Then there was me. Balsamic vinegar. Where did I fit in? No one knew but it bizarrely worked out in everyone's favor.

It was insane to think that these women could have fostered the kind of friendship they had. Then again, I credit myself to being the adhesive glue in our friendship.

"I think you need to tackle this in the most methodological way you can," Jade said, brushing lint off her black v-neck blouse. "If this is the only way you can get back in her good book—then call him," she paused and took a sip of her wine. "It can't be that hard."

Talon shook her head adamantly. "No, don't do that. You shouldn't play into Mikayla's tactics, especially if you think that she's setting you up to fail." She picked up her phone. "There are so many other jobs out there, New York is literally a gold mine for jobs."

"But, I don't want another job. I fucking love that job. It's literally the only thing in my life that makes sense," I said and drank the remaining contents of my pink gin.

"You mean, it was the only thing in your life that made sense at the time," Talon corrected with a cautionary glitter fingernail.

"What?" My brows furrowed.

Jade sighed. "When you started working there, Nick was out of the picture but let's face it—you weren't too stable."

I rolled my eyes as I felt my chest flush with warmth at the sound of his name. It wasn't fair that he had to exist. "Don't mention his name, ever."

Three drinks later, and I unabashedly ordered dessert. I lived by the motto: treat yourself. Unfortunately, that motto usually left me at a restaurant trying to pry the buttons of my pants open so I could fucking breathe.

The night rolled over and by eight o'clock, I was questioning whether or not I should still call this Octavio guy and also why I was getting drunk so early into the night already.

But there were other things on my mind, and that included seeing my man of the night. Saying that in my head felt a bit more illegal than romantic.

I told the cab to curve on Broadway avenue, and minutes later I was gazing up at glass apartment buildings. Chaotic Times Square was only a few kilometers away but I could hear the touristic disaster as if I was standing in it.

I called his doorman first, then I called his number.

His apartment overlooked the flashing billboard lights, because I knew he liked the mayhem of the city. He always wanted to be front-row and center. I'd been here once because he much preferred the seclusion of my apartment, but I didn't want to hear my lack of productivity in there.

I knocked three times, and listened, positioning myself at his doorframe. Pulling my caramel curls down to frame my face, and meticulously reapplying my favorite apricot lipgloss. My burnt orange dress just caressed the middle of my thighs, and silky enough to melt at the touch of his hands.

"Aaliyah," Derek Donovan spoke in disbelief. His light brown eyebrows angled, but his lips twitched into a smirk when he saw me. He was still wearing his tie from work, God knows he was addicted to investment banking.

I pulled him by the tie and pressed by body against his.

"Derek," I said against the stubble just below his lips.

He was an adequate kisser. More than adequate. Exceptional, maybe. Though, I feared that that was all he could ever give me, a wistful kiss, but cold and detached brown eyes.

"What are you doing here?" he asked.

"Well, normally I couldn't visit you because I'd be so tired from work, but I thought now that I was taking a break, or whatever, I could pay a quick visit," I said. Then I realized he didn't even open the door for me. For a moment, I gauged his eyes. "What? Am I not welcome?"

"Baby, of course you are. Just, not right now," he sighed, trying to look apologetic with those big brown eyes of his. "I was just on the phone with a client."

He scratched his face, his perfectly carved, Adonis-looking face. For a thirty-two year old man, he could pass for twenty-four.

"At nine p.m.?" I questioned. "I dunno, I just thought since we haven't seen each other in a week, it would be nice to see you—"

"Me too, in fact, let's have dinner next week." He grabbed my hands, and planted a kiss on my cheek, on the length of my neck, and onto my chest before looking at directly at me with lustful eyes. "You pick the place, you pick the time, and I'll be free all weekend."

I was silent for a moment. Maybe he saw the articles and thought I was the poster girl for an easy lay, maybe he saw me as 'head over heels' Aaliyah. Who the hell would want to be associated with that?

Derek wasn't my boyfriend. I didn't want him to be my boyfriend. So I couldn't expect him to do boyfriend things. I couldn't have my cake and eat it too.

"OK," I said, with a fake enthusiastic shrug. With my fur jacket in my hand, I started walking down his hallway, contemplating the entire evening and looping it in my head like a poorly-edited movie.

"Goodnight!" He called out.

Whatever. I thought to myself, but I couldn't bring myself to say it out loud.

As I rode the elevator, I realized that if there was one successful thing I was going to do today, it was most likely getting my first meeting with my new client. Client to-be. I dialed Castellano's contact number from Mikayla's file.

"Hello?" A rich masculine voice asked, dripping in a foreign accent.

Papers rustled on the other line, and there was a faint chatter. "Hi, I'm a representative at Coda Public Relations—"

"Coda Public Relations?" he interrupted. "Don't call this number again, thank you."

He hung up on me.