Stalked by Secrets
Auteur
Deborah Fletcher Mello
Lezers
18,0K
Hoofdstukken
18
HarlequinChapter 1
Davis Black stormed into the kitchen of his parents’ home. He slammed the stack of dirty dishes he carried into the sink, pausing as they crashed harshly against the bottom of the metal pan. He was super pissed, rage rushing through his system with a vengeance he hadn’t known possible. It was emotion he was struggling to contain least he lash out and hurt someone. He clenched his hands into tight fists, his fingernails digging into the palms of his hands. His jaw was tight, the muscles in his face beginning to throb. To release the wealth of tension, he screamed at the top of his lungs, his rage spewing in a deep guttural roar that had him sounding like a wounded animal ready to attack. The family members in the other room went quiet and Davis shrieked again.
He was furious but didn’t know who he wanted to be mad at more. His mother, who had just announced he and his siblings had a long-lost brother that no one knew about. His older brother, Mingus, who’d just called him out in front of the whole family, threatening to expose a secret he had no interest in sharing. Or the rest of the Black family brood, all acting as if nothing in the world was wrong with any of them. Toss in the fact that someone was trying to blackmail his parents, putting the entire family at risk, and he was ready to spit nails.
Davis was thoroughly irritated that he hadn’t been able to respond to his mother’s news or his brother’s pronouncement; instead, made to bite his tongue and check his attitude. His father and his other siblings had been quick to chastise him, putting him on blast for his insolence. Now, what he wanted most was to punch something. Or someone. Hard.
The family’s Sunday dinner to celebrate Simone’s release from the hospital had not been without the usual dramatics that seemed to follow the Blacks. Six weeks earlier his youngest sister, an attorney, had been shot in a drive-by, the bullet intended for the father of her unborn child. The two had been preparing to announce a major lawsuit against a drug company they claimed was poisoning its patients with contaminated product. Simone’s boyfriend, Dr. Paul Reilly, had discovered the crime and now the two were local heroes in the medical community.
Sitting around the table breaking bread was supposed to be so much about normalizing their lives yet, more times than not, it was everything but normal. With his parents and his brothers all working for the Chicago judicial system, they spent most of their time on edge, chasing demons that threatened the peace and quiet throughout the city. These mandatory family gatherings inevitably left one or more of them deep in their feelings and tonight was no exception. Davis hadn’t thought it possible, but his family had finally taken dysfunction to a whole other level.
Now, every one of them, his brothers Mingus, Parker, Ellington and Armstrong, and his sister Vaughan were headed to their respective homes feeling like they’d been slapped with a sledgehammer. Davis didn’t include Simone because with her, he was never sure what he might get. Things that rattled the rest of them sometimes barely registered on his sister’s emotional radar.
Davis heaved a soft sigh as he leaned against the counter. He was emotionally exhausted, and seriously considering taking a break from his family. Between his parents’ expectations, the sibling rivalry that really wasn’t supposed to be a competition and trying to figure out what he needed for his own life, he was simply tired. He took a deep breath, held it deep in his lungs before blowing it back out. He was just about to head back into the dining room when Armstrong and Parker came through the door.
“I just wanted to check on you before Danni and I take off,” Armstrong said. “It sounded like you were having a hard time in here.”
“I’m good,” Davis muttered. He and his brother exchanged a look before Davis dropped his eyes to the tiled floor.
A moment passed before Armstrong nodded. “I also wanted to apologize. I didn’t mean to snap at you the way I did.”
Davis shrugged. “I shouldn’t have spoken to Mom like that.” He thought about the tone he’d taken with their mother after her announcement and contrition furrowed his brow.
“No, you shouldn’t have,” Parker agreed. “But we understand. It was a shock and we all have questions.”
“And Mom will answer them as soon as she’s able. She’s always been honest with us about everything,” Armstrong added.
“Obviously not about this,” Davis snapped, his arms folded tightly across his chest. “If she had been, there would be no way anyone would think they could blackmail her with the information.”
The brothers all exchanged anxious glances, everything about the situation unsettling.
“No,” Judith Harmon Black said as she suddenly entered the room. “I wasn’t up-front about this because I had no intention of ever telling any of you. This was not something I ever thought I’d have to deal with again. It’s a moment in my life that I’m not proud of. And it’s a moment in my life that I had put behind me.”
An awkward silence descended over the room. Judith moved to Davis’s side and pressed her palm to his cheek, the gesture meant to be comforting. Davis was her baby boy, the youngest of her brood. He was also the most sensitive, taking every one of their issues to heart even when it had nothing at all to do with him. His mother understood his frustrations better than anyone, and he knew that it hurt her heart to see him struggle. She leaned to kiss his cheek.
“I’m sorry,” Davis apologized. “What I said to you before was rude and disrespectful.”
His mother nodded. “Apology accepted! None of this is going to be easy, but each of you needs to understand that nothing that happened in my past, and nothing that will happen going forward, will change how much I love you all.”
“We love you, too, Mom,” Armstrong said. He reached to give her a hug, and then he hugged Davis. “I need to run, or my wife is going to be late for work!”
Chicago police captain Parker Black, head of the district Armstrong’s wife, Danni, reported to, laughed cheerily. “You better hurry then. I hear her boss is a monster!”
They all laughed with him, his jest lightening the mood.
“We good?” Armstrong asked, his question directed at Davis.
“We’re fine,” Davis said. “We can talk more later.”
They all watched the man make his exit then Davis shifted his attention to Judith. “Was Ellington able to help? I mean...well, did you make a decision about contacting your...your...” Davis hesitated, swallowing his emotion before finishing his question. “Your son?” The word seemed to suddenly catch in his throat as he thought about the child his mother had never acknowledged until forced to do so.
Judith took a deep breath. “No, I haven’t made any decisions. Your father and I want to discuss it more before I do anything. I’ll want all your input, as well. This impacts our entire family, so it’s only right that you all have some say in what we do.”
Davis wrapped his arms around his mother’s shoulders and hugged her warmly. His earlier anger had been assuaged, the wealth of it lifting like morning mist lost to a rising sun. Despite the uncertainty, his family always came together for each other. He knew they would weather whatever storm blew in their direction. It was the one certainty in his life that he trusted without reservation.
His father, Chicago Police Superintendent Jerome Black, suddenly barreled through the door. “Who wants to go to Vegas?”
They all turned to look at the man, confusion washing over their expressions. In the other room, Vaughan, the eldest daughter, cried out with glee as she and Ellington celebrated loudly.
“What’s going on?” Judith questioned, eyeing her husband curiously.
“Simone and Paul are eloping to Vegas. They just sent a text asking if we all want to fly out to join them.”
Davis rolled his eyes skyward, not at all surprised by anything his sister did. Only Simone would want to get married just hours after their mother’s bombshell announcement. “Why is she rushing?” he asked. “Especially now, after what happened at dinner this evening?”
“It’s Simone,” Parker responded. “Why does she do half the things she does?”
“She’s pregnant,” their mother interjected. “I’m sure her hormones have a lot to do with it, but she’s happy and Paul loves her. We should all go to support them.”
“I have to be here tomorrow afternoon, so we’ll need to fly right back after the ceremony,” Jerome said. “And I know Armstrong and Danni won’t be able to make it. Danni’s working undercover on a case and Armstrong’s not going to stray but so far from her.”
“Mingus and Joanna are going,” Davis said, reading a text message on his cell phone screen. “And Paul’s paying for the airline tickets for any of us that want to go.”
“I have a few days of vacation,” Parker said. “We should go and hang out for a day or two. Do a little brotherly bonding. What’s your schedule look like?”
“There’s nothing on my calendar that I can’t move,” Davis said with a nod. “And, I could use a break.”
He paused for a moment. He did need some rest and time away with his brothers, who were his best friends in the world, sounded exactly like the answer to a multitude of his problems. Because his stress levels were at an all-time high, his emotions often getting the better of him on his best days. Only Mingus knew just how much it had become a challenge for him to get through each day, and his brother had almost spilled those beans earlier that evening.
You need to tell them, Mingus had admonished; loudly, so that the whole family could hear. Then the questions had come and Davis had stormed out of the room and into the kitchen to avoid answering.
He was still nodding. “I say we should do it!”
“Then let’s go to Vegas!” Parker exclaimed.
Judith clapped her hands excitedly. “Let’s just get your sister married before you boys go off looking for trouble, please!”
Davis smiled. “Trouble? Not us!”
Davis exited the family home, still in his feelings but not as raging mad as he’d been earlier. His mother had hugged him tightly, holding him longer than usual. Yet, despite his best efforts, he’d found himself unable to ease fully into the comfort she usually brought to their interactions.
“You good, son?” Jerome Black questioned as he walked him to his car.
Davis shrugged. “I’ll be fine.”
Jerome nodded his head slowly. “If you need to talk...”
“I don’t,” Davis snapped. He felt his father bristle slightly.
The patriarch coughed, drawing his closed hand to cover his mouth. An awkward moment of silence rose swiftly between them. It hung heavily in the evening air and then it didn’t, a cool breeze carrying it away.
“It’s cold out here,” Davis said. “You should go inside.”
“I need a favor from you,” Jerome said. He shot a look over his shoulder toward the stately home, down one side of the street and then the other.
Davis blew a soft sigh. “Yes, sir?”
“I need you to take a meeting with Alexander Balducci.”
Davis turned to stare at his father. His eyes were wide, his brow furrowed. “You need me to take a meeting with Alexander Balducci? Are you crazy?”
The Balducci name was synonymous with every criminal element in the city. One of the oldest crime families in Chicago history, the Balduccis were notorious. His father and the Balducci patriarch, Alexander, had a long-time friendship that many didn’t understand. For years, the two had walked on opposite sides of the law. Their children also had a lengthy toe-to-toe history with fatal outcomes. His brother Armstrong, a distinguished police detective, had gone up against Alexander’s two sons and both Balduccis had lost. One his freedom and the other his life. But through it all, Jerome had maintained a relationship with the man others publicly distanced. Their long-standing friendship was why many questioned the police superintendent’s credibility, assuming he had to be a dirty cop.
“No,” Davis said, shaking his head vehemently. “Why would you ask me to—”
“I’m not asking,” Jerome said sternly. “He needs your assistance with something, and I told him you would help. I’ll call and let you know when and where.” He turned abruptly and headed for the front door of his home.
Still shaking his head, Davis didn’t bother to respond, knowing he’d been dismissed. He slid into the front seat of his car and as he pulled out of the parking space, he bellowed, a litany of profanity spewing past his full lips.
Days later, Davis sat with Mingus, Parker and Ellington, the brothers all gathered around the bar at The Orleans Hotel & Casino in Las Vegas, Nevada. They had already downed a round of shots and were ready for the next as they debated where to grab dinner.
Their sister’s wedding had gone off nicely. With Simone and Paul exchanging vows to seal the deal on their relationship, their baby sister’s well-being was one less thing for them all to be concerned about.
Davis exhaled loudly before guzzling another ounce and a half of black rum.
“Maybe you should slow down there,” Parker admonished, eyeing him with a raised brow.
Davis shrugged his broad shoulders. “It’s Vegas. It’s what we do in Vegas.”
Ellington laughed. “Some of us. Not all of us.”
“What’s with you lately?” Parker asked. He leaned forward in his seat, eyeballing Davis from three barstools away. “You’ve been in a mood.”
“He’s been a pain in the ass!” Mingus muttered under his breath. He turned to Davis. “Tell them already!”
Davis gave him a dirty look, his irritation clearly evident. He gestured at the bartender, tapping at his empty glass.
His brothers all sat, breaths bated, curiosity rising full and thick between them.
“Either you tell them or I will,” Mingus persisted. He swallowed his own drink and gestured for another.
“I’m going to therapy,” Davis said, the words spewing past his lips like rapid fire from a pistol. “I’ve been having a hard time lately and Mom suggested I go speak to someone.” Embarrassment suddenly colored his cheeks a deep shade of apple red.
Ellington and Parker exchanged a quick look. “That’s it?”
Davis shrugged. “We don’t do therapy unless it’s around the dining room table with Mom and Dad telling us there’s nothing wrong with us. It’s embarrassing. People will think I’m weak if anyone finds out.”
“That’s not true,” Parker stated. “I’ve gone to therapy off and on for years. My job isn’t easy and, every so often, I need an impartial person to vent to.”
Davis’s eyes widened. “You?”
Parker nodded. “Mom suggested it when I was struggling after my last promotion.”
“Why haven’t you ever said anything?”
Mingus grunted. “For the same reason you didn’t.”
Ellington laughed. “That male pride will get you every time. There’s no shame in a Black man going to therapy if he needs it.”
“Maybe not, but we sure as hell don’t talk about it. It’s like some dirty little secret we think will make us look weak if our boys find out about it,” Davis said.
“Weakness is not admitting you have a problem when you do and then not doing something about it when you can,” Parker said firmly.
“I know that’s right,” Ellington echoed. He and Parker high-fived each other.
“Do the girls know?” Davis questioned.
“Oh, hell no!” Parker exclaimed, a low chuckle escaping past his lips. “And you better not tell them, either.”
“Definitely don’t tell Simone,” Mingus added.
“Says the guy who ratted me out,” Davis quipped sarcastically.
Mingus shrugged and the brothers all laughed.
“So, has therapy helped you at all?” Ellington asked.
Davis shrugged. “Too soon to tell. I know I just need to get out of my own way and allow the process to do what it’s going to do.”
“It’s hard work,” Parker said. “Just be open to the possibility.”
A wave of relief seemed to wash warmly over Davis, comfort coming from the solidarity they shared. He allowed himself to settle into the wealth of camaraderie, taking from it what he needed most in that moment. Laughter was abundant as they continued to banter back and forth.
“I bet Dad doesn’t know anything about any of us going to therapy,” Davis said after a few minutes. Concern peppered his next comment. “I’m sure he’d have something to say about it if he did.”
Mingus shrugged. “Dad knows what he needs to know. Stop worrying about Dad and take care of yourself however you need to.”
“He wants me to take a meeting with Balducci,” Davis suddenly blurted out. “Do you know anything about that?”
The brothers shot each other a look.
Ellington shook his head. “Did he say why?”
“It doesn’t matter why,” Mingus interjected. “Dad wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important.”
Davis threw up his hands in frustration. “I’m a city alderman, for Christ’s sake! An elected official who’s supposed to stand up against men like Balducci! How is that going to look?”
Parker nodded. “Mingus is right. Dad would never have you do anything that would jeopardize your position or impede your responsibilities as a city official.”
“My being an alderman is why I don’t need to take a meeting with Alexander Balducci. I can’t risk how that may look to my constituents. I have to consider what they may think.”
Mingus laughed. “Saying no to Dad is much riskier than taking that meeting. Just take the meeting.”
“Take the meeting,” Parker and Ellington echoed in unison.
Davis shook his head and threw back a shot of rum.
“Until then—” Mingus tossed back his own shot “—someone figure out what we’re eating. I’m starved.”
“I say we just hit the prime rib joint upstairs,” Davis concluded. “The food is good, and we won’t have far to fall when the night is done and finished.”
The brothers all nodded. “Sounds like you’re feeling better,” Mingus said with a chuckle.
Davis tossed back another shot and laughed.
“Neema! Neema!”
Neema Kamau found her father’s voice especially irritating as he called out from behind her. She stole a quick glance at her wristwatch. She was already late for her job at the Chicago Tribune and she didn’t need a lengthy lecture about something that really wasn’t important to her. She thought about ignoring him but knew that would only make the lecture that came later even more unbearable.
She turned slowly, meeting the look he was giving her head-on. He stood there, hands locked tight against his waist, his expression stern. “Yes, Baba?”
“Are you coming to the restaurant tonight?” Adamu Kamau queried. “We could use the help.”
The restaurant he referred to—the Awaze Grill—was the family business, and it was his pride and joy. Born and raised in Kenya, her father had immigrated to the United States when he’d been in his early twenties. A naturalized citizen with a doctorate in mathematics, he had been one of the most prolific analytical minds to ever work for the Pentagon. But a massive heart attack ten years ago had shifted his priorities and redirected the lives of his wife and children.
The move to Chicago had been the first big change, the whole family leaving DC to follow him to Illinois. It was only recently that Neema had realized her parents opening their family restaurant was truly a dream come true for the two of them.
The building on West Reynolds Street had been purchased outright, the couple dipping into their life savings to make it their own. After renovations, Awaze Grill was born, featuring the best recipes of their east African culture. For her family, it was a second home of sorts. For her parents, the restaurant quelled any feelings of emptiness they had for their African culture in America. Being able to share that culture with others made everyone feel like family to them. For Neema, working when she was needed rewarded the gratitude she often felt for all her parents had done for her.
Raised according to her parents’ Kenyan culture, Neema knew that family was central to everything. Children were expected to honor their parents and fulfill any obligations asked of them. Saying no to her father was not an option, nor would she have even considered it.
“Yes, Baba.” Neema nodded. “If you need me to work, I’ll be there.”
He nodded his balding head. “Also, I need you to stop by that alderman’s office. You know the one.”
“Alderman Black?”
“Yes, him. He needs to do something about the drug activity on the corner. It isn’t good for the neighborhood, and the police aren’t doing anything to help with the situation.”
“I sent him a letter last week, Baba. We should probably give him a little time to respond.”
Her father shook his head. “No. You need to follow up in person. To be sure he understands how big the problem is. These young boys are getting out of hand. One of them cursed me yesterday. Outside of my own front door! No respect! No respect at all!” The old man threw his hands up in frustration.
Neema shuttered a soft sigh. “Yes, Baba. I’ll try to run by his office on my lunch hour.”
Her father gave her a nod then stepped forward to give her a kiss on the cheek. “You’re a good daughter, Neema. You have a good day.”
Neema smiled. “You too, Baba!”
Once she was out the door, Neema sighed with audible relief. It hadn’t been nearly as painful as she had anticipated. In fact, she was feeling slightly guilty for imagining a doomsday lecture from her father. She’d been certain her late-night hours the previous evening would have had her father on a rampage. It wasn’t often that she agreed to dinner and drinks with her coworkers, specifically because of how her parents reacted when she did. It was one thing when her shift at the newsroom required her to be out all night. It was something wholeheartedly different when she was out all night socializing. She was surprised her father hadn’t mentioned it at all.
Much like her father, Neema had moments when she herself overreacted, having to bite her tongue to keep from being snarky. The morning had begun to feel like one of those days, other things on her mind. Like her stagnant career and the fact that she saw no hope of things improving.
Admittedly, she had promised her father to use her lunch hour to reach out to their district alderman. But, truth be told, Neema had no interest in trying too hard. She knew who Davis Black was. Everyone knew the city alderman and his family. The Black name was synonymous with most everything that happened in the Chicago judicial system. His father was the police superintendent. His mother was a federal court judge, and all his siblings were gainfully employed cops, attorneys or civic leaders. They didn’t just make or enforce the law. Most of the Chicago community considered them to be the law.
For months, Neema had been angling for a story on the Black family. Something that would carry her byline and merit national attention. She dreamed of a Pulitzer Prize and the accolades of a breaking news story. It would validate her decision to forgo a career in medicine, like her parents had wanted, for the degree in investigative journalism that she had achieved. It would show that she’d made the right decision following the one and only time she’d defied them.
Her love for journalism had started in high school after working on the school newspaper. What was meant to pass some time and be an easy grade had changed the entire trajectory of her life. Now she just needed it to pay off and become the career she wanted it to be.
In college, she’d worked on the school’s newspaper, Central Michigan Life. She’d been the news editor, a senior reporter and a copy editor. Her senior year, she’d interned at the Flint Journal, covering city government and breaking news. After graduation, she’d gotten her first official job with the Morning Sun. As a staff reporter, she’d embraced local city township and public education beats, gaining valuable experience in both hard news and feature writing. That position had lasted three years when she’d been offered a position with the Chicago Daily Herald writing lifestyle articles about foodstuffs at the Long Grove Apple Fest, algal bloom in Herrick Lake and the nice women who volunteered at the community gardens. It had paid well but lacked the substantive bite of the stories she wanted to write.
By happenstance, a friend whose husband was a producer for the Chicago Tribune had given her a heads up that they were looking for a news reporter. Neema had jumped at the opportunity. The Tribune was the most-read daily newspaper of the Chicago metropolitan area and the Great Lakes region. With the sixth highest circulation for American newspapers, and unlike many of its competitors, its numbers were growing.
Although Neema still occasionally got the usual fluff story about school spelling bees, she’d been able to write more serious pieces about Chicago’s political scene, corporate corruption, and the challenges facing the education system.
Social media had significantly changed how news made it to people’s front doors. The political outcry from a presidential administration about newspapers and reporters being the delegates of fake news had not served the industry well. It also hadn’t helped that some news organizations had gone the way of tabloid sensationalism over quality reporting. But the Tribune had stayed true to its roots, maintaining its print presence and expanding its digital footprint.
Most newsrooms were still the stomping grounds for white males, their boys’ club mentality not at all inclusive of women in general. Women of color, far and few between, were an anomaly. For Neema, every day in the office was an uphill battle trying to prove her worth in a world that saw little value in her humanity let alone her ability. But it was a fight Neema welcomed, even when the struggle sometimes felt unsurmountable. So, one lead, just a hint of impropriety somewhere in the city, or with one of its stellar citizens, could once again change her life. But everything about Davis Black and his picture-perfect family felt too elusive to ever amount to anything that Neema could use and she didn’t have the time to waste chasing dead ends.
Minutes later she sauntered into the Tribune’s new offices at Prudential Plaza. It was a stark contrast to the original offices at Tribune Tower on North Michigan Avenue. Neema had started in the newsroom while they’d still been in the landmark building that had housed them for almost an entire century. It was one of the most recognized newsrooms in the world with its neo-Gothic beauty that rose some thirty-six floors into Chicago’s skyline. Inside, it had been a roach-infested dump with large cubicles from the 1970s, built-in file cabinets, antiquated television sets that sat on desktop corners and ceiling tiles that routinely leaked and crumbled. It was currently undergoing a renovation, having been sold to a Los Angeles-based developer who was turning the space into luxury condos.
Neema remembered well the first time she’d walked into the building’s lobby for her interview. She’d been instantly smitten with the space, the walls engraved with quotes about the media industry. Her journalistic spirit had been instantly inspired. The new office space was ultramodern and much nicer, yet lacked a certain je ne sais quoi possessed by the old building.
Taking the elevator to the offices on the twenty-seventh floor, Neema shot a quick glance to her watch. The noise level when she stepped into the newsroom was just a semblance of what it could be, voices raised as reporters shouted over each other. The open-concept space was set up with honeycomb-like pods comprised of desks that shifted from sitting to standing at the push of a button. Floor-to-ceiling windows gave them all spectacular views of Millennium Park.
The digital team and breaking news team both sat room-center under a massive TV mount hanging from the ceiling. The other departments—lifestyles, food and dining, and sports—clustered around them. The open floor plan had taken some getting used to, but it fostered a wealth of organic conversation that most of the staff found engaging. This morning was no exception.
“What’s going on?” Neema questioned as she hurried to her desk, noting the burst of activity in the room.
Rose Edmonds, the digital news editor for the investigative team, greeted her warmly then shrugged her narrow shoulders. “They’re debating the merits of gun control and active shooter drills in the public school system. Brooke scored a sweet interview with the chief executive of the NRA.”
“Lucky Brooke,” Neema stated as she cut her eyes in Brooke Donovan’s direction. She gave the woman a nod and a bright smile, Brook returning the morning greeting with a wink of her eye.
The statuesque, blue-eyed blonde was an on-air personality who’d fallen into journalism by chance. She had dated an NBC newscaster in her late teens, the man having groomed her for the spotlight. He’d been her first husband and the father of her two oldest children. After their divorce, Brooke had struck out on her own, landing the job with the Tribune. She was passionate about news and had been a star in the newsroom ever since.
Despite them being polar opposites of each other, Brooke had proved herself to be a good friend. She’d gone to bat for Neema a few times, helping her to fight for stories the managing editor would have passed on her for without a second thought. Neema was genuinely happy for Brooke, but it also struck a nerve, reminding her that she needed to step up her game.
It took most of the morning for Neema to wade through the multitude of emails in her inbox and then clear away the mess on her desk. She had just completed a half dozen follow-up calls on a story she was working on about the new school superintendent when the managing editor for investigations called her into his office.
George Pappariella had been with the newspaper since forever. He was old enough to be her father and wore his age like a badge of honor. He was also set in his ways, and considered women in the newsroom an affront to the American spirit. It wasn’t often that he addressed Neema, or any of the other women directly, usually preferring to delegate through third parties.
“How’s it going, Nina?” he asked.
Her eyes narrowed ever so slightly. “It’s Neema,” she said, repeating her name slowly. “Nee...ma.”
He nodded. “Neema, yes. Okay. Well, how are things?”
“Things are well, sir,” she answered, attitude clinging to each word. “Thank you for asking,” she quipped politely.
“Good to hear.” He quickly dismissed with the small talk. “We’re going to have to ask you to do some night shifts for the next few weeks. Fuller needs some time off to help with his kids, so he’s taking a short leave of absence. We need you to start tonight.”
Her eyes widened slightly. Jason Fuller had been hired to do the late-night news beat about six months ago. His very pregnant wife had recently given birth to twins, boys named Wayne and Garth, after the characters from that 1990s movie Wayne’s World. “I can’t start tonight. I have a prior commitment.”
Pappariella looked up from the papers he’d been shifting from side to side atop his desk. “Excuse me?”
“I’ll be delighted to help out, but starting tonight’s not possible. I have a prior commitment that I cannot cancel. And the union requires employees be given sufficient notice of any schedule changes.”
Pappariella bristled slightly. “I was under the impression you were a team player, Nina.”
“I am. I can’t however speak for Nina, since I don’t know anyone by that name. My name, sir, is Neema. N-e-e-m-a. Neema.”
The man’s face skewed, his mouth puckering as if he’d tasted something sour. Heat flooded his cheeks with color, his olive complexion suddenly turning a deep shade of Christmas red. He bit down against his bottom lip before finally responding. “Can you start tomorrow? Is that sufficient enough notice?”
Neema gave him a smug smile. “It is. Thank you.”
He waved her away, the gesture dismissive.
Neema turned on her chunky heel.
As she closed the office door behind her, the smirk that blessed her expression was telling. It wasn’t necessarily a win, she thought to herself, but felt immensely rewarding to have stood up for herself.
