Ain't Nothing To It, Real One Aint Nothing To It, Boss

Trish

Why was it that as soon as you cleared someone from your system, they tried sneaking back in like nothing happened? That's exactly how I felt at the sight of Ángel sitting in my VIP section at work. Two weeks had passed since we last saw each other, and with the help of Jamilee, I was doing a good job of staying away from him. I blocked him in my phone, on all forms of social media, and stared at my naked body covered in adding bruises every time I even thought of reaching out to him. He would have some of his men post up in front of my school, but I nipped that shit in the bud by reporting them to campus security. Jamilee also made sure to stay by my side whenever we went out. They knew better than to mess with her. Too bad she couldn't show up to work with me. I could've used her support and protection right now.

"Welcome to Duplex, my name is Trish, and I'll be your server. What can I start you with?" I said, making sure to keep my distance from Ángel, who sat in the center of the leather sofa, two set of men flanking him on each side.

Ángel leaned back in his seat and sized me up, his eyes lingering on my curves, which were on full display in the little black dress I wore. "I would like three bottles of Moet Rosé...Trish. Then I want you to tell your boss that you're taking the rest of the night off to join me. I've been missing your company."

"So, that's three bottles of champagne?" I pretended to scribble on the notepad. "Got it. I'll be right back with your order. Would you like to add on any appetizers?"

"What I want to eat isn't on the menu."

I clenched my thighs together at the mention of Ángel's devilish tongue working its magic on my sweet spot. In the past, he was able to gain my forgiveness by apologizing to my body, but the words never made it out of his mouth. It was my fault; I taught him how to treat me, and like any good student, he paid close attention. Now I was paying dearly for sweeping everything under the rug.

"What's wrong with you?" Nicole asked as she handed me the bucket filled with ice and champagne. "You got a money table tonight. I don't know what he does for a living, but I know every time he comes here the waitress doesn't walk away with anything less than ten grand in tips. That sounds like a down payment on a laboratory."

"Fuck a lab," I replied, yanking the bucket off the table with more anger than I intended.

Nicole's eyes widened at the statement. "Trish, you've been acting real funny over the past couple weeks. I know your parents haven't noticed because they like to think you're perfect, but I always make sure to keep an eye on you."

"Maybe you should focus some of that attention on Normani. She's the one who needs someone to talk to with the way she keeps crying for help in her sleep."

The words tumbled out of my mouth before I could stop them. I didn't mean to out Normani's personal problems, but Nicole was a bloodhound—once she got a whiff of something she wouldn't stop until she had all the information. Maybe she could channel some of that energy to her sister. Concern flashed in her eyes for a fleeting second.

"You're not the only one people watching, Nicole. You play like you can't stand Normani all you want, but I know better. Whatever your beef is with her, you need to squash it." I regretted it when Nicole's face formed a mask of anger. "Nicole—"

"Don't you have your drinks? Now get the fuck away from my bar."

Nicole turned her attention to the hands waving for her assistance. I shifted the champagne bucket and headed back upstairs to my section where I found that Ángel and his men weren't alone. A woman sat on each of their laps with the exception of Ángel, whose wife sat beside him draped in jewels and dressed in a Givenchy number I saw in Normani's closet. They were tonguing each other down like horny teenagers. I placed the bucket on the table and set them up with flutes and enough napkins to keep them out of my hair for at least half an hour. One of the women waved her hand at me.