Total pages in book: 109
Estimated words: 104532 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 523(@200wpm)___ 418(@250wpm)___ 348(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 104532 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 523(@200wpm)___ 418(@250wpm)___ 348(@300wpm)
“I can drive.”
“I know.” He stands. “But I want to.”
“What about you? Aren’t you having breakfast?”
“I already ate,” he says with a wink so disarming, if it was directed at any other woman, she would’ve fallen at his feet. “And just so you know, you’re worth a hell of a lot more than three thousand rand. No price is high enough for you.” Leaning closer, he wraps my hair around his fist. “Whatever you thought you were doing in that bar, it won’t happen again. If you offer yourself to any man, for money or for free, he’s dead.” He lets my hair untangle from his fingers. “Is that clear?”
Swallowing, I nod.
“Good,” he says.
Closing in for the kill, he presses his lips on mine. The kiss isn’t kind or gentle. It’s a possessive kiss that seals a deal. When he pulls away, the promise I see in his eyes doesn’t leave me with any doubt about the seriousness of his threat.
He doesn’t spare me another glance as he leaves the kitchen. Staring after him with a pounding heart, I ponder his change in attitude, but I do finish the food he so thoughtfully prepared.
Forty minutes later, he drops me off at the tattoo parlor in Fourways and leaves me with a peck on the lips. The female customers lined up in the reception area drool after him as he tells me to be a good girl before handing me a lunchbox and walking through the door.
The tattoo parlor is busy, and the morning flies by. I enjoy meeting the clientele. For now, I sit in on Joseph’s first meetings, giving input or suggestions when the customers are stuck for ideas. The only rule is that we each finish what we start. If I make a preliminary concept drawing that a customer accepts, I get to complete it. Understandably, Joseph doesn’t like anyone meddling with his art.
Vero and the staff are kind and accommodating. I can’t complain about my working environment or conditions. If I’m not assisting in a meeting, I’m helping at the front desk. The woman with the pigtails is an energetic economics graduate called Annie. She explains that she ended up at Inked after fruitlessly looking for work in her field and enjoyed her job so much she decided to stay. After she’s showed me the ropes, I take calls and make appointments while she’s on her tea and lunch breaks.
When it’s my turn for lunch, I go to the bakery on the corner, take a table outside, and order a coffee and a dozen cinnamon buns. I’m surprised to find a gourmet pasta salad and an individually wrapped piece of carrot cake in the lunchbox Leon prepared for me. I’m still not sure how to handle this radical turn of direction.
Before my hour break is up, I call my mom to check on her. To my relief, she sounds upbeat and present in the moment. Whenever her demeanor turns dreamy, I know something is going on. We agree to have lunch on Saturday, and when she’s assured me she’s doing well, we say our goodbyes.
Leon sends me a text message to say he’ll pick me up at six when I sign off, but since it turns quiet in the afternoon, Vero sends me home at three. Not wanting to bother Leon, I order an Uber and text him on the way home to let him know he doesn’t have to fetch me. It was kind of him to drive me on my first day, but I prefer to be independent.
At home, I freshen up before going over to Zelda’s with the cinnamon buns I picked up at the bakery. She opens the door wearing pajamas with a blue airplane motive. Her eyes are red and puffy.
“Hey,” I exclaim, shutting the door behind me. “Is everything all right?”
Sniffing, she hugs herself and walks to the center of the open-plan living area. “Yeah.” She huffs a laugh and wipes her eyes. “Don’t mind me.”
“Zelda.” My stomach tightens with concern. “Are you ill?”
She bites her lip and shakes her head, her eyes brimming with tears.
“You’re not okay,” I say, going over. “Do you want me to call Sam?”
Her chest expands as she takes a deep breath. “There’s nothing he can do.”
“Please. You’re scaring me. At least let me try to help.”
She stares at me with a quivering bottom lip. “It’s Sam. We had tests done. He can’t have children.”
“Oh, Zelda.” Dropping the bag of buns on the table, I take her into a hug. “I’m so sorry. I know how badly the two of you want a baby.”
She breaks down with heart-wrenching sobs, her whole body shaking from the violence of her grief. Not knowing what else to do, I hug her until the worst of the breakdown abides.
“Sorry,” she says, sniffing again and pulling away. “I guess I just haven’t dealt with the news yet. We only got the results yesterday.” Taking a tissue from a box that stands on the table, she blows her nose. “Sam is devastated too. I told him it’s not his fault, but he feels guilty.” She shrugs and says in a nasal tone, “You know how men can be. He’s not handling it well, but he’s bottling it up, thinking he has to be strong for me.”