Billionaire Flawed 2(90)

They stopped at a red light, the massive engine of the expensive car purring like a jungle cat. Mr. Conner looked over to Aisha, and she noticed his eyes dipped, following the long line of her crossed legs, down to her knee and then back to her dark thigh, where they disappeared under her skirt.

“All my life,” Anthony answered finally. “Born and raised.”

“Wow. I still can’t get used to this place.”

“It’s nuts, and it’s a crazy way to grow up. My dad wanted something for us, for his family, so he and my mother and my older brother moved here just before I was born. He never made it, always worked a couple of jobs, just managed to get by, but there’s something about living here, right here in the city, and it inspired me.”

“I didn’t know you had a brother,” Aisha said.

“He moved away as soon as he could. He didn’t take to the city like I did. I don’t see him much.”

“I’m sorry.”

The light turned green, and the car pulled forward, and Aisha’s boss shrugged. “It is what it is.”

Aisha laughed. “My grandmother used to say that. I thought it sounded good. When I was in highschool I wrecked my mom’s car. He was yelling at me, and I said it is what it is. He didn’t find it funny, or profound.”

Anthony Conner laughed. “Do you have any siblings?”

“Three. Well, three half-siblings. That’s typical, right? My mom had me first, and then two with her second husband. The third is only six, and she doesn’t know who the dad is exactly. She had just gotten divorced again.”

“What do you mean that’s typical? Mr. Connor asked as they pulled into a small parking lot, next to a very expensive Italian restaurant that had a name Aisha didn’t quite know how to pronounce.

“Black girl with a bunch of half-siblings,” Aisha said, wondering if Anthony was that sheltered, or trying to spare her feelings. She wasn’t ashamed of where she came from, but she was proud of herself from getting away from that sort of life.

Anthony parked and looked to his assistant. “Who cares about that shit, right?”

Aisha smiled and nodded, and her boss reached over and put his hand on her leg. It seemed friendly, just a little touch between a man trying to make sure a woman knew he didn’t care about things like that, but his hand wasn’t on her knee, it was closer to her thigh, his pinkie finger touching the hem of her short skirt. The touch was like electricity, sending a shock of pleasure through Aisha’s body. His hand was strong and warm, and she found herself wishing the older man would slide it under her skirt.

But then he took his hand away, and opened his door, and it was time for lunch.





2

Inside there was a small line of well-dressed business men and a few women waiting for a table, but Mr. Conner didn’t have to wait at all. He led her past the line, right to a smartly dressed maitre d’ who stood next to an oak podium. He was a tall man, older than Aisha but younger than her boss. He had slicked back hair and a thin mustache.

“Mr. Conner,” he said with a smile as he motioned them both back towards the dining room with his hands. “Glad to see you.”

“Thanks, Tom,” Anthony said, pulling a crisp bill from his pocket and palming it, so after they were shown to their table, and when Tom shook his hand, he could discreetly take the tip. It was hard to be sure, but it looked to Aisha like her boss had handed the man a hundred dollar bill.

The restaurant was small and dimly lit, with the tables and chairs and other furnishings looking more expensive than anything the young black girl owned. She had worked hard to get where she was, but there, at the table with her boss, she felt out of place. She shoved the thoughts from her mind, though and smiled across the table to Anthony.

“I’ve never been here before,” she said. “What’s good?”

“The wine,” Anthony Conner said, and they both laughed. “Really, though, you can’t go wrong with anything. Do you like seafood? They have a great pasta with shellfish. I always add an order of crab cakes as well.”

Aisha nodded. “I’ll have whatever you recommend,” she said, and her boss nodded and ended up ordering for both of them. Each dish had a complicated Italian name, and Aisha found herself wondering if her boss was saving her a bit of embarrassment. Soon after ordering their waitress, who was a thin white blonde girl with a massive chest and an even bigger butt, clad in a crisp white shirt and tight black pants, brought a bottle of wine which Aisha was pretty sure cost more than she made in a month.

“Bring another, will you?” Mr. Connor said with a smile, and the waitress nodded.