This Could Be Us (Skyland, #2)(39)
“What was wrong with that?” Yasmen asks, sitting up, leaning forward.
“When white women in town asked them to clean their houses and look after their kids, they didn’t need the money and refused.” I laugh, shaking my head. “They couldn’t stand that, though, so they literally passed an ordinance requiring the ‘negresses’ to work outside the home, giving them back their nannies and domestics.”
It’s quiet for a few moments as we all sit with the injustice of that and nibble from our charcuterie board. We’ve come a long way.
“Other women have always been allowed to stay home,” I say. “To make their homes and their families their life’s work. Not us. When Grammy told us that, it struck a chord in me. It was like 1918, and we were still being denied even the privilege of saying no to working for someone else. I’ve always known I didn’t want to work for anybody but myself.”
“Then work for yourself,” Hendrix says with a shrug. “You need the money now and you’ve got the seeds of an empire right here. Get your UGC, your GRWM, and that AMA. Put all the letters on all the platforms to work.”
“I don’t even know what any of those letters mean,” I laugh.
“She’s right, Sol,” Yasmen says. “You know I was skeptical about Deja being a natural-hair influencer, but even I can see that if she wants to make a living doing it, she could. We’re in a unique time right now. Where you can get paid to wash your face and make your coffee and share all the life hacks you’ve cultivated over the years running your home like an enterprise.”
“Make it an enterprise,” Hendrix urges. “We’ve talked before about you becoming an influencer, a content creator. Brands reach out all the time asking my clients to do posts and ads on their socials. I might be able to connect you with a few for a little boost to begin. Given what I’ve seen, you could grow fast.”
Hendrix manages talent, including several popular reality TV housewives, so she knows of what she speaks.
“While you think about that, we’re low on vino.” Yasmen hoists her empty glass and starts to get up. “We need reinforcements.”
“No, sit.” I wave her back to her seat on the floor and stand. “It’s still my house for now. Lemme enjoy it while I can.”
“That’s not funny,” Hendrix says. “It’s gonna work out and you’re keeping your house, but while you’re up, could you also restock the olives?”
I roll my eyes and smile all the way to the kitchen. I’m glad I told them the full story of Edward’s betrayal. Going through this is bad enough. Going through it alone? I can’t even imagine.
I’m headed back to the living room with a fresh bottle of wine and Hendrix’s olives when the doorbell rings. Through the large glass doors, I see Judah Cross standing on the front porch. The warm light carves out shadows beneath his high cheekbones and melts the dark chocolate of his eyes.
“Oh!” I open the door and step aside for him to come in. “Sorry. I wasn’t expecting anyone.”
Yasmen and Hendrix’s laughter drifts to the foyer.
“I mean, my friends stopped by.” I smile, tipping my head toward the living room. “But I wasn’t expecting anyone else.”
The foyer is spacious, but as soon as he steps inside, the walls seem closer, the air—scarce. It’s ridiculous that the future of my family is in the balance, and I’m having to remind myself not to stare at his lips. There is some major compartmentalizing happening. Potential financial ruin over here. Blistering attraction off to the side. It’s a feeling I’ve been fighting since the moment we locked eyes at the Christmas party. It wasn’t appropriate then, and it isn’t now.
“I’m sorry I wasn’t able to come sooner,” Judah says. “I’m sure you must be anxious to know what CalPot decided.”
“It has crossed my mind a time or two hundred since our meeting, yeah. Only my life in the balance.”
“I know, but the board had to weigh all the options and decide.” He gives me a searching look. “You do realize that as soon as I told them about the drive, they and the FBI could have just demanded it?”
“I knew that was a risk, of course.” I drop my eyes to the floor and tap the bottle of wine against my leg. “Why do you think I came to you? I believed you wouldn’t let that happen.”
When I glance back up, his expression is more shuttered even than usual, but something flares in his eyes as they rake over my face, and I’m sure he’s fighting the same attraction I’ve tried to ignore.
“You were right,” he says, his voice soft, but with an edge. “I was prepared to do everything in my power to make sure you and your daughters got out of this as unscathed as possible.”
Hot emotion gathers behind my eyes at his kindness, his care for the girls and me when my own husband hasn’t shown even a measure of it. I clear my throat, testing the steadiness of my voice before speaking.
“I appreciate that, Judah.”
“Luckily I didn’t have to do much convincing. Delores insisted anyone who would tell her to her face that her pan sucked would not be in cahoots—her word. I’ve never used the word cahoots in my life—with her husband to steal millions of dollars.”
“Seriously?” I gape at him, a wide smile breaking out on my face. “That’s amazing. Delores in my corner. Who would’ve thought.”