Chicago has worked for everything her entire life. Nothing has even been given to here.
At the young age of twenty five she has risen through the glass ceiling becoming the youngest black female CFO in America.
Her next stop on her rise to power C...
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"Mrs Evans your being loud and it's interrupting me carrying my load." This fucking idiot gets on my nerves.
Nehemiah pokes his oversized overbearing personality into my office standing with nothing but smugness. This is one of those moments I wouldn't mind if Victor made him disappear, like the other men that came in and out of my life.
Victor raises an eye brow at Nehemiah not really like his condescending tone. That's when he finally notices Victor standing off to the side.
"What happened to the other guy across the hall?" He ask turning to me annoyance in his voice. I'm not sure if it's because of us being interrupted or Nehemiah in general.
"Forcibly retired." He shakes his head returning his gaze to Nehemiah.
"I'm sorry I thought she was on the phone." He clears his throat taking in Victors appearance. "If you don't mind me asking who are you?"
"I do mind." Victor states taking a step closer to him sizing him up. The are evenly built and around the same damn height. If it where to come down to it though my money is on Victor.
You live in a gang for all your life killing, and beating the fuck out of people really puts you at an advantage.
"No kissing in my office." I state making both of the men glare at me as they take a step away from each other. Such fragile masculinities.
I smile at both of them. "I'm leaving. Tell Harlem I said "Hi.". You have two weeks Chicago that's all I can give you."
"Bye Kingston." I smirk knowing he hate when people use his government name.
Without even looking back he holds out his tattooed middle finger. "Bitch." He huffs. Making his exit before I can even speak.
"You couldn't have just hired a normal person to play your fake husband." I raise my eyebrow at him confused for a second.
"That's my brother idiot. This isn't that type of trope." He nods and looks out the windows behind me not meeting my eye.
"He definitely looks different." He's digging.
"Yeah I know. He's a tattoo artist with tattoos. Nothing about him says white collar." I say pulling out my work for the day. I start jotting down some notes and reminders.
A few moments of silence pass before I can see his shine black shoes in the corner of my eye. "Why does a tattoo artist need a gun?" His question causes me to come to a screeching stop.
I turn to face him. He towers over me right now since I'm sitting. I have to crane my next to look into his blue gray eyes. "I don't know what your talking about Mr Winters."
He laughs raising any eyebrow. "You shouldn't deflect Mrs Evans." I scoff standing to my full height. My nose brushing against his cheek, as I lean to his ear.
