The Don's Princess

Ball

Hailey's POV
4:30p.m

There are 30 minutes left until my shift is over. I sit around the counter, watching the clock.

"Excuse me, where is the hand soap?" A lady asks, snapping my attention back to earth.

"Check isle 4," I instruct, and she follows said instructions. Just then, my phone rings, and I pick up without checking the caller ID.

"Hey, I didn't ask where I should pick you up," the sweet but slightly coarse voice of Ria greets me, and my day is much better as a result.

I tell her the harberdashery I work at, and she says okay before hanging up.

There are still 15 minutes left in the waiting process, and time is moving slower than it usually does. This is the most annoying thing that our brains do. Time is moving normal for everybody else, while the day feels extra long for me.

4:57p.m.
Finally, I can start packing up to leave. So I do just that. Telling staff and my manager that I'm leaving at exactly 5, I step through the doors, and right then , Mercedes pulls up and stops at my feet.

The beautiful girl that I've been dying to see steps out of the vehicle. She shuts the door and leans on said vehicle, folding her arms and putting one foot on the car. She's dressed in black sweats and a black fitted shirt. Her twists fall down past her shoulders. She's more on the handsome side than pretty right now. If I'm being honest, her muscle definition doesn't help with the fact.

Her soft feminine features make it obvious she's not a man, though. Some people passing on the other side of the road spot her and cross, coming over to us.

"Ria? Yuh did know dem parts yah?" One young man asks, and they do the dab thing men do.

"I haven't been here for a while, so you know it's something when I do show up," she laughs, and they join her.

"Suh wah d don up to?" They ask, and she itches her head and refolds her hand.

Don? She's a girl. Use to Jamaicans calling men don, a wah greeting I guess but fi wah girl it... unusual.

Her eyes make four with mine, and the young men look over at me with a knowing look, and I don't know what to do, so I look away.

"Well, good seeing you, hail up yuh father fi mi," the talkative one says, dabbing her up once again before leaving. The other two follow him, saluting her with two fingers as they leave, and she returns the gesture.

She enters the car and closes the door, I'm still standing staring out of space as she is occupied. She rolls down the windows and signals to me.

"Aren't you coming?" she asks and opens the door for me. I take a seat, and the door closes.

I decided to call my mom to remind her that I would not be home because she had the habit of changing her mind at the last minute.

"Hey, mommy, memba mi nah come home until late," I remind the middle-aged lady on the other side of the phone.

"Yes Angel mi memba," she says and hangs up.

But she rude, she did use har credit call mi?

"Angel?" she looks at me with a raised brow.

"Well, yes, my mother is the only one that calls me that and my dad," I express, and she nods.

"Well, my father insists on mostly using my first name because my mother named me," she says, and I sense a shift in her mood. She's not sad, but her mood did fall just now.