4

Giovanni Haynes

          Mateo was right; tonight, I wasn't behaving like myself. Where was all that self-confidence I used to embody? It felt like Jasmine still held all the power over me, even after two years of silence between us, reminding me of the deep impact she had on my life.

"Forget it. You probably don't even stand a chance with her," Mateo said, his voice laced with skepticism, as if trying to shake me from my reverie and bring me back to reality, but his words only fueled the fire of my determination.

"You've lost it man, all that charm. You don't stand a chance with a beauty like that." That was it, Mateo was playing with fire. 

"Are you doubting me?" I asked him, a mix of annoyance and challenge in my voice.

He shrugged nonchalantly, his gaze unwavering, and replied, "Are you doubting yourself?" His words cut deeper than I expected, forcing me to confront the insecurities bubbling beneath the surface.

"Fine, let's make a deal," I declared, adrenaline surging through me. "I will not only go over there and get her number, but I'll make her fall in love with me—just give me two weeks." Mateo raised an eyebrow, skepticism written all over his face, but there was a spark of intrigue in his eyes; I could feel the stakes rising in this game of confidence and charm.

He smirks,"I'll give you a month, but what if she doesn't fall for your deceit? What will I get?"

He smirked, leaning in with curiosity. "I'll give you a month, but what if she doesn't fall for your deceit? What will I get?" I met his gaze, determination igniting my response. "If she doesn't, then you can have the ten percent of my company you've been craving for, and if she does, then—" I paused.

I stared at him, the weight of my words settling in. I have everything I wanted, thinking of something to ask for in return is a bit difficult. "When I have her falling on her knees for me in the next four weeks, then I'll let you know." The confidence in my voice masked the uncertainty bubbling underneath as I considered just how far I was willing to go to seal this deal.

With a sly grin, he raised his glass, a silent toast to our unorthodox agreement. "I'll be looking forward to my ten percent share," he said, his eyes glinting with anticipation. I took a deep breath, my heart racing as I prepared to approach the target, the stakes higher than ever, knowing that every move I made would lead me closer to the ultimate goal—or to ruin.

"Wait!" Mateo calls out, his voice cutting through my focus.

I turn, glaring at him, annoyance flashing in my eyes as I ask, "What?" He just sits there, smirking, clearly enjoying the moment.

"What do I get if... if you fall for her instead?" he asks, his smirk widening as he leans back in his chair, clearly relishing the thought.

I stared at him, feeling puzzled. Was that supposed to be some sort of joke? Of all people, he should have known better than to make a comment like that.

"That will never happen," I said confidently, turning back toward the spot where the woman had been seated. To my dismay, she was no longer there. I scanned the bar, my eyes darting around in search of her, but there was no sign of her anywhere.

I took a seat and ordered more drinks. "Looks like neither of us will be gaining anything from this bet," I remarked.

"Sorry, man," Mat said, giving my back a reassuring pat. "It's my fault you lost your chance, but on the brighter side, if it's meant to be, then it will be."

"Shut it, Mat, you're speaking as if she was my last chance," I shot back, trying to keep my cool. "There are plenty of women out there; if anything, it's her loss."

Ciara Mendes

        I need to get out of here; it was getting late. Tomorrow's interview was at ten in the morning, and I had to finish getting my notes organized. Although that wasn't the main reason, sitting a few tables away were two men, and it felt as if they were watching me. I might be wrong, but the last thing I want right now is for one of them to approach me. After what happened recently, I'm done with men for a while.

Micah was still sitting with his Brittney look-alike; they seemed deep in conversation, and I didn't want to interrupt them. It had been a while since he dated anyone. The last woman he dated was only interested in him for his money. Micah was a handsome and brilliant man who could get anyone he wanted; I don't understand why he would settle for an exotic dancer who was only after his cash.

Drowning my drink, I grabbed my purse and walked out of the bar. The streets of New York were filled with people; it's actually not that different from L.A., although I do prefer L.A. as a place to call home. After all, I was born there.

The walk from Davinche Restaurant and Bar to the hotel took about five minutes. Once I finally arrived at room 202, I kicked off my heels and poured myself some red wine. I wasn't the biggest fan of wine, but after receiving so much at my engagement party, and with that relationship now broken off, I found myself carrying a bottle everywhere I went—often skipping the glass altogether.

“Mmm,” I moaned, looking down into my glass. “At least you didn’t leave me, but maybe if you had feet, you would have, wouldn’t you?” I chuckled at the absurdity of talking to a bottle of wine, but in this moment of solitude, it felt oddly comforting to give voice to my loneliness.

Giggling, I plopped down on one of the stools around the counter, still amused by my own chatter with the wine. Just then, my iPhone began vibrating, the phone jittering across the surface as it buzzed for attention. Curious, I leaned forward to see who was calling me.

“What is this I heard about you not talking to your sister?” Her voice sliced through the air, sharper than the knives in my kitchen back home. I could almost feel the heat of her concern radiating from the phone, and it made me squirm uncomfortably on the stool.

"Hello to you too, Mother," I replied, attempting to keep my voice steady despite the tension simmering between us.

"Ciara, I don't have time for your foolishness, now answer my question," she shot back, her impatience echoing through the line.

I laughed humorlessly, the sound hollow in the air; she never had time for me. She never made it to my preschool plays, couldn’t offer comfort during the heartbreak Troy Vixen handed me in ninth grade, and wasn’t even there three years ago when I nearly lost my life in that car accident. Her urgency now felt like a cruel reminder of all the moments she chose to miss, leaving me to navigate my pain without a mother.

"I don't know, Mom," I shot back, my voice laced with bitterness. "Why don’t you ask your favorite daughter why she stole my fiancé months before my wedding? Ask her why she had her tongue down his throat while her husband and daughter were waiting for her at home." The words hung heavy in the air, a mix of pain and fury that I could no longer suppress, as I confronted her with the undeniable betrayal that had shattered my world.

I wipe my tears and pour myself more wine, the silence stretching uncomfortably on the line. She hadn't hung up; I could still hear her breathing, but it felt as if the cat had gotten her tongue. I bet she never imagined her beloved Bridget could be the one to steal her little disaster's fiancé.

I sigh, muttering "Bye, Mom," before ending the call, needing to reclaim my peace. I turned my attention to work, pushing aside any lingering thoughts of her because I had enough on my plate without adding the weight of our fractured relationship. It felt like a distant memory, long cremated and buried, a reminder that some ties were better left severed.