What about Marc?
Marc’s not… Well, I’m sure as fuck not going to talk to him about this shit.
But he is a friend.
Maybe.
Most of his friends had been Oscar’s friends, and they dropped him when he left. They’d probably been scared to go against Oscar. Even after ten years, he’d never figured out why they would choose a manipulative son of a bitch over him, unless it was just their way of not feeling guilty for looking sideways while Oscar abused him.
At least Darius had the last word on that. Once Darius, with Clarice’s help, got his business going and built a solid client list, he heard Oscar was attempting to create clothes instead of repairing them. Oscar fucking sucked at designing, but apparently, he didn’t like being outdone by someone he’d looked down on. When breaking into Darius’s shop and trying to steal designs didn’t help—as if Oscar had the skill to take a concept and turn it into a suit—Oscar left Atlanta, saying the people here didn’t appreciate his work. The last Darius had heard, he was living in a shithole apartment in Queens, grumbling about how New Yorkers didn’t understand him either.
He was certain Clarice would tell him to keep the store. Did he really need to talk to her? He stared at his phone. Finally he accepted the call. It was best not to ignore her. She might show up at his door and use her key if he didn’t answer. He had no intention of letting her roust him out of bed yet.
“Hello.”
“I’m assuming you need something, or you wouldn’t have called me, so why don’t you come over? I’ve got a roast in the oven.”
She had him. He was never going to turn down a chance to eat her cooking.
“What time should I be there?”
“Noon and don’t be late.”
She hung up before he could say more.
He stopped to pick up a bouquet. It would be useless to bring anything else. Clarice didn’t drink alcohol, and she’d have made dessert and all the fixings, so something to make the table pretty was all that was left.
Darius showed up five minutes early.
“Good to see you listened,” Clarice said when she opened the door. “I didn’t expect you to drag yourself out of bed on time.”
“I’m always on time.” And he was always harping on Marc about timeliness. That was all Clarice’s fault.
“Mmmhmm.”
He rolled his eyes behind her back as she took the flowers and went searching for a vase.
“So what did you want to tell me earlier?” she asked, handing him the vase and indicating that he should put it on the table.
Darius contemplated how to start as he watched Clarice make biscuits. She shaped them with her hands rather than rolling them out, and she could make the balls of dough perfectly smooth.
“Did something render you mute?”
He cleared his throat. “No, I… I’ve had an offer for my shop.”
Clarice dropped the dough that was in her hands. “You what?”
“Gary, my lawyer, called me and told me an unidentified investor wants to buy me out.”
She narrowed her eyes. “How do you know it’s not a scam?”
“Gary looked into it. It’s legit, though the deal could fall through.”
Darius had known she’d hate the idea. “How much are they offering?”
Darius told her, and she sputtered. “You’re serious?”
“I am.”
She shook her head. “Don’t take it.”
“Why not?” He didn’t think he wanted to, but he needed to hear her justification.
“This business is yours. You love it.”
“I do, and I don’t want to put Marc out of a job, but—”
“I know you’re bored right now, or you think you are. If you’d get yourself a man, maybe you wouldn’t think your life is so dreary.”
“I never said my life was dreary.”
“No, I said that. You mope around. You’re rude and off-putting.”
Not all the time. “I’ve always been like that.”
She snorted. “You’re worse now.”
“I’m old.”
She slid the pan of biscuits into the oven, closed the door, and wiped her hands on her apron. When she turned to face him, Darius knew he’d said the wrong thing. “No, I’m old. You’re an ass.”
He decided to ignore that. “I could start over with all the money I’d have.”
“Why start over when you’re already using your God-given talent doing what you always wanted to do?”
“I need a challenge.”
She smiled, a slow curving of her lips. He was in trouble. “Marc is a challenge.”
“No, Marc is trouble, and you’re not supposed to mention him.”
“That might be true, but he’s just the type of trouble you need, and you mentioned him first.”
Darius started to protest, but she cut him off.
“You like that man. Don’t try to tell me otherwise.”
He wasn’t going to win this argument, but that didn’t stop him from trying. “I like him well enough to tolerate working with him every day.”
“You like him well enough to date him if you weren’t so stubborn.”