Coming from a life of drugs, money, and women, Michael "Meechie" Jackson had the world in the palm of his hands. He had power and his business, which he built from the ground up, morphed him into one of the most well-known drug lords in the city.
I...
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No contact was made from Michael since the incident at Club Empire; it's been three weeks. Although he had urges to contact Irish because he couldn't fathom being away from her too long, he granted her space. He missed her so much and knew that if he wanted to work things out space was needed. When she put him out of her apartment that night it hurt like a knife piercing through his chest.
It felt like they were breaking up, although they knew that was never the case. It wasn't confirmed, but if he didn't think twice about his actions and get his shit together, she would leave. She refused to continue letting things pass knowing how it could escalate to something far much greater than it needed to be.
He never really had a jealous streak until he got with her, and maybe it was because he truly wanted to be all the man that she need; the one who loved her unconditionally and gave her the world and beyond if possible. He saw a future with her and it was bright and blissful; a future that he'll never take for granted like he did the last.
Since being with her he became overprotective. Reflecting on his irrational behavior and traits, a change needed to be made or else he would be back at square one: alone with a reputation. He couldn't lose the very woman that meant the absolute most to him. She was his soft spot that he needed to keep him emotionally grounded; she was everything to him.
He often wondered what she was up to. If she slept well. If she had eaten. Did she get the job she interviewed for? Did she need anything like money, groceries, a hair and spa appointment or car detailed? Just basic thoughtful things—the usual. He did miss being able to hug and kiss on her. He loved hugging her from behind. It was something about those hugs that made him feel tingly inside, cozy and warm. Being able to wake up to her pretty face was the most anticipated part of the morning. He knew his day would start off on a good note just by one look at her. But all of that was put on temporary hold.
With her birthday falling on Valentine's Day today, he thought maybe he could conjure up a plan to win her over. Irish was never the type to be impressed by materialistic things, and he loved that about her because he knew she was never after what he could give her being who he was. What he had in store she wouldn't be able to say no to.
It took some brainstorming, and he asked for opinions. Preferably, Snupe and Guap's who agreed he should go with the plans he made. Guap volunteered to help which Michael was appreciative of. He needed someone to deliver her gifts for him, and he made the perfect candidate. Snupe, on the other hand, was setting up the other portion of the plan. Everything was coming along like he envisioned it. There was no doubt that he wouldn't be forgiven after today. He had faith, and faith without works is dead.
His large alabaster hand halfway closed into a fist with light specks of almond brown held the black retractable fine point pen. It was at an acute angle between the tips of his middle finger, forefinger and thumb securing it. His signature that could be mistaken for an autograph signed all the necessary papers that were marked with an "X" at the end of each line and dating it afterwards. Once each paper was signed, Michael and the sales consultant who sat across the oak wooden desk from him, stood to their feet and closed the deal with a firm handshake.
