• 𝐃𝐢𝐫𝐭𝐲 𝐌𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐲 •

• 3 •

eneaj

Friday morning, and I was on the outskirts of Zinnias. I'd arrive in Houston around two or three pm but for now I was here to check on things out here at my j-o-b. I parked my car out front, the building keys in my hoodie pocket heavy as rocks as I let myself in. The place was empty, and large as fuck, swallowing up my presence as soon as I walked in.

That feeling never got old.

Maybe because I couldn't believe I had gotten here so easily. So fast. At this age, even. I'd be 26 in February, and I already had enough money laid to the side to retire and take care of the bare minimum.

It smelled like cleaning supplies inside, and the perfumed scents I paid to eject out of the walls weren't programmed to start until an hour before opening each night, while they shut off right after the place was cleaned up. Strapped was like a fantasy world. Shiny, chocolate and black walls, lights overhead, a wrap-around bar that circled the perimeter of the space, midnight flooring that was as glossy as the eyes of the people who walked in here everyday to see the gorgeous people I employed.

And yet...something was missing from this experience. Something greater...some bigger emotion to it, I guess. My phone buzzed and it was Yenvy, trying to see if I had made it from Dallas. My things had arrived an hour earlier at her place.

"Hey, I was just checkin' on you," she said as soon as I answered. I sat my phone down at the bar, putting her on speaker phone as I paced around casually, taking in everything I had worked hard for.

"I'm in Zinnias. I'll be in Houston about an hour or two. Just making sure things are straight here. Prolly gonna take some work from here to bring to the house. Some papers I needed to look over about some land out in Dallas."

"Another club?" she asked curiously.

"Maybe a smoking lounge, or an event venue. It's only a few feet. One option is in a strip center, the other doesn't have many buildings around. I'd have my hand in it, but essentially someone else would run it. I got my load full here, and if investors and realtors calling me about the land has stressed me out this much, then I know runnin' it would be a whole nother ball game."

"Well, don't think you can't handle something before you try. But I see what you mean," Yenvy said, "Have you seen the news?"

"The news? No," I answered immediately, bending down to collect a forgotten paper cup underneath a booth area. I picked it up and threw it away into an empty trash can.

"There's a tropical depression in the gulf right now. It wasn't even headin' towards Texas a day ago, it was goin' for Florida. They don't think it might turn into a hurricane now, but," I could imagine her biting her lip in worry, "it'll definitely be rainin' hella as it comes inland."

"I'm sure shit will be fine. We ain't had a major hurricane in a year or more. Do you live in a flood zone?"

"That type of stuff didn't matter with the last hurricane. It fucked everybody over," Yenvy stated worriedly. "No matter where they lived. I just got this place."

"Yenvy. Stop stressin'. I'll be in Houston in a few. Pay attention to the news, if you want. Lemme handle things down at the club first then I'll be there, okay?"

"Okayyy," she agreed quietly.

I took my phone with me to my office. "What you been up to today?"

"Cooking. Cleaning. Healing my ass," she listed off, "I was thinking about stopping by da store before you get here. Gettin' some water cases, some more canned shit, you know?"