AlTonya Washington - Pride and Consequence

Malik shrugged, pushing up the sleeves of his lightweight navy blue sweatshirt.

“I mean, I can’t imagine anyone not jumping to help them. Especially for a cause like this. Cancer in children, it’s—”

“Zakira, do we have to talk about this now?” Malik suddenly snapped, his stare glinting with frustration. “We’re supposed to be having a good time here.”

“What the hell is wrong with you, Malik?” she snapped back, her mahogany brown stare ablaze. “If I remember correctly, you asked me about the charity dinner. You know, your mood lately has gotten progressively worse and I’m tired of it.”

“Zaki—”

“Please,” she stopped him, pushing her chair away from the table, “I already know—you’re sorry. Why don’t we talk when you have a little more to say?” With that, she stomped away from the table.

Malik braced his elbows to the table and clutched fistfuls of his dreads. “Baby, you’ll get your answers as soon as I get mine.”

Although Badu’s never opened until 3:00 p.m., Malik always arrived at 8:00 a.m. His routine was practically the same each day. Before heading upstairs to his office, he went to the kitchen for a morning meeting with the chefs. The cooking staff of eight arrived even earlier than their boss, despite the fact that ingredients for the day’s menu had already been prepared. The staff never departed without having the necessary supplies for the following business day chopped, chilled and marinated.

Everyone immediately came to attention when they saw Malik. Though the employees of Badu’s admired and respected the forceful young man, they often wished he wasn’t so demanding.

“Just a heads-up. We’re going to be hosting a charity dinner for cancer research a couple weeks before Christmas,” Malik declared at the end of the meeting, already shrugging into the stylish tan suede suit coat he had thrown across a chair. “I should have more specifics soon, but there will be plenty of time for you guys to get prepared.”

The eight chefs exchanged weary looks across the table. They had no problems being on hand for the charity event. It was the time leading up to the dinner they could have done without. Their boss could become more than demanding, he could be almost tyrannical.

“I won’t be working with you on the event, Zakira will,” Malik announced, sensing the chefs’ relief without even looking at their faces.

No one at the table could mask their joy. The boss’s wife would provide a refreshing change from her brooding, unyielding husband.

“It’s not that we dislike working closely with you, you understand?”

Malik grinned. “Sure I do, Jo Jo.” He wasn’t offended.

Malik never apologized for running a tight ship. He felt his people respected him more for it and believed that respect made his restaurant the success that it was.

“So, when is she gonna start coming in, Malik?”

“Well—” Malik began, a smile coming to his face, when he looked toward the rear of the dining room. “Speak of the devil. There she is.”

Zakira was slightly breathless as she hurriedly approached the table. “Sorry guys, I wanted to get here before the end of your meeting. Do y’all have a few minutes?”

“Sure, Zakira!”

“Have a seat, darlin’.”

“Can I get you some coffee?”

Malik rolled his eyes and reclined in his chair as he watched the eight stiff-lipped men fawn over his wife. Of course, he could never blame them. Zakira brought out something bright in each of his employees. He believed they would work round the clock for her if she asked them to.

“I’m fine,” Zakira was assuring the chefs, as she set her maroon cashmere wrap on a vacant chair. “This won’t take long. I just wanted to discuss a couple of things with you all. Did Malik tell you guys about the dinner?” she asked, watching everyone smile and nod.

“Great,” she said, already reaching into the oversized black leather tote she carried.

Malik’s smoldering charcoal-gray stare never strayed from his wife as she discussed menu ideas and timelines with his employees. He admired the ease with which she handled the group of finicky chefs. When they began to discuss the particulars, he stood and took Zakira’s elbow in a light hold.

“I’m gonna head on up to the office, unless you need me to stay,” he said, brushing his hand against the soft clinging cashmere of her pearl gray dress.

Zakira coolly extracted her arm from Malik’s grasp, feeling her entire body tingle scandalously in response to the sweet gesture. “Mmm-mmm,” she replied, with a quick shake of her head. “I’ll be fine.”

He smiled and turned to the table. “Talk to you guys later.” He could feel Zakira’s eyes linger a bit longer than necessary on his departing figure before she forced her eyes back to the page she held.

Before he exited the dining room, he turned to cast one last look at her. The sight of his wife taking an active role in his business pleased him more than she would ever know.

The annoying beep of the intercom pierced the silence of the spacious corner office. Malik slammed his fist against the talk button with such force the machine jumped off the desk.

“What is it, Chanel?” he barked. Reading invoices and recipes, and going over the books for the better part of the morning, had taken a fierce toll on his mood.

“Sorry to bother you, Malik, but Tree’s out here to see you,” Chanel Levy informed her boss.

“Sorry, Chanel. It’s all right. Send him in,” Malik instructed, tossing the paperwork aside as he leaned back in his chair.

A slight frown crossed his dark face when his best friend and lawyer Trekel Grisani walked into the office. “What’s wrong?” Malik asked the moment the door closed.

Tree’s long black lashes closed over his dark eyes as he shook his head. “Everything’s fine, man,” he assured his friend.

Malik visibly relaxed and leaned back a little further in the brown leather chair. “So what’s up? I don’t usually get visits from lawyers in the middle of the day.”

Tree grinned, lowering his massive frame into one of the chairs before the wide desk. “You got a problem with me coming by?”

Malik shrugged. “Nah. You want me to have somethin’ sent up from the kitchen?”

Tree waved his hand and grimaced. “Thanks, I’m cool.” He propped the side of his face against his palm and waited. When Malik remained silent, he sighed. “I think we’ve done enough small talk, man.”

Malik’s heavy brows drew close. “Small talk?” he repeated, purposely misunderstanding.

Tree expelled a frustrated sigh and leaned forward. “Man, will you please give it up? Have you heard anything from Doctor McNeil?”

At Tree’s mention of the doctor’s name, Malik instantly tensed. “I only saw him two days ago,” he murmured, his deep voice raspy with aggravation.

Tree pressed his fingers to the bridge of his nose and cleared his throat. “All right, so it’s been two days. Shouldn’t they have the results from your tests by now?”

Malik pounded his fist against his thigh. “I doubt it.” He sighed.

“I don’t understand why it’s taking so long,” Tree complained.

In spite of his foul mood, Malik managed to laugh. “We are talkin’ about cancer here, man. I think Doctor McNeil wants to be sure when he tells me I’m about to die.”

Tree realized how unnerving the situation was for his friend. He suddenly regretted having mentioned anything about the tests. “I think you’re overreacting now, Mal.”

“I’m not so sure after what happened,” Malik admitted, shaking his head.

Tree’s long brows drew together as a frown further darkened his extremely handsome face. “What happened with what?”