Page 22 of A Minute Past Midnight

“Samir Frost? Oh my God.” Mya’s mouth hung open in an O of surprise. “That's my boss!”

“What? No.”

“Yes. I'm his second assistant at FRAF. He's been in Atlanta for the past two months and is due back today.”

“Really? Do you have his number?”

“I do. I’ll give it to you when we pull over. I can't believe you fucked around and got knocked up by a multimillionaire. I ain't trying to tell you what to do, but baby, if I were you, I'd be looking on sites and ordering all types of baby shit.”

“The man barely even knows me. Who’s to say that he even wants kids? The only thing I need to talk to him about is giving me abortion money.”

“So, you're going through with it?”

“I have to, Mya. I can't just show up on his doorstep like, ‘Hey. You remember me? Well, I'm pregnant, and it's yours.’ That shit will be a damn disaster in the making.”

“I get what you're saying, but I know him well enough to know he's not that type of guy. I may only get his coffee, hang up his coat, and schedule appointments, but he doesn't give me asshole vibes. I understand where you're coming from, though. You never know. This may not be what you think it'll be.”

I shook my head and remained silent.

She just didn't know how untrue that could be and refused to believe that Cinderella would finally get her Prince.

We pulled up to the apartment ten minutes later, and I bid Mya a good day. I went inside my unit, took a shower, then lay in my bed, staring at Samir's phone number she’d given me.

Should I call?

The question was laughable. I honestly didn't have a choice, because I needed the money to get rid of it.

“Just call him, Juliana.” I typed the numbers on the keypad and was about to press send until I heard a loud thud and Mrs. G cry out. I dropped the phone and raced out the door to find her at the bottom of the landing on the floor.

“Mrs. G! Are you okay?” I asked, rushing down the stairs.

“My arm.”

“Oh goodness. Come on. Let me help you up.” I helped her up and steadied her. Step by step, we walked up until we made it to her door.

“Get my keys out my bag, baby. Get my phone, too, so you can call my grandson for me.”

“Okay.” I dug inside her bag, opened her door, and helped her inside her apartment, setting her at her table.

“How did you fall, Mrs. Gloria?”

“I missed a step and slipped. I already know this will probably be my last day in this apartment. My grandson has been trying to get me out of here for years,” she said, holding her arm with a pained look on her face.

I took out her phone. “What's his name?”

“It’s under My Grandbaby.”

I went to the name and pressed talk. The phone rang three times before the deep voice came through the line.

“Gam. What’s going on with you, beautiful?”

I paused.

His voice sounded vaguely familiar.

Too familiar.

“Uh, this is her neighbor. She had an accident. She fell down a flight of stairs and may have broken her arm.”