Deadly Satisfaction (32 page)

She grew more annoyed the longer she waited. And she knew that it wasn't good to argue with her husband before she went to work because the negative flow threw her off all day.

Rashad finally returned to the call. “Yeah, I just secured a major interior paint job I've been wanting at an industrial building on the southwest side.”

“That's great, Rashad, but can we get back to my question. I was planning to pay off the new computers and printers this month and with that money missing—”

“Hey, tell you what. Since I'll be making a nice chunk of change, I will put the money back in the account.”

“So you did take it?”

“Don't worry about it. I'll put the money back, the balance will be paid off, and we won't owe Dell, Inc., a dime. Problem solved.”

“Problem isn't solved, Rashad. I have a feeling that you're holding something back from me and if that is the case then we need to talk. I want us to be open and honest.”

“You want us to be open and honest? Really, Kiara?”

“Yes, now come on and tell me the truth.”

“See, this is why I feel I should manage that particular account. That way, when I have to make certain moves, I won't have you all upset. Remember, I told you that a business owner got all kinds of shit he has to deal with.”

“There you go. I just think I'm better at handling these kinds of things and I expect to be involved. You don't have time to work and oversee the funds. And as long as we have this joint business account, you definitely need to give your wife a heads-up when you do this kind of thing. Now I just pulled up in the parking lot. Do you know how hard it is for me to put a convincing smile on my face like I'm Super Woman before I come into the office?”

“That's the whole issue. Like I said, you do a kick-ass job, but you're not Super Woman.”

“Rashad!” She felt her blood pressure rising. “I would never say something so shitty like that to you. Sometimes . . . I swear to God.”

“Babe, I'm just telling the truth. You can't fly.”

“Now you're acting silly.”

He heard her sniffling. “Hey, I am sorry . . . but damn. Seems like lately . . . you've been over the top . . . with the emotions. You may need a reality check or something.”

She sighed heavily and for the second day in a row didn't have the desire or energy to say her usual, “Bye, babe. Love you. Have a blessed day.”

Instead she muttered, “Mr. Eason, I love you, but you're an ass.”

She hung up.

Then she called the number to her credit union. She wanted to check the balance of a secret money market account that she had opened five years ago.

“Your balance on account number 753142 is twelve thousand four hundred dollars and eleven cents.”

Then she checked on the balance of a CD that she secretly owned. It consisted of thousands of dollars, too.

Growing up, Kiara had heard far too many horror stories of her great aunts who had been born in an era in which the husbands made and controlled all the money. The wives took care of the kids and had to wait to be given an allowance. The men exercised total financial control. And a couple of Kiara's great aunts were stunned when their spouses went through mid-life crises that included running off with younger women and cleaning out the bank accounts. The wives were left penniless and struggled to find work even though they had no transferrable skills. Kiara never wanted to be in that position; she wanted to be prepared for whatever challenges married life could bring.

Kiara felt good inside when she heard the amount. She hung up and believed that one day her husband would realize that she really was Super Woman, but right then he was too blind and stupid to see her strength.

She may not have been able to literally fly, but Kiara Eason was determined to excel at life, and whether her husband was able to agree or understand would remain to be seen.