Free Champagne Life by Nicole Bradshaw

could smell the scent of her floral perfume before she even reached him. “Could you please get more hors d’oeuvres from the kitchen?”
    â€œYes, ma’am.”
    She grabbed his arm, leaned in and softly whispered, “I’ll tell you what else you can get me—a man that knows how to please a woman.”
    DeShaun pulled away, but that didn’t stop him from becoming excited. “I’ll get those hors d’oeuvres right away.”
    Mrs. Herjavec’s thick, crimson lips turned up at the corners as she said, “What I need has nothing to do with food.” She reached down and grabbed him—right in the balls. Her grip was aggressive, not painful. “Wow, nice, real nice.” She grinned.
    Politely, DeShaun grabbed Mrs. Herjavec’s hand and removed it from his privates. “I’m married.”
    â€œAs am I. That only means we need to be discreet.”
    â€œWhat about your husband?”
    â€œWhat about him?” Mrs. Herjavec squeezed in closer, so close, he felt her warm, breath on his neck. It smelled like fresh mint, which was surprising considering all the liquor she downed this evening.
    â€œI’ll let you in on a little secret about Mr. Herjavec. If you’re not a young black boy with a tight body, he has no interest.” She looked DeShaun up and down. “You’d better watch out.”
    DeShaun quickly walked away. He turned around as he headed back to the kitchen. Mrs. Herjavec was watching him.
    When he pushed open the kitchen door, he ran right into M.J., who was rinsing champagne glasses in the sink. “What’s up with that look on your face? Lemme guess, Mrs. H. asked you to pet her dog, Fido,” M.J. said, laughing.
    DeShaun shook his head. “It was more like her kitty cat that needed petting.”

Naomi
    T oday was One. Tiring. Day. That was the only thing on my mind the entire bus ride home from work. This morning, my car would not start and, of course, DeShaun had picked this day to run early morning errands. When I hopped into the car and turned the ignition, my heart sank to my stomach when all I heard was a click instead of the sound of a smooth-running engine. I had to take the bus to work.
    When I finally got to the bank, an hour and forty minutes late, the power went off. We still needed to continue with work as usual, while dealing with irate customers, as well as the rush of sweltering heat that made its way inside the doors every time someone entered. Then, later in the day, one of the branch managers pulled me aside to tell me my attitude needed adjusting. Apparently, I was not representative of the excellent customer service that the bank had to offer.
    What wasn’t representative of the excellent customer service was getting your lights turned out because your corporate office forgot to pay the light bill. That was some straight ghetto mess, right there. I could not figure out how in the world a bank, of all places, forgot to make an electrical bill payment.
    I had no idea how long I would be able to put up with that place. The stress of the bank was beginning to get to me, so chances were, a forced smile on my face wasn’t an option, which was rulenumber one in the Customer Service Guide Book. Make customers feel appreciated with a friendly word and a smile on your face.
    Oh, please.
    It wasn’t that I couldn’t excel in this position, it was more like I had no incentive to shine. For the past several months, I felt like I was wasting my time doing something I loathed—but wasn’t everybody? The economy didn’t allow for picking and choosing anymore. If you had a job, you kept that job. Unfortunately, bills were beginning to surpass our earnings. Every evening, I came home to at least one overdue notice jammed inside the mailbox.
    At the end of the long day, I barely caught the bus and ending up sitting in one of the last seats available, which happened to be next to a