"In the space between chaos and shape, there was another chance."

― Jeanette Winterson, The World, and Other Places: Stories

There was an elderly black woman with two kids around the same age as my own, halted by security in the lobby at Go Stop. The scene could have been handled slightly more discreet. I stepped in, knowing the security guards knew who I was. It was of no consequence for the three who entered by piggybacking an unsuspecting employee but it proved yet again how important self-awareness is for our safety and the safety of others.

She said her name was Beulah Lee Jones. She had introduced her great-grandchildren Abigail and Marty Benton. Michonne Benton was her only granddaughter. I had to regretfully inform them that family day had been pushed back unexpectedly. I didn't want them to be further disappointed, so I gave them a tour before leading them to the eighth floor where Michonne, her granddaughter, their mother could be found in her office.

"Are you my mom's boss?"

"The way I see things if your mother keeps at the pace she is going, she will be my boss."

"Really?" Michonne's daughter pushed her glasses closer to her face while sizing me up or trying to read my expression for seriousness. She wore skepticism very well.

"Your mother is pretty amazing." I swallowed hard when seeing a quizzical look on the older woman's face.

I honestly couldn't think of a negative at that time. I had nothing but positives to describe the woman who spent long hours in her office or in constant meetings. I considered her to be fiery, sexy, sophisticated, alluring, highly intelligent, and now Volatile?

I was preparing to enjoy a sandwich I purchased from the local deli and a nice cold brew when out of the blue, Michonne entered the penthouse, rushing over to me while I was sitting at the island. I barely kept my balance on the stool that toppled underneath me from the first shove. I took the second forceful contact against my chest while firmly planted on my two feet. What I wasn't going to take was a slap nor a fist. I caught her wrist.

I demanded to know what in the entire fuck?

She was accusing me of sleeping with Jessie, my personal assistant, which by the way, wasn't true. Michonne had it in her mind that the two-week business trip that Jessie accompanied me on was more about pleasure than networking and skills training. I didn't bite my tongue with Michonne. I was pissed off and spoke directly to her concerns that were beginning to concern me.

"Have I thought about fucking Jessie. Yes. Those thoughts were way before you. Am I fucking Jessie? I am not, nor have I ever. Allow me to reiterate, I am not fucking Jessie, nor have I ever fucked Jessie. Strictly business, and honestly, I don't give a damn about her intentions. And for you to come in here with bullshit as if you and I are in some fucking committed relationship is blowing me away right now."

Whatever her mind had used to stoke this fire, it was quickly extinguished by my words. She was seemingly dazed by what I had said. She began to fight back her tears. I became more concerned that somehow things were not as I'd hoped. I released her wrists to allow her to cover her face.

What I wanted was to resume sex whenever she was opened to having it. What I didn't want was to have all these confusing emotions to keep me awake at night. After three weeks from the office, I realized my absence had actually caused more harm. My brain housed above my shoulder was convinced that ending things had to be for the best if it brought out the worse.

"I'm so fucking embarrassed right now." She had admitted. "I have been extremely unprofessional. I will hand in my letter of resignation on Monday."

"I would agree if this had happened at Go Stop. I am not asking for professionalism, nor am I expecting it when we are here, but I do require respect, Michonne. Out of nowhere, you come in here and attack me. Physically. That is the shit I expect from my wife because I didn't remember to pick up some inconsequential thing or read between the lines of her nagging and bitching."

"Don't you dare try and compare me to your wife! You have no idea who I am, nor will I allow you to invalidate my feelings because you don't respect the feelings of the woman you chose to marry and keep at home to take care of your children. To disrespect her is in the same breath disrespectful to me."

"What is going on, Michonne? Like really going on?"

"I'm taking this fucking around personal. It is now affecting my physical and mental health, and it is not okay. IF you are fucking around with others, I need to know, and I suggest you get tested."

"Are you trying to tell me something, Michonne? Have you slept with someone else?"

"I've not. My results are all negative." She took out a folded piece of paper and pressed it firmly to my chest until I took it and opened it to read her lab results. It was something that never came into question until then. Proving quasi monogamy.

"Are you suggesting I get tested?"

She didn't respond. She abruptly turned and left. I didn't go after her. I felt like I should have but I didn't. Within a few minutes the door opens with a knock. It was Shane.

"Craziest thing running into Ms. Benton. I wonder who else she knows that has access to the skyline penthouse private elevator. Too bad I didn't get a chance to ask. She acknowledged me and kept going."

I remained silently surprised by his sudden visit and relieved at the same time. One he would have caught me chasing after Michonne or worse, fucking Michonne on the kitchen countertop.

I needed to clear my head.

Shane went to the refrig and grabbed a beer. The built-in bottle cap remover snapped off the cap. He took a long sip before reaching for half of my sandwich. I didn't mind since I had lost my appetite.

"So, how are you and Lori coming along? Any chance of reconciliation?"

"As of recent, she wants to get back together."

"I guess things didn't pan out the way she thought with the other guy, huh?" Shane bit into the sandwich after a brief inspection of the contents.

"I guess not." I shrugged.

"How about you?"

"How about me, what?"

"How are things with whomever you have been seeing here?"

"Who says I am seeing someone here?"

"Ms. Rosa."

"What would she know?"

"She says you are not doing a good job of concealing your used condoms when she takes out the trash. The sheets are another matter that I am here to discuss with you..."

A/N: I want to apologize for the delay.