Chapter 9 #2
That was Lesley. A straight shooter who didn’t deal in fantasy unless he was controlling the illusion.
I admired that about him sometimes. Before him, I’d never met a man like this and never wanted to.
My whole life had been about survival—low visibility, safety, quiet.
Men like him were too loud, too dangerous.
But here I was, stirring eggs with a spatula, trying to hide my smile.
“What?”
“Look at me.”
I kept my eyes on the food. “I’m cooking.”
“The food ain’t going nowhere. Look at me.”
“Fine.” I turned to face him, spatula in hand. “Were you with someone else? Because if you were, say that. Don’t play me like I’m some dummy sitting in your penthouse waiting while you run the streets and women.”
His smirk appeared instantly, lethal. Like I was cute for asking, stupid for needing the answer.
“Only woman making me breakfast is you,” he said, stretching his long frame into the chair at the island, dropping his phone on the counter with a thud. “Respectfully, a bitch don’t have access to me like that. Not then, not now.”
I could see the exhaustion in his eyes, the tension he carried in his shoulders.
“Love, I’ve been out of town trying to make sure I don’t see the inside of a jail cell. I ain’t been with nobody. You in a bad mood today, I see.”
“How the hell would you know about my moods? You haven’t been home in two weeks. No call or nothing. That’s foul. You’re wishy washy, and I don’t like that about you.”
“I've been checking on you every day. Malice has kept me posted.”
“Malice calling and checking in is not the same, Grim, and you know it.”
“Oh, I’m Grim today?”
“Yeah, and for the rest of the year,” I muttered, sliding the envelope toward him without flinching. “A prenup?”
Lesley didn’t reach for the papers. Didn’t even blink. Just sipped his coffee like the air between us wasn’t thick with tension.
“I didn’t send these, Coco, I don’t need anybody to do my bidding,” he said, calm and unmoved.
“Yet, they still ended up here. That tells me everything I need to know.”
“What does it tell you?”
I shrugged, playing it off, but my voice cracked just enough to betray me. “That I’m here on borrowed time and not to be trusted. I don’t want your money.”
“Coco—”
“Don’t.” I held up my hand. “I’m not mad. Just... disappointed. I thought we were starting to move in a different way. I thought maybe this wasn’t just about performance anymore. But your absence made it clear what this is. I’ll act accordingly.”
I turned back to the stove, the sizzle of bacon filling the silence.
My hands moved faster than usual, sharper than usual, scraping the pan too hard, clattering the spatula against the skillet, plating his food as if it were a chore rather than care.
Toast hit the plate harder than it needed to; bacon was stacked carelessly, and eggs were folded with no finesse.
I slid the plate across the island, not bothering to smooth the edges or wipe down the mess I’d left behind.
His hand came down, covering the plate before I could pull away. He didn’t even look at the food. He looked at me.
“I ain’t eating nothing from you that wasn’t made with love or from the heart.” His voice was low, steady. “If it’s coming from spite, keep it. I’ll starve.”
The words cut through the heat of my frustration, leaving me bare for a second.
“You serious?” I asked, arms crossing tight.
“Dead serious,” he said, eyes never leaving mine.
“You had both,” I shot back, my voice catching. “Until you disappeared. Until you left me in this house after I shared my shit with you. That’s where you lost me. I’m disappointed.”
“Disappointed by what, Colecion? You ain’t telling me nothing.”
I laughed, bitterly and short, then turned back toward the stove like I was done. “By you acting like my feelings don’t matter. I didn’t cross your mind once.”
I barely got two steps before his hand clamped around my waist and yanked me back.
My breath hitched as my body collided with his, rigid and unmovable, the spatula still dangling uselessly in my hand.
He pulled me down into his lap like I weighed nothing.
My knees buckled, thighs pressing tight together on instinct.
I should’ve fought, pushed off, stood my ground. Instead, my palms flattened against his shoulders for balance, heat rolling through me where his grip locked me in place. My heartbeat stuttered, traitorous, giving me away even as I tried to keep my face neutral.
“You got my number. You could’ve called instead of letting this brew.” His tone was casual, but the look he gave me told me he was serious.
“And look sad and desperate? No, thank you.”
“How does calling your husband make you sad and desperate?”
“Oh, you do remember. And no husband of mine would have had me sitting here for two weeks with no contact.”
“You're right, and I don’t have an excuse for it. But why haven’t you signed the papers?”
“Do you want me to sign them?”
“I want to know why you haven’t.”
“Because you left without explanation, these papers show up like some test. You want me to sign away rights to money I never wanted while you can’t even keep your word about coming home or calling. Do you not trust me?”
“This wasn’t me. I ain’t never lied to you. I wouldn’t start now.”
I shook my head. “And expensive gifts don’t work on me. Thanks, but do better than that. Keep your fucking word if you want to impress me.”
He studied me long enough to let me know he didn’t believe me, long enough for me to feel exposed under that gaze. Then he stood, placing me on my feet. I bounced from foot to foot as he rinsed his plate, put it neatly in the sink, then walked past me—close enough that his heat brushed my skin.
“That pink looks good on you,” he said quietly, his eyes lingering on the workout set before meeting mine. “I missed—” He stopped himself, shook his head. “You want me home tonight?”
Everything in me wanted to scream no. To throw his absence back in his face and tell him I didn’t care where he laid his head. But the lie stuck in my throat. I wasn’t built to play cold with him, not all the way. And definitely not for long.
“If you want to be,” I said finally, my tone flat. “I’ll cook. No pressure though.”
“What time you want me here?”
“Six,” I said, unsure where this conversation was headed but not wanting it to end. “What do you have a taste for?”
His mouth curved into approval, and a soft smile crept into his expression. “Surprise me. I trust you.”
When he disappeared down the hallway towards the bedroom, I exhaled. I’d been holding my breath since he walked in.
“It won’t happen again. Have a good day, pretty baby.”
I smiled and slid the envelope into the junk drawer, tucking it out of sight where it couldn’t stare me down anymore. Tonight, I’d cook for him. Tell him the truth that had been waiting to come out.
I didn’t want to leave.
I didn’t want to be free.
I wanted to be his.