Chapter 12 Lesley
The smell of food woke me, but it wasn’t hers.
Coco only ordered breakfast when her day was too packed to breathe, when her schedule ran her instead of the other way around.
It was the first clue that she had a full plate today.
Usually, she’d be in the kitchen before sunrise, robe tied loose around her waist, humming something low and sweet while she made my world right with her hands.
Today, I opened my eyes to find her in a black silk teddy that moved with her, phone pressed to her ear, her hair slicked back into a ponytail so clean and sharp it could cut glass.
The ponytail changed everything about her face. Made her cheekbones look like they were carved from marble, turning her into something untouchable and powerful —a queen handling kingdom business before the sun was fully up.
Last night had changed things between us.
I'd woken up expecting awkwardness, some distance while we figured out what crossing that line meant. Instead, I just wanted to be closer to her. She was moving through her morning routine, all business and efficiency, but I could still taste her on my lips. I could still feel the way she’d tightened around me while she whispered my name.
She was the drug.
And I was the addict.
That’s why I needed to be with her today. Not just because I’d promised to make things right, but because the thought of her moving through her world without me felt wrong. Like I was missing something essential.
“Good Morning, Callie,” she said without looking my way, voice crisp and professional. “Yes, twelve rose centerpieces. White roses, not cream. I need them delivered here by two o’clock, not two-fifteen.”
I stayed still, watching her work. Coco in motion was something to witness—efficient as clockwork, composed under pressure, commanding respect without raising her voice. She didn’t ask for space in this world; she claimed it, made it bend around her presence.
She moved around the penthouse, letting me know she’d made this place her home.
Her bare feet were silent on the marble, gesturing with one hand while the phone stayed glued to her ear.
The morning light streaming through those floor-to-ceiling windows caught on her skin, making her glow as if she were lit from within.
I sat up slowly, running a hand over my face, trying to shake off the sleep and the way seeing her made my dick jump. “Good morning, Co. You didn’t cook this morning, did you?”
She finally turned to look at me, phone still pressed to her ear, and that ponytail caught the light like black silk. Something about seeing her hair pulled back like that made me want to mess it up, see it falling around her shoulders the way it did when she let her guard down.
“Hold on,” she said into the phone, then muted it. “I ordered instead. Busy morning, my love. Don’t get all spoiled on me.”
“I can see that.” I let my mouth curve into a slow smile. “I like you in a slick back ponytail. That’s a good look for you.”
Her free hand instinctively reached out to touch it, as if to check that it was still perfect. “You love me in a ponytail, huh?”
“Because you kill it every time,” I said, my voice rougher than it should’ve been this early in the morning. “That’s the look that’s gonna have me thinking about you all day.”
Her eyes softened for just a second, vulnerability flickering across her features before she caught herself and slipped back into business mode. While she continued to run the show, I ran through my morning routine.
Within ten minutes, we moved to the kitchen together, stepping in sync. She was still on the phone while I settled at the island, my body still adjusting to being up this early with a busy woman running around on shots of espresso.
She muted the phone and pointed toward the container on the counter. “Eat. I’ve got three stops before noon, and I can’t be late.”
“I will, but did you eat? You been moving since I opened my eyes.”
“I ate already. I didn’t want to wake you,” she said, still multitasking between her call and organizing her things.
“Where you headed?” I asked, biting into a pancake that was still warm but nowhere near as good as what she would’ve made with her own hands in the cast-iron skillet she’d made sure Malice brought over from her place.
“Venue walkthrough for the Morrison wedding. Floral pickup for the charity luncheon. Client meeting at one-thirty.” She slid her MacBook into a leather tote and checked her reflection in the microwave door one more time. Perfection.
“You look good, Co. Stop fussing.”
She turned to me with a wide grin. “Are you whipped, Mr. Grimson?”
“Quit playing, Mrs. Grimson.” I couldn’t help but smile back. “I’m just saying you look good. All that checking four times ain’t necessary. You always look good. But yes, I am. You got some good pussy.”
“Lesley,” she giggled. “I’m on the phone. But thank you, baby.”
I smiled before shrugging and pulling out my phone. I started typing a text message, fingers moving fast across the screen.
“What are you doing?” she asked, watching me with those sharp eyes that missed nothing.
“Telling Malice he’s off today,” I said, hitting send without looking up. I stood, stretching muscles that were still heavy from the night we spent together. “Let me throw some clothes on real quick.”
I walked back to the bedroom with her following behind me, still firing off questions while I pulled open the closet.
“Why?”
“I just told him to take the day off. I’m trying to spend some time with you.”
She turned fully to face me, phone call forgotten, those beautiful eyes wide with surprise and disbelief. “You? You want to drive me around the city?”
I shrugged; this was my way of trying to make up for being gone for two weeks. I’d gone to the warehouse yesterday so I could adjust, get shit straight, and have some time with her.
I grabbed black joggers and a fresh white tee. “I ain’t got a lot of shit to handle today,” I said, pulling the Cuban link chain from the jewelry tray. “Figured I’d spend that time with you. Is that cool? I don’t want to be crowding you and shit.”
Her eyebrows shot up like I’d announced I was retiring from the game entirely. “You’d do that?” She was pulling that fitted tan dress over her head as she spoke, the YSL belt already laid out on the bed next to nude heels that would make her ass sit up.
“For you,” I said simply, pulling off my sleep shirt and tossing it in the hamper. “Don’t argue with me about it. Just put those heels on and let me be in your space today. I promise not to be in the way.”
She held my stare for a long moment, trying to read me. I wasn’t sure how much I was showing. Then that small smile appeared at the corner of her mouth, surprised but pleased, like she hadn’t expected to like what she was hearing.
“Okay,” she said finally, voice softer than it had been all morning. “But I’m warning you, I have a reputation to maintain. You can’t be pulling up to these venues looking like you just rolled out of bed. Balenciaga or not. And no crazy shit.”
I looked down at myself, designer everything, chain catching the morning light, beard trimmed to perfection. “Do I ever look like anything less than a king?”
Her smile got wider, and she shook her head like she couldn’t believe what was happening. “No. No, you definitely don’t. But no joggers, baby.”
“Aight, I’ll change.”
Twenty minutes later, I came back out in a fitted short sleeve Burberry check button-up, dark denim jeans, and crisp white Forces.
Chain still heavy, watch still glinting, but the vibe was more laid-back than boardroom.
Her eyes flicked over me, slow, like she didn’t mean to give me the compliment but couldn’t help herself.
“What car we need to be in today?” I asked, sliding my phone into my pocket.
“Huh?” she mumbled, still typing ferociously into hers.
“You got shit to pick up? We in something big, small, or luxurious. What mood you in?”
“The Maybach is fine. That’s the mood I’m in. I need to be comfortable while I work.”
I made a quick call to the parking attendant before we got on the elevator.
The Maybach was waiting at the curb, black paint so flawless it looked like liquid obsidian under the sun. I walked around to open her door, ignoring the way people on the sidewalk stopped and stared.
That was the thing about moving through the world the way we did, people always looked. They looked at me because of who I was, what I represented. But when Coco stepped out of that building, they looked at her for completely different reasons.
She moved like music, all smooth lines and confident grace.
That tan dress hugged her body in ways that made me thank God for luck, favor, and blessings.
The belt emphasized the curve of her waist, making her look like she’d stepped off the cover of a magazine.
Those heels made her legs look like they went on for miles.
When she slipped her YSL sunglasses on, I looked up at the sky.
She wasn’t just beautiful, she was magnetic. The kind of woman who made traffic slow down, made conversations stop, made other women hate her on sight just because she existed in their space, and made it look easy.
As she slid into the passenger seat, I caught a hint of her perfume. It was different today, bolder. Mixed with the leather interior, my mind was going haywire.
“Why you so fuckin pretty?” I asked, kneeling down. I was in awe of her beauty.
She shrugged and smiled. “We’re going to be late.”
“Right.”
I rounded to the driver’s side and said a silent prayer that I made it through the day without pulling her into a corner and ripping her dress off.
“I never had anybody do something like this for me before,” she said finally, voice so quiet I almost missed it over the sound of the engine.
“What you mean?”