Chapter 4 #3
I went still, and my fingers hovered.
I should have made him work harder.
A better woman, or maybe a worse one, would have left him sitting there for twenty minutes and gone back to her budget notes like she had range.
Instead, I typed.
Me: You ask everybody out between spreadsheets?
His reply came quick.
Micah: No. Just the ones I’ve been trying not to ask since last night. Starting with whether you know how hard it is to leave a conversation with you alone.
Lawd.
My pussy clenched like it had been waiting on that exact sentence all afternoon.
The word hard conjured thoughts it shouldn’t have, but it was too late.
I’d already cum to the thought of him, hadn’t I?
Heat spread low in my body, followed by the first slick little pulse of arousal, and I had to sit there staring at the screen like I wasn’t a grown woman at work getting turned on by directness.
But that was the thing. That response was the response of a man. A man who knew what he wanted and was not scared to stand in it.
And right now, what he wanted was me.
I sat back in my chair and stared at the ceiling for one second like maybe the exposed beams at Monarch Row had some wisdom to lend me.
They did not.
Mariah’s voice came gentler this time, less teasing and more curious.
“That serious?”
I looked at her.
There was no point lying to a woman who had already read the truth on my face twice before lunch.
“Potentially.”
She nodded slowly, like a person receiving information she intended to revisit later with better snacks. “Okay.”
No squealing. No performance. No girl.
Just okay.
Which, for some reason, made me like her more than I already did.
I looked back down at the phone.
Me: What does trying not to ask look like on your end?
That one took a little longer.
Micah: Like letting you make your lap.
Another message.
Micah: Like going home and shutting down for the night instead of doing too much in your DMs.
Then:
Micah: Like not asking for a date right then and there with your eyes staring back at mine. That was almost impossible to do, btw. I managed.
I rolled my bottom lip between my teeth and typed slower this time, feeling each word before I sent it.
Me: That almost sounds grown.
Micah: Don’t disrespect me.
I laughed again.
Then he sent the next message.
Micah: Dinner Thursday. No mixer. No crowd. No pretending it’s networking.
I stared at his message a beat, not because I didn’t want to go.
Because I did.
Too easily. Too much like a woman whose body had already embarrassed her in a shower less than twenty-four hours ago and was now sitting at her desk trying to act like she needed additional convincing.
I let myself have five full seconds of pride.
Then I answered.
Me: You gon’ ask me out in my Instagram DMs like somebody’s uncle?
His reply came back so fast I knew he had laughed.
Micah: 412-555-1245
Micah: Text me so I can act like I have better sense.
I smiled before I could stop it.
That, I liked.
The little pivot. The acknowledgment. The invitation out of the app and into something that felt a little more like life.
So I did it.
I copied the number, opened my texts, and typed.
Me: There. Now behave accordingly.
The answer came back almost immediately.
Micah: I make no promises, taliajanae.
I looked down at my blouse, at the soft cream silk and the gold chain at my throat, at my own hand resting near the keyboard like it belonged to a woman with composure and standards and options.
Then I texted:
Me: Thursday where?
His answer came back like he’d already thought about it.
Of course he had.
Micah: Mercy House.
7:30.
And before you ask, yes, I intend to be on time and have some manners.
I laughed again.
Mariah looked over from the guest chair.
I didn’t bother hiding it this time.
Me: “Some” manners feels honest. I respect that.
Micah: I believe in realistic goals.
That got me more than the old back-and-forth had. It sounded like him, like a man who knew himself and didn’t need to put extra shine on the truth before he offered it.
Then another message came through.
Micah: And before you say something smart, yes, I know I’m asking you out in the middle of a workday like I’m pressed.
I laughed harder.
Me: At least you self-correct.
Micah: Only when the woman seems worth it.
Heat moved through me so fast it made my shoulders go tight.
He had no business being that steady in daylight.
Which, of course, meant I liked that he was.
Me: Thursday. 7:30.
Try not to say anything out of pocket when you see me.
His answer took just long enough to matter.
Micah: No promises.
But I’ll be there.
I set the phone facedown after that, not because I was suddenly disciplined, but because there are only so many times a woman can look at the same screen before she starts acting suspicious even in a private office.
I reached for my water, took a sip, and exhaled.
Mariah made a tiny sound of satisfaction.
She grinned. “So. What we wearing?”
I pointed at her with the bottle. “You are entirely too fast.”
She shrugged. “No. I just know what the face means now.”
So did I.