Chapter 28
Emma
“ A ll those carbs will go straight to your waistline.”
I roll my eyes and cut into my waffles and berries before taking an obnoxious bite. “Another reminder that you did not have to come given no one invited you.” At Blair’s huff, my smile spreads like the syrup on my plate.
She showed up at my office hours ago, expecting a red carpet rollout out in honor of her presence. The best Blair got was a swatch of linen fabric thrown at her feet. One of the designers in my office laughed at my gesture before Blair ran out in a rush. She’s always suffered from rich bitch syndrome. My aunt pushed a silver spoon into her mouth and treated her ungrateful daughter like the world revolved around her. We never got along. Blair’s envy of my father’s political celebrity is why she weasels her way into events and always stands in front of cameras. She wants her own recognition.
What my father considers loving loyalty would crumble at his feet the second a spot on The Real Housewives of Beverly Hills opened up. Blair would shoot up Botox while whining over a salad if she had the storyline to be relevant. For now, I have to deal with her smacking on a tuna tartar tostada and crashing my lunch with Kojo. We’re meeting up with his new stylist who worked on his show in New York while she’s in town.
Waves of chatter and servers flowing past tables drown out whatever Blair is ranting about. Something about the sparkling water not having enough bubbles.
I rush to Kojo when he walks through the door looking every bit of business casual in a color-block striped polo and black slacks. “Save me,” I plead in his ear.
He frowns. “The copper blouse works with your shoes. Undo another button if you feel stuffy.”
I smack his hand and snort. Three open buttons are enough. One more, and this restaurant will see more than my cleavage.
“My cousin is with me.”
“Ooh, the one from Austin? Let me meet her!”
“Justice is my sister-friend. Blair is my aunt’s daughter from Virginia.”
Kojo’s face drops with his tone. “They say charity starts at home. Take the tax deduction. Is she Ms. Pollyanna with the oversized ruffles on her sleeves?” At my nod, he peers down over his designer frames, clearly questioning why she came in here wearing flotation devices. “Let me introduce you to my plus-one. You two have a lot in common.”
My brows tug. “We do?”
“She went to Bodie with us.”
He extends his arm toward the woman on her way over to us. Here, in front of me, is the second person I never wanted to see today. Instead of a puffy-sleeved shirt with jeans, she’s in a classic wrap dress accessorized to perfection.
“Madison.” It’s all I manage through gritted teeth.
“You two know each other?” Kojo’s eyes dart between us.
I’m not the type of person to air out someone’s funky laundry, let alone in a professional setting. But the longer I stand in front of Madison, the more my hands itch to reenact a Love & Hip Hop episode.
“This was a bad idea. I should go,” Madison says, already one step closer to the front door. She chances a glance at me but quickly diverts her eyes to Kojo, who’s still trying to piece everything together. “We’ll work something else out. I—I have to go,” she shouts over her shoulder.
“Explain to me why you have my stylist running in heels.” Kojo leans back to watch Madison rushing across the street. At least she looked both ways before crossing—not that I wouldn’t mind a bus taking her out. “Did she fuck your man?”
I surprise myself with a laugh. “She could never.”
“Then why do you look possessed with the spirit of Tami Roman and ready to snatch her wig?” He sighs. “Madison will be my eyes and ears on shoots while I scout a new studio space. I don’t expect you two to braid hair, but it would be nice if no one sprinted away if you’re in the same room.” He holds my hands and pouts. “Please.”
“This is asking a lot, Koko.” My lips curl at his Puss in Boots act. Widening his big brown eyes is the only way he begs.
“Fine,” I grumble. “But she stays away. Far, far away, and only reaches out in an emergency and via email.” Justice is my best friend, and Madison’s crimes will not go unanswered.
“I hear you, Emmy!” Kojo all but screams in my face when he squishes me to his chest in a deep hug. “Madison is sweet once you get to know her.”
“I’ll be the judge of that,” I push out, short of breath and nearly squeezed to death.
With my collection soaring, Kojo styling with the enemy is stress I don’t want on my plate. I would already be on a video call with Justice if it wouldn’t soil the honeymoon phase she’s in with Terrence. I’ll tell her about Madison later, once things are solid between Jay and T again.
Madison popped up at my lunch.
Three dots form seconds after I hit send.
Miles
Which precinct are you at?
A rush of laughter erupts. Kojo pins me with a look. “What?” He peeks over my shoulder, but I turn to send another message.
I kept my claws away. Had her running as soon as she saw me.
“Let me see,” Kojo pouts.
Miles
Scared of you, kitten.
You should be.
“Emma!” Kojo stomps through a whisper-yell. “Is that your man? Lemme see!”
Miles
Your breath is scary in the morning.
I snort and keep my nosy friend at bay with one hand.
You weren’t saying that earlier with a mouthful of my pussy.
Miles
I got no problems with your other lips.
“Gimme!” Kojo snatches the phone at my cackle. He scans the text exchange with puckered lips. When his eyes meet mine, they scream for details. “Oh, I see your new housemate is working out just fine. The way you got this man eating your box like Cap’n Crunch. Don’t get shy now!”
I swallow a laugh and ignore his taunt. “Give me back my phone.”
“Can I get details?” He pinches his thumb and index finger together. “A few?”
“No.” I snatch back my phone and smirk. “You lost that right with Madison, traitor.”
“She’s a brilliant stylist,” Kojo all but whines. He pinches the bridge of his nose and lifts a hand to recenter himself. If there’s one thing Kojo won’t do, it’s invite early wrinkles. “I will figure out how to make that situation work, but I need more context first. In the meantime, you need to keep that”—he points to my phone—“going. There’s good dick, and then there’s love. You have stars in your eyes, Em.”
“I do not,” I say with an eye roll. “We—”
“Are cute together, sending texts like teenagers. You don’t do giddy, ever. You’re smiling and laughing. It looks good on you.”
Sex with Miles is incredible, but spending time with him isn’t bad, either. Underneath his antics is substance. The real him. “You’re reading too much into it,” I protest, to prove friendliness does not equal love. “We text on occasion, but that’s all it is.”
“If you say so.”
“I do.”
Kojo clicks his tongue and lifts his hand as a way to say, I guess . He doesn’t believe me, but that’s okay. Miles and I are nothing more than friends of friends getting to know each other while sharing bodies. Our jokes and texts come with the territory.
We head to the table, where Blair is pouting about feeling left out. She suffocates us with a monologue on why she’s the perfect face for future campaigns until Kojo dives into the nearest server for a check.
I put Blair, her to-go bag, and her delusions into a car and go back to work alone.
My phone buzzes with a text from Carter about tomorrow’s event. I roll my eyes and don’t respond. I’ve successfully dodged his attempts to see me all week, either with meetings I lied about or working too late for dinner or a nightcap. He knows better than to swing by my house. It’s not like I’d get up from my sectional to answer the door at ten o’clock at night anyway.
A crisp breeze flows through the open glass pocket doors of my beachfront balcony. It’s completely dark outside of the glow from my neighbors’ homes. There are no curtains on any of the windows on the main level, though most face out to the water. The only way anyone would see me curled up under a throw blanket with a messy bun and a bowl of ice cream right now is if they walked along the private beach below.
I grab my glass, finish the last of the vintage merlot, and reach for my phone to text Miles. He hasn’t messaged since our earlier exchange. Not that I expect him to.
“No. Keep some distance.” I force myself to focus on the rerun of A Different World and not the man who’s still out wherever he is. I only care because the tip of his dick has magic powers.
I refocus my Thursday night around the students of Hillman. Whitley is my favorite character, which is on brand, I know. She comes from wealth and appreciates the arts but handles her business. I’m not whiny, but I do love nice things, Denzel, and a good pantsuit. I always pictured Whitley with someone like Julian—aka Papa Pope from Scandal —but Dwayne worked. He was a nerd with a calculator who grew into his own.
Smart.
Former flirt.
You just described Miles.
A scoop of cookie dough ice cream goes down the wrong pipe, stirring up a coughing fit. Miles is from Newark and has more edge in his baritone voice than Dwayne ever could. He has to be good with a computer to do data security. As for being a flirt, there’s nothing former about it.
Unlike his best friend, who took one look at Justice and vowed forever, Miles has more flavors of the week than Baskin-Robbins. If it has a pulse, a pussy, and consents, he’s on it.
That’s one thing we share in common: not circling back to the same partner. We keep sexual encounters about sex. Anything extra—going on dates and sharing about our past—guarantees getting caught up.
Who the hell has time for that?
Apparently you two, since you did all three last night.
“Kinda friends with benefits!” I shout into my empty home. I pull another mouthful of ice cream and sigh. “I’m turning into Justice.”
Miles is probably out enjoying the LA nightlife, and good for him. If I weren’t so comfortable in the creases of my couch, I’d be on the prowl too. Thinking about who he’s with and what he’s doing reaches beyond the boundaries of our agreement.
Does he know not to bring anyone to your house?
That’s it.
I shake Miles from my mind and turn off the TV. If I’m thinking about him to the point of comparing us to Whitley and Dwyane, it’s time to take my ass to bed.