Chapter 4
FOUR
My shoulders squared as my heels met the polished wood that covered every corner of The M that was reserved for staff, management, and vendors. I straightened my spine. My finger ran the length of my dress.
Their journey ended as swiftly as it began. The black dress stopped just beneath the cheeks of my ass. A white collared shirt with winged cuffs at the end rested under it. I hadn’t fastened a single button. My little black dress that flared so subtly was holding it together.
Stockings that matched the tone of my skin brushed against the smoothness of my legs. Prada pumps met them near my ankles. Three anklets dangled just above them. A diamond bracelet, pink diamond studded Rolex, and a diamond rope all danced in the dimness of the small hallway.
I pulled my briefcase in front of me. Thoughts of Rome curled my lips upward. Gifts from her always touched me deeper than I cared to explain. There was something about them.
Something about her.
Snap.
“Focus, baby.”
Chemistry’s fingers appeared in the back of my brain. I collected myself as I closed my eyes.
Ishmael possessed every quality I searched for in a man. However, he wasn’t mine to have. Business and pleasure never mixed well. He wanted the election. He couldn’t have both me and the election.
I wanted his business. I couldn’t be his handler and his partner. My line of work didn’t include sex on the job. It blurred lines. It broke codes. It crossed boundaries. And it complicated the work relationship with clients.
I’d made that mistake already. I couldn’t repeat the same misstep I’d considered a lesson.
Jason was the greatest misfortune of my thirty one years on earth.
His dick was as long as his money. However, his capacity wasn’t forgiving enough for a girl like me.
It was small. So was his mind. And, his refusal for growth beyond his finances forced me to end a year long commitment.
I lost four clients the day I ended our union.
Jason.
His father.
His uncle.
His business partner.
I wasn’t willing to leave money on the table by falling victim to feelings that could be as temporary as a tag from the dealer.
“Baby, that dress would be on the flo out there. Only cloth my ass would know is the linen of that damn table,” Kleu exclaimed, fanning her face. “That’s a fine motherfucker.”
Her presence was startling, forcing my eyelids apart. She was stunning in all black. Kleu didn’t miss a meal and it all went to the right places.
She was thick.
And pretty.
And confident.
And witty.
And her energy was good.
Every time I’d encountered her she was in good spirits. Mercer kept her around The M for more than her management skills. She lit up any room, and Berkeley was no stranger to the temptress. She brought in customers by the droves. Kleu was good for business. She was also good for the soul.
Chuckling, I nodded.
“Hello.”
“Nah, fuck hello. Let’s talk about that man out there waiting on you. He can’t keep his eyes off that damn door. Heart in his dick. I know that look. Lawe still has it. He–”
“This is business, Kleu.” I shook my head. “Can’t leave that much money exposed because he’s handsome and likely knows how to use his tongue well.”
“Business. Please. Same thing.”
She twisted her mouth and rolled her eyes.
Her beauty was breathtaking. She reminded me so much of the woman lying across the bed under the blue tint of the film Belly. Her skin was just as dark, as smooth, and as shiny.
“Is Mercer here?”
“If you’re here, then you can expect him to be.”
“Right,” I chortled, nodding.
“He’s in the kitchen. His safe place.”
“I won’t bother him. My guest is waiting.”
A sigh pushed from my lips. I pulled a piece of skin between my teeth, silently praying my sanity was intact by the time dinner ended. I stepped forward, prepared to enter the main floor.
“Um hm,” Kleu mumbled behind me.
I shook my head as a smile surfaced. It vanished as the door swung open, welcoming me to the five-star dining room that displayed every award it had earned since opening. Mercer’s growth was rapid. So was his success. Both were inevitable.
My attempt to scan the room failed miserably. He wouldn’t allow it. My eyes landed on his handsome face the moment I exposed myself to the public. His were fixated on me. Beckoning for me without even a word. Gesture. Nothing.
Just those dark eyes. Those dark eyes I knew far too well. Those dark eyes that mirrored mine.
One hand rested on the table. The other rotated a toothpick between his teeth. His mouth was slightly ajar. His attention was undivided.
Slowly, I placed one foot in front of the other. The magnetism was invigorating. I was unable to disrupt the motion of my body as I floated toward the source of the current.
Boom.
Boom.
Boom.
Boom.
As if it was on the loudspeakers around the restaurant, my heart beat loudly in my ears. My hands tightened around my briefcase as I watched the lengthy man stand on his feet. He moved around his chair, pushing it in slightly to make more room for himself.
For his ego.
For his pride.
For his masculinity.
For his politeness.
For his haughtiness.
My fingertips danced in the air, awaiting his touch. He extended both hands. Taking my right hand into his left and covering it with his right. An indication of endearment.
“Mr. Grayson.”
My chest collided into his. Naturally, as if it had happened a hundred times over, my left hand slid up his shoulder and around his neck, pulling him closer.
Fuck.
My body’s response to his presence was displeasing. My lack of control was repulsive.
Divine.
I inhaled, programming his scent in my head. My heart wanted parts, too.
I can’t.
Pulling away posed an issue. Ishmael held me near, refusing to release me from his grasp.
His hand lowered onto my back, keeping a safe distance from my treasured parts.
My eyes were growing tired of the constant exercise.
I’d closed them more in the last twenty-four hours than I had in the months leading up to this moment.
His chest was firm. His gym regime was apparent. So was his hygiene. His cleanliness reminded me why he felt so heavenly.
Ishmael.
His mother was no fool in naming her son. She understood his power. His future was written before Mercer dialed my number. My presence was only to ensure his journey was as seamless as possible.
Mayor Grayson.
Another unsuccessful attempt to pull away forced me to submit, acknowledging Ishmael’s leadership. Establishing my trust.
In him.
The handsome stranger.
“Don’t ever wear this to work again, Royce. I won’t be responsible for my actions.”
His whispers raised my skin. Fine bumps pained me from my neck to my ankles.
As his statement drew to a close, so did our connection. He loosened his hold on me, handing me to the crisp air that was once warm.
Once.
Twice.
A third and fourth time…
My lashes batted. My neck drew back slightly. The corners of my eyes tightened. He’d thrown off my entire nervous system. I didn’t know what to say… what to do… what to feel. So, I followed up with what felt most accurate.
Simple.
Vivid.
Free of confusion.
“Good evening, Mr. Grayson.”
Ishmael’s right hand disappeared into the jacket of his suit as his radiating smile proved to be a hoax.
“That’s not my fucking name.” He chuckled.
A walking contradiction.
“Don’t let me tell you that again, Royce.”
Warmth rode my spine to the tippy top. My nipples hardened. The rings that pierced them caused a pain that rested in my pussy.
She’s alive.
“Ishmael. Ish. Take your pick, but Mr. Grayson ain’t it. Sit down.”
I hadn’t noticed the chair he’d pulled out. Neither could I comprehend how he’d disappeared from my line of vision. Or how his breath grazed the back of my neck.
Maintaining a smidget of self-control, I remained standing.
“I can pull out my own chair, Mr–”
“Ishmael.”
I clipped my statement to allow him to speak. A smirk turned my lips upward as I shook my head.
“Go ahead. Sound it out. You’re a smart woman.”
I turned to face the eligible bachelor that was too close for comfort, yet right where he needed to be, simultaneously.
“If you’d have a seat, we could get down to business.”
“I’m not sitting down until you’re seated, Royce. Don’t make this difficult.”
“I’m not easy,” I blurted.
Regret sealed my lids. My nostrils flared. My chest rose.
“Neither are you cheap.”
I took my seat. Words failed me. It didn’t matter how extensive my vocabulary was. Ishmael adjusted it before settling in his.
Those eyes.
Those dark eyes.
They unclothed me. Exposed me. Left me naked and vulnerable as I tried fleeing their grasp. It was pointless.
“Cognac, neat. And a mango sour.”
I snatched all of my things that Ishmael was after and managed to stretch my line of vision across the floor. Mercer held a hand to his head and pushed it outward. I placed a hand on my heart, expressing my gratitude for more than the drinks he’d sent our way.
It was for his love.
His light.
His life.
His presence.
His victories every time his mental health slipped.
The first sip was surreal. It placed so much back into perspective for me. The crown that Ishmael had tipped during his extended hug was upright now.
“The images,” Ishmael exhaled, “It’s a mess.”
“It’s nothing I can’t handle. I didn’t come to dinner to be insulted.”
“Why are we here? I’d love to hear how you plan to han–”
“We’re a couple.”
“Excuse me?”
I swallowed back, securing my hammering heart in my chest.
“You and I. We’re a couple. As of eight months ago.”
Chuckling, Ishmael shook his head.
“That’s your bright idea?”
I took another sip, waiting for the wheels that I knew would begin to turn in his head. Words weren’t necessary. I’d said all that needed to be said for now. It was up to Ishmael to use that pretty head of his for something other than taming the untamable.
“A couple?”
His brows raised as he posed the question. I nodded.
“Tell me more. Royce.”