Chapter Twenty-Nine #2
She presses her lips together and her eyes narrow.
“I swear, today, it felt like she was trying to sabotage me. And I don’t know why.
” Her face is taut and emotionless for a couple of seconds before her lower lip trembles.
“Do you think I’m crazy? I mean, this career I’ve been dreaming of…
all these near misses. Close enough to smell something great but never close enough to touch. Maybe, I’m not cut out for it.”
Sin is a lot of things but defeated has never been one of them. “Her not understanding your ideas doesn’t make them less valid, Sin. If you weren’t cut out for it, you would have taken her no on the chin and gone home to write whatever it is you’re supposed to be writing.”
Her composed expression crumbles and she presses her trembling lips together. “Kwame. Don’t be nice to me. You’re going to make me cry and I really don’t want to cry tonight.”
“Okay, no crying. Maybe I know someone who knows someone. Where’s the event?”
“At the Museum of African Art. It’s a fundraiser, invite only. Only VIPs, dignitaries and press will be there.”
Awareness makes me sit up straight. “On Saturday?”
“Yup. I confirmed he’ll be there, ripe for the picking. I’ll be home praying for lightning to strike the same place twice.” She groans and stares straight ahead.
I’m only torn about what to do next for half a minute.
I pick up my phone, open my email, and scan until I find what I’m looking for.
The email’s subject line is Project Return. My stomach twists into a knot. This is the last thing I want to do, but something kept me from RSVP’ing with my regrets. My finger hovers over the link to reply.
Do I really want to mingle with a crowd of people I was desperate to get away from?
No.
But I want to help Sin more than I to want keep my father’s world hermetically sealed away from this part of my life.
I throw caution into the wind and hope for the best. “I have two tickets to that fundraiser on Saturday.”
“Huh?” The look of genuine confusion on her face is so damn cute I almost smile. But the pit of dread in my gut won’t let me.
I clear my throat and attempt to relax my shoulders. I put my phone down and tilt it so she can read the screen. “Here. See?”
Her eyes bug out and her lips pucker and twist as if she’s confused.
“Is this not the same event?”
She raises her eyebrows. “I am not—I’m not pocket watching okay? It’s obvious you have money, but wealthy people are a dime a dozen in DC. But this event is for dignitaries, people with security clearances. The VP, the mayor of DC, the governor of Maryland will be there. How did you get tickets?”
Her incredulity is so naked and loud it makes me laugh. “My father was a big donor in his heyday.”
“He must have been a whale,” she says.
I nod, my collar suddenly tight. “Something like that.”
I’ve seen the glimmer of greed often enough to spot it in even the most practiced parasite in waiting. There’s only dubious hesitation in her expression.
She crosses her arms over her chest and eyes me with undisguised skepticism. “So you have tickets to this event tomorrow? Or your father does?”
I force a smile. “Me. I’m his social proxy when he’s not in town. I have a plus one, and you’re it if that’s what you want.”
She throws her arms around me and presses her face into my neck. “Oh my God, thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” I hug her back and savor the warm softness of her body and the sweet smell of jasmine in her hair.
She pulls away too soon. “I need to get ready. I don’t have anything to wear. I came over here planning to have a pity party, and you turned it all around.”
“It was timing and luck. I’m tempted to ask what are the odds, but when it comes to us, that question is starting to sound silly.”
“Right?” She smiles but it’s strained.
“What’s wrong?”
She shakes her head. “I’m grateful. I am.
It’s just.” She lets out a heavy sigh. “I work hard. I have vision. I’m dedicated to my craft, I take risks and somehow, I find myself relying on luck to get ahead.
” She looks away and down and bites the corner of her mouth.
“Or maybe I’m just kidding myself that my efforts alone should be enough.
My editor thinks I’m trying to walk before I can crawl. ”
I wish I could throttle this editor person. “Don’t listen to her. You’re talented and you’ve got good instincts. And luck would never find you if you weren’t ready for it.”
She presses a hand to the base of her throat and turns to look at me with a smile on her face. “Thank you for saying that.”
Our eyes meet and my heart skips a beat at the vulnerability in hers. “It’s just the truth, Sin.”
The smile she gives me is sweet, but her eyes are full of something that makes me want to lean in and bite that full lower lip of hers.
The air between us crackles and her gaze drifts to my mouth. I’m so tempted to lean in and kiss her.
Patience.
I clear my throat and slide off my stool. “So, Saturday. Do you want to be my plus one or…nah?.” I pick up my phone and walk over to the other side of the island so we’re face to face.
“If you’re sure it’s okay.” The skepticism in her voice is absent from her expression. She’s grinning from ear to ear.
“More than.” This is the first time I’ve ever been glad about my dad’s position in life.
She hops down from her the barstool and presses her hands together. “Then yes. I’ll owe you.
“No. Just pay it forward.”
Her grin melts into a close-lipped smile that manages, somehow, to be dazzling. “Thank you, Kwame. I’d love to be your plus one.”
I hold my phone out to her. “It starts at seven o’clock. What time shall I pick you up?”
She clears her throat and tucks a lock of hair behind her ear. “Um… No offense, but how?”
“I have a driver with access to something nicer than my ten speed.”
She wrinkles her nose. “That’s not very encouraging Kwame.”
“Trust me. And if you don’t like it, I’ll drive us over in your car, okay?”
“Okay. Done.”
“And they’ll need to clear you through security so I’ll need your full name and how you’d like to be addressed on the place card for dinner.”
She cringes. “I mean, okay, but I’ll be there to work. Will you be okay by yourself or are you clingy?” Her cheeky smile creates a dimple I’ve never noticed high on her left cheek.
“Clingy? In your dreams.” I smirk. “I’m perfectly capable of entertaining myself.”
“I’m just making sure we’re on the same page, and if you want to text me we should probably finally exchange phone numbers. I’ll put mine in.” She nods at my phone. I open contacts and create a new entry before I hand it to her.
She bursts into laughter when she sees the name I used for her. “Good Sin?”
She rolls her eyes, but her smile deepens. “It’s an oxymoron.”
“It’s aspirational,” I quip. “Only time will tell.”
She laughs and swats my chest playfully. I grab her wrist before she can pull it away and tug her closer to me.
Her laughter dies abruptly and her eyes meet mine and hold. “What are you doing?”
“I don’t know,” I answer honestly.
The tension, the attraction, the longing that has been between us since the night we met is stronger than it’s ever been.
I stroke the index of her wrist with my thumb. “Your skin is so soft.”
She looks down where I’m touching her on a sharp inhale of breath. “Kwame,” she breathes, and it sounds so conflicted that I feel like a creep and instantly let go.
“I wasn’t thinking. Won’t happen again.”
She steps back and rubs her wrist. “I hope that’s not true.
But we need to talk first, and I have to go.
I still have a deadline for this week's column and I need to figure out what I’m wearing.
” She smiles but she fumbles with the zipper of her purse until I nudge her hands away and open it myself.
“It’s always getting stuck.” She gives me a wan smile.
“Here you go.” I hold it out to her.
“Thanks.” She avoids touching me the way Superman might avoid touching kryptonite.
The thought lifts my mood. At least I’m not alone.
“No problem,” I say and return her smile.
She tucks a lock of hair behind her ear and clears her throat. “So, tomorrow? Pick me up at six thirty?”
“Yes. It’s a date.”
She holds up a finger. “It’s not a date.”
I nod, my eyes on her mouth. “Figure of speech.”
“And I meant it. No kissing,” she says with an arched eyebrow and a stern set to her mouth.
She’s killing my pride. I scoff. “Honestly? It’s the last thing on my mind.”
Her expression puckers at the taste of her own medicine. I have to bite my cheek to keep from laughing.
“Well, that’s a relief.” She gives me a stiff smile and slings her bag over her shoulder. She’s been gone for five whole minutes before I realize what I forgot.
I text her. “I need your full legal name to put you on the guest list.”
She writes back. “Arsinoé Ama Sackey. And thank you again.”
“The pleasure is all mine.”
It is the truest thing I’ve said all day.