Chapter 11
Eleven
RHEA
I was supposed to be mad at him.
For the neanderthal shit at the club, for his lack of contact all day.
I was supposed to be resisting this idea of me being his damn “dream girl”, based on some vision he was refusing to let me see.
But damn… when he was talking like he was, looking like he was, when being close to him made me feel like it did… It was hard to keep my resolve.
I sighed, raking a hand through my hair to push it out of my face. “I…should go.”
Immediately, Micah tensed, folding his arms. “Why?”
“Because this is a lot to process, Micah. We went from you about to kill somebody, to arguing, to a panic attack, to you telling me about your past, to you… laying claim to me. I need a moment.”
He shrugged. “You can have your moment… here. There’s multiple rooms, and I’ll have somebody bring you whatever you need.”
“Micah…”
“Rhea,” he countered. “Why are you trying so hard to run?”
I sucked my teeth. “Run? Or breathe ?”
Micah’s face dropped, and I could feel the defeat radiating off him. “I’m smothering you? That’s how you feel?”
“I’m not saying that. I’m saying that a month ago I didn’t know you. And now, I don’t even know what’s happening!”
“But we were cool just last night, at the house. Before I pissed you off, I guess.”
“You guess?” I folded my arms too, hitting him with a scowl. “You did piss me off! It definitely happened.”
“I know that, damn,” he admitted. “Fine, I shouldn’t have stepped in like that. I’m not saying I was right, but… what the fuck was I supposed to do? I woke up on ten, after seeing that motherfucker touch you?—”
“Wait, what?” I said, holding up a hand. “What do you mean… you…”
Micah sighed. “That’s what I’m saying… or, I guess, what I spent all day trying not to say. I knew that shit with Santi was going to happen, but there wasn’t shit I could do about it. I avoided hitting you up because I knew if I did, you might pick up on something, or get in my head… and I couldn’t risk things going worse than they already did. I just knew I was going to be in the building to stop it from going even a second further than what I saw. I’m not convinced I didn’t fuck something up still, since you still ended up pissed at me.”
For a moment I just stared at him, mouth open, processing his words.
Not only what he’d just said, but things he’d said before.
“ When I saw Santi with his hands on you… ”
I’d thought he meant in the moment, at the club. But if he actually meant a vision, and had been stewing in it all day, carrying that weight by himself…
“Oh, you poor thing,” gushed out of me before I could stop it, and I stepped into him, laying my hand on his chest.
Immediately, he covered my hand with his, keeping it close… keeping me close, like he’d been needing that all day.
It… was likely that he had.
At that moment, I felt like shit. If I’d known?—
“I didn’t want you to know,” he said, paired with a deep sigh. His arms came up, wrapping around me in an embrace that bordered on too tight, but felt good.
I folded so fast, laying my head against his chest, wrapping my arms around his waist so we could get closer.
“You couldn’t have even given me a hint I was going to get groped at my going away party?”
A loud bark of laughter from Micah rumbled in my ears. “You know I couldn’t.”
“I mean… you said you think it still got messed up anyway, so…”
“Yeah, and I still think I should’ve stepped in sooner,” he said. “I don’t think I did enough.”
My eyes got big as I tipped up my head to look at him.
“You don’t think showing up and getting in his face before security even had time to blink was enough?”
He twisted his head, eyes pointed at the ceiling like he was running through every version of what he could’ve done instead.
“My goodness,” I laughed. “And you would do it again, wouldn’t you?”
He didn’t answer right away. Just held my gaze, a grin twitching at the corners of his mouth before he broke. “If I saw that nigga put his hands on you again? Hell yeah.”
Shit.
My heart did a stupid little flip in my chest.
I dropped my head back with a sigh. “You’re a mess.”
Micah smirked. “You like it, though.”
“Unfortunately.”
He huffed a quiet laugh, then let the smirk fade. “So… you still leaving?”
I hesitated. Looked at the queen of spades on the counter, sitting next to his ace.
“…Nah,” I admitted, rolling my eyes.
Kicking off my heels.
Looking at him.
Micah didn’t say anything, he just reached out, tugging me back into his arms like it was the most natural thing in the world.
There that thought was again , natural .
Such a relieving feeling when, with most people, I felt so alien and out of place, because of my gift. If I thought about it hard enough, surely there was some psychology around that, some deep-rooted, unrealized craving for deep connection with other people making it easy for me to just accept… whatever this was.
Even though it was crazy.
Even though it was starting to feel complicated.
Even though it might be risking a career I’d been working hard for.
I let my hands settle on Micah’s chest, meaning to push him away, put some space between us, anything to not give in quite so easily.
Instead, my fingers curled into his shirt, holding on.
His body was so warm, so solid beneath my touch, his hands so heavy on my waist.
I closed my eyes, and found myself immersed in memories of his hands on my body last night, the way I felt under him. The sound of my voice in his head, whispering his name. The way his body still ached for mine, even now.
“Micah—”
“You’re in my head,” he murmured.
“Not on purpose.”
I sucked in a breath when his lips brushed my cheek, grazed my chin, my throat.
“You’re supposed to be mad at me,” he reminded me as his fingers sank into my skin, gripping to pull me closer.
“Maybe I am,” I whispered, even as I tipped my chin up, seeking his mouth.
His lips hovered just above mine, spreading into a grin.
“Let’s see.”
The kiss never came.
His damn phone rang.
It was right there on the counter, which meant the screen was in full view for both of our reflective glances. Any other name flashing would’ve likely been ignored, but that one made us look at each other, then back at the phone.
Considering the whole chaotic scene from barely an hour ago… he probably needed to take Blue’s call.
“Give me a second,” he said, reluctantly stepping toward the counter to grab it. “I need to make sure nothing popped off.”
“Of course.” I nodded, squeezing his hand as we parted contact.
Micah’s jaw was tight as he brought the device to his ear, an expression worryingly similar to the one he’d been wearing at Dream. After a quick hello, he didn’t even say anything, just listened to whatever message Blue was conveying over the line.
I wanted to eavesdrop.
But knowing how passionate—and anxious—Micah was about this particular situation, especially with his visions being involved, I stepped back instead, turning the other way to eliminate the temptation.
I had a distraction of my own, anyway.
Someone was knocking at the door.
Micah was too immersed in his call to even notice, but I did, and made my way down the hall. At the door, I put my face up to the peephole and then immediately stepped back, clutching my chest in surprise.
Why was Kingston Whitfield at this door?!
My heart raced as I ran through the possibilities in my mind, each progressively worse than the other. He knocked again, and instead of putting off the inevitable, I took a deep breath… and opened the door.
He didn’t look surprised to see me.
In fact, he let out a dry ass yeah-that’s-what-I-thought-Jackson-said chuckle and shook his head before landing on a little smirk.
“Ms. Dawes.”
“Mr. Whitfield,” I shot back, squaring my shoulders. “What can I do for you?”
“Drop the defenses,” he said. “I come in peace. If Delaney was at this door… you might need to be worried.”
My eyes widened. “Is she mad?”
“She’s concerned,” he answered. “And… rightfully so. I mean, we already knew about you and Micah, but adding Santiago Ruiz makes it a triangle.”
“There’s no triangle,” I insisted. “I don’t even know Santi outside of getting him drunk and legally running his pockets at Dream. My job.”
“Your former job,” he reminded me. “Recoverie might be in the same building, but it’s a different floor. Same book, different chapter. Same?—”
“I get the point. You don’t have to be an asshole.” I crossed my arms as he laughed.
“You know what? You’re right.” He raised his palms as he tipped his head in a nod. “Let’s take a step back… are you okay?”
I blinked.
That wasn’t the response I was expecting, and it caught me so off guard I dropped the crossed arms. “Uh… yeah, I guess. Micah too.”
“Good. That’s really the most important thing.”
I raised an eyebrow. “No, it isn’t,” I scoffed. “You’re a businessman, in pre-launch for a very, very expensive service facility. Micah is a client, and so is Santiago. I’m one of the employees. You’re here about your investment.”
Kingston smiled… but didn’t deny it.
“I am here to check on you. Both of you,” he amended. “ But… this is absolutely the kinda shit that we cannot have connected to Recoverie. Video clips from tonight are going viral right now; anybody who was within a hundred feet of Dream is on a live stream doing storytime about that shit as we speak. Dream Girl plus Ace of Spades plus El Diablo … It’s a gossip channel’s wet dream. And… it’s a direct contradiction to the business model.”
Immediately, my chest got tight. “So… what, you’re… firing me?”
Kingston let out a deep sigh… then shook his head. “Nobody’s fired… yet. Recoverie is still in pre-launch. Micah isn’t in need of services right now. Santi is headed to Europe for the cup anyway. Both will be managed by a service curator who isn’t you if they’re allowed on our roster.”
“And what about me? Am I under some type of review, or?—”
“No,” he confirmed. “We clearly saw who the aggressor was, saw that you were just doing your job. Nobody’s interested in punishing you for that. However… again… this isn’t Dream. You’re not a bottle girl, not the bottle girl anymore. You’re moving to bigger, quieter things. Delaney is looking for someone she can mentor—a protégé. She saw that in you, still sees that in you. Don’t fumble it. That’s all I’m saying.”
I nodded, trying desperately to appear cool on the outside while my mind was spinning. “I hear you,” I promised. “And I won’t.”
“Good.”
“Uh… did you want to talk to Micah? He’s on the phone but?—”
“I didn’t come her to talk to that nigga,” Kingston chuckled, already turning away from the door. “Tell his ass to get in the gym instead of fighting in the club. And he better not fucking embarrass me at this exhibition, how about that?” he called down the hall, making me laugh as I closed and locked the door.
“I wanna laugh.”
I spun around to find Micah standing at the entryway hall, eyebrows raised.
“Were you eavesdropping on me?” I asked, and he scoffed.
“This my shit, no such thing,” he said, approaching to wrap his arms around me. “I need to talk to him or Delaney, smooth anything out?”
I shook my head. “Nope. Everything is fine… unless Blue told you otherwise?”
“Santi running his mouth, social media shit… nothing to worry about. We’ve got more pressing matters.”
I frowned. “Such as…?”
“Such as… where we were before that phone rang.”
I grinned.
Oh yeah.
That.