Chapter 2 Colecion #3
“Girl, what are you doing?” I muttered.
One part of me wanted to shove him off, remind myself who the hell he was.
I’d seen him take a man’s life with nothing but his hands.
That wasn’t a rumor. That was a fact. But the other part was leaning in, reckless enough to wonder what it would feel like to be with somebody like him.
A man who carried death in one hand but my wildest dreams in another.
I splashed some water on my wrists, trying to cool off, but it didn’t do a damn thing. His presence was still on me, under my skin, in my head. Were we going to fall in love? Was this insane? Would my friends judge me? I was spiraling until I heard soft taps on the door.
“Coco.” I froze. “Colecion, look I’d love to keep this up, but I don’t want to hurt you. Not intentionally. So, you can relax and stop hiding from a nigga.”
I opened the door and came face to face with such a beautiful masterpiece of a damn man.
He was easily over six feet, all broad shoulders and quiet dominance, but it was the body that did it for me.
I imagined the strength, the control, the power tucked under that black shirt.
My eyes slipped before I could stop them.
“Eyes up, baby,” he laughed, catching me roaming further south than I intended.
Heat crawled up my neck, and I hated that he noticed. Still, I let him guide me back to the booth, his palm firm against the small of my back. Sliding in beside him again felt too easy; my body was betraying me, leaning toward him when my brain should’ve been leaning out the door.
I told myself I could focus, that I could stay sharp, but the way his arms wrapped around me made it damn near impossible. He poured me wine without asking, topped off his own glass, and nodded. It felt like we were already settled.
That’s when the plates started to arrive. Course after perfect course, oysters, lamb, truffle pasta, while his thumb traced idle lines against my skin. He kept his arm around me through all of it.
“Say it plain,” I told him, finally. “If I sign this, this is real. Legal. Not a game. Not a story you’ll spin when it suits you.”
“Real as it gets,” he confirmed. “Long enough for the heat to die down, for people to move on to different problems. Then we revisit.”
“How long is that?”
“Months, a year, I don’t know.”
I sighed. His honesty unsettled me more than a rehearsed answer would have.
“What I do know is that you keep your business. Your name is your name. If you want it hyphenated, it’s hyphenated. Your accounts stay yours. No surprises. You get my protection, my silence, and my last name. I get your silence and your presence. We both get to keep shit P.”
“I don’t understand one thing, Grim—”
“Lesley,” he cut in, voice low. “You’ll know when to call me Grim.”
I blinked, thrown for a second, then pressed on. “Lesley, this is just one situation. From what I’ve seen, you and your family are into a lot. What happens when it’s something else?”
“I’m a grown man, and I can handle my shit. It would make me less of a man if I left you to this. I don’t move like that, flawed or not. I want to protect you, and during that time, I want you to enjoy your life on my dime.”
I looked down at the papers. I could see the lines clearly, the places where my life would stitch to his, the places where I stayed myself.
“Coco. I have legit businesses. More than you probably realize.”
Every part of me screamed not to do it. But when I looked at him, steady and sure, the fear twisted into attraction.
Maybe curiosity. Maybe both. I wasn’t saying yes because I believed in him.
I was saying yes because I didn’t trust myself to walk away.
He’d keep showing up, and I’d eventually give in.
There was no need for the cat-and-mouse game.
The pen felt heavier than it was when I picked it up.
This was survival, but it didn’t feel like survival. It felt like surrender, and not the kind I’d ever planned on giving.
“Before I sign,” I said, and he waited without blinking, “I need to hear you say something for me.”
“Say what you need, and you’ll have it.”
“That you won’t treat this like a debt I can never pay. That you won’t turn my yes into a leash. I don’t want to be your concubine. I don’t want to be a trophy wife. I want to be me still while being with you.”
His jaw flexed. When he spoke again, the roughness was gone, his voice iron straight. “I’m not saving you to own you. You say yes because you choose it. And if you choose out after a year, you walk. No penalty. No ghosts. No mess.”
The server set down the dessert plate, sensing the air shifting. Dark chocolate torte, raspberry coulis, like a smear of red lipstick on porcelain. He waited for her to step back, then turned his wrist so the face of his watch flashed in the low light.
I signed my first initial before I realized I’d done it. Then the second. Then the third. The pen didn’t scrape. It glided. When I reached the last line, I paused and lifted my eyes to his. The silence between us wasn’t empty. It was full.
He set his hand over mine on the page, the heat of his palm grounding me the way a truth does when you finally stop fighting it.
“You can trust me.”
I finished the signature and set the pen down.
The shock wave I’d been living through all week didn’t crash this time.
It spread out and settled, and for the first time all week, I felt like I had ground under me.
I picked up my fork and tasted the chocolate.
It was rich and a little bitter and perfect.
He watched my mouth with a focus that made everything inside me feel seen from the inside out.
“You’ll like being Mrs. Grimson,” he said quietly, certain of it
I swallowed and let a smile show. “We’ll see.”
He laughed once, a low sound that rolled right through me. “We will.”