8. Nairobi Crawford
“Why I had to find out from my wife you’re back?” Money asked, trying his best to look annoyed.
I propped my feet on his desk. “She wasn’t supposed to say anything,” I grumbled.
Now that everybody and their mama knew I was back in Atlanta, there was no point in ducking Money any longer. Fontaine told me about his new office space where he ran the real estate company, and since I wasn’t in the mood for Kenya’s dramatics, I decided to pay him an overdue visit.
Taking a step back looked good on him—he seemed lighter, less tense. A little more gray in his beard, but boss man still looked good.
“So you were just going to be in the city and not even check your old friends?” he shook his head. “I can understand Fontaine ‘cause y’all still pump fakin’ with each other, but me? Damn, Nai, I thought we was better than that.”
I rolled my eyes. “Well, I’m here. Hi—my dad’s dead and his money’s gone, and I gotta figure out where that shit went.”
Money sat back in his chair, lips pressed in a thin line. “How much we talking?”
“Twenty million.”
“Just gone?”
“There’s two thousand dollars between his bank and investment accounts. Which makes no sense because that man was a stickler about his money.”
“What about crypto?”
“He was old-fashioned—he never trusted that shit.” I huffed out a breath. “I didn’t come home for all this. I was just supposed to make sure his affairs were in order and get back to work. Why every time I’m back in Atlanta it’s some extra bullshit?”
“Because maybe it’s time you stop running and realize this is where you need to be.”
“This is the last place I need to be.”
“Mmhm. You keep saying that, but your ass always ends up back here.”
“Whatever.” I stood, brushing my hands down my thighs. “I just want to get my mom squared away and go back to my life.”
“You think he’s gonna let you go this time?”
My chest tightened. I woke up to Fontaine this morning with his arms wrapped around me like he was afraid I’d disappear. He’d only left because he had to help his sister with his nephew. We hadn’t talked about what came next, but I knew he’d show up again—because that’s what he did.
Even after that night in Miami, I knew he’d kept tabs on me. Which is why I wasn’t surprised when he brought up CJ.
Did it have to be CJ? No. But we’d gotten close when I had work in New York. I had feelings for him—but nothing like what I felt for Fontaine. Even CJ knew that.
“I move how I want to move.”
Money’s forehead creased. “What you did to him in New York was fucked up. If you’re gonna leave, fine. But don’t do him like that again—he deserves that much. I swear that nigga barely spoke five words for like six months.”
“Bye, Money.”
“Wait.” He grabbed something from his desk and held it out—a card covered in baby animals and soft pastel colors.
I stared at it. “What’s this?”
“You can’t read?” he sucked his teeth. “Jas wants you to come to the baby shower.”
I scrunched up my face, flipping the card in my hand. “Why? I’ve never even been to a baby shower.”
“‘Cause my wife wants to be your friend, that’s why,” he said, exasperated. “You do need some women in your life. No one’s saying you gotta be all froufrou and shit, but come through, socialize. Your man will be there.”
I skimmed over the details—it was this weekend. “I gotta figure this stuff out with my dad’s money…”
“Oh brother.” He waved me off, already turning back to his computer. “Whatever, come or don’t. I did my part.”
TWO YEARS AGO
Fontaine had started finding excuses to see me after that night at the Emerald Lounge, saying he had extra intel, but it was usually fluff shit that I had no use for.
The first time we slept together, I knew there was something different, but I ignored it.
I’d been trying to convince myself it didn’t matter, because none of this mattered.
And when it was all over, I’d leave and we could forget this ever happened.
Lies I told myself when I insisted we sneak around. We were two grown adults acting like teenagers because I didn’t want Cash and the others to know. It was getting harder to ignore how easily we kept finding our way back to each other.
It was Thursday night. My feet were kicked up on his lap while some obscure horror movie played on the TV.
I liked his condo more than mine. Fontaine was a bit of a neat freak, but there was a warmth to his place that mine didn’t have.
Pictures of his mom, sister, and nephew were all over the walls, and collectible action figurines lined his shelves. Awards from Duke hung in his office.
My condo was fine, but it was just somewhere I slept when I was in Atlanta, which wasn’t often.
His hand kept tracing circles on my ankle, and every so often his thumb would press into the arch of my foot in a way that made me want to crawl into his lap.
I didn’t though, because I had self-control. Allegedly.
“Wanna watch something else?” he asked without looking away from the TV.
“Huh? I’m paying attention.”
“You’ve been staring at me for the past fifteen minutes.”
I kicked him lightly in the thigh. He caught my foot and held it, looking over at me with a half-smile that made me want to punch him and kiss him at the same time. He pulled my legs further into his lap and pressed a kiss to my ankle.
Heat spread through me as goosebumps covered my skin. I hated that my body was so reactive to him.
“I like this,” he said, leaning his head back against the couch.
“What?”
“This. You being here.”
I raised an eyebrow. “You getting soft on me?”
He laughed, the sound rumbling through his chest. Fontaine had this way of being so steady, so solid, that being with him made everything feel less heavy.
I never realized how wound up I was until I started spending time with him—how much tension I carried in my body.
Years of it. And how his presence gave me the ability to just be. To unravel and truly exhale.
He tugged me toward him so that I was sliding across the couch until I was tucked against his side. His arm wrapped around me and I settled into his chest, my ear pressed against his heartbeat. Slow and even. Everything about him was steady.
“You’re like a bear,” I murmured.
He looked down at me. “A bear?”
”Mm. Big. Warm.” I traced a lazy line down his chest with my nail. “Protective. But you could snap someone in half if you wanted to.”
“That’s how you see me?”
“That’s what you are.”
He went quiet, rubbing my arm and mulling over my words the way he always did.
“Aight,” he said. “Then you’re a kitten.”
I pulled back. “Excuse me?”
“You heard me.” He flashed me that infuriatingly beautiful smile of his. “You’re all independent, I-can-do-bad-all-by-myself. You’ll scratch the shit out of someone who gets too close. But when you’re comfortable…” His hand came up to the back of my neck and squeezed slightly. “You curl right up.”
I squeezed my thighs together and swallowed the moan threatening to come out. “I don’t curl up.”
“Whatchu doing right now, mama?”
I didn’t answer and tried to squirm out of his grip.
He kept his hold on me, and I inhaled, taking in his clean scent.
I wanted to tell him “kitten” was the dumbest nickname I’d ever heard and if he called me that in front of the others I’d put a bullet in his kneecap.
No one had ever given me a nickname before, not even my parents. This one was just mine.
“Don’t call me that,” I grumbled.
“Okay, Kitten,” he said and kissed the top of my head.
I closed my eyes, not bothering to hide the smile. Bear. It really did suit him. And I’d never tell him how much I liked that he saw me as something soft enough to name.
Bear
Where you at?
Why you acting like you don’t already know?
Bear
Because normal people ask.
We’re not normal. What’s up?
Bear
I found something on Sterling.
I stared at the phone for a second. I’d been holed up in my father’s office for hours, following breadcrumbs, anything that might explain where the hell the money went. I found two offshore accounts that I didn’t know about, but those were tapped dry too.
Sterling was the most meticulous, type A motherfucker to ever exist, but somehow left a world of mess for me to clean up.
Three post-its were stuck to the edge of his monitor. A list of passwords to his accounts, encrypted files—all some mix of my name and my mother’s, scrambled with birthdays and special symbols. Was that supposed to be some kind of sentimental message from the grave?
“Yeah, okay,” I muttered, closing the laptop.
The rational explanation was that it was just the easiest thing for him to remember.
I leaned back in the chair and rubbed my eyes. I still hadn’t told Kenya the truth about the accounts being dry. And I wasn’t sure I ever would. She was so busy trying to win an award for the perfect grieving wife, she’d probably have an aneurysm.
…okay?
Bear
Meet me at our spot in twenty?
Why can’t you just tell me now?
Bear
see you in eighteen minutes.
I grabbed my things and made my way out, hoping I wouldn’t run into my mother.
In her world, I’d made sure nothing had changed.
I’d put some money into the account she shared with my father that matched her monthly spending habits, and paid up the bills for the next six months.
The house had been paid off years ago, but there were so many little things like utilities, monthly subscriptions, and health insurance.
“You’re leaving?” Kenya’s voice pulled me from my thoughts.
She was coming out of the kitchen, wiping her hands on a dish towel. The house smelled of some kind of stew, which was surprising. I couldn’t remember the last time I saw her make anything from scratch.
“Yeah,” I replied, slipping on my sneakers. “I have some things to look into, so I’ll be back later this week.”
“Oh…” she trailed off. “I was hoping you’d stay for dinner.”
I choked back a laugh. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.” The idea of sitting across from my mother in awkward silence made my ass itch.
Her brows pinched. “Why not?”