Chapter 13 #2
I walked up to the counter and ordered a fresh, heavy box of their signature sliders and seasoned fries to go.
If I was going to ambush a woman who was actively trying to freeze me out, I was going to bring the best peace offerings Houston had to offer.
The drive across town didn’t take long with the weekend traffic cleared out.
Her building was one of those sleek, towering glass high-rises overlooking half the city, the kind of place designed for privacy, security, and keeping the chaos of the world downstairs.
I pulled her car into the visitor lane, the heavy box of food radiating heat on the passenger seat beside the flowers.
I cut the engine, the sudden quiet of the garage settling around me.
I took a steadying breath, grabbed the food and the freesias, and headed toward the lobby doors.
It was time to call an audible.
When I stepped into the lobby, the security guard looked up and immediately recognized me.
“Evening,” he said“Evening.”
“You here to see Ms. Sinclair?”
I nodded, shifting the warm takeout box to my other arm.
The front desk guard smiled slightly and buzzed me straight through to the secure elevators without asking for an ID.
Guess being prominently featured on the gossip blogs leaving with her the other night had its perks.
The elevator ride up to the penthouse felt a hell of a lot longer than it actually was.
With every floor the digital counter clicked past, my chest tightened just a fraction more.
When the doors finally slid open, I stepped into the carpeted, quiet hallway, walked down to her door, and knocked.
A moment later, the lock clicked, and the heavy wood swung open.
Mars stood there looking completely surprised.
And somehow, she managed to look even better than she had under the golden VIP lights of the lounge the other night.
She was wearing baggy sweatpants and an oversized, faded sweatshirt that practically swallowed her petite frame.
Her dark hair was twisted up into a messy bun that looked like she’d thrown it together in five seconds without a single thought.
On anyone else, it should’ve looked lazy.
On her, it just made her look even more completely irresistible.
She blinked up at me, her eyes darting to the keys dangling from my pinky finger.
“How did you get past security?”
I lifted the heavy takeout bag and the bundle of bright freesias slightly.
“I came bearing gifts.”
She looked from the steaming bag of food to the delicate flowers, then back up to my face, her professional mask desperately struggling to lock itself into place.
“What are you doing here?”
“Can I come in?”
She hesitated.
Just for a moment.
Then she shifted to the side so I could walk in.
Her penthouse was exactly what I expected.
Clean.
Organized.
Quiet.
The air carried a faint, lingering trace of that vanilla and cashmere perfume I’d been thinking about all day.
Huge floor-to-ceiling windows stretched across the entire length of the living room, framing the massive, glowing grid of the Houston skyline below like a living piece of art.
She looked down at the bag in my hand, then at the flowers.
Her nose lifted slightly.
“Do I smell Gutters?”
I laughed.
“Maybe.”
A small smile tugged at the corner of her mouth as she took the bag from me.
“You’re ridiculous,” she muttered, turning toward the kitchen.
I followed her, my eyes drifting down for half a second as she walked ahead of me.
Her hips swayed naturally in those loose sweatpants, the movement effortless like she wasn’t even aware of it.
Dangerous.
She moved around the kitchen easily, like everything had its place.
Cabinets opened.
Plates came out.
Within seconds she was setting them on the counter.
She unpacked the bag and started placing a couple sliders and fries on each plate.
“Okay,” she said, glancing over her shoulder at me.
“I’ll ask again.”
She slid one plate toward the counter.
“What are you doing here?”
I leaned against the bar across from her, crossing my arms over my chest to anchor myself.
“I wanted to talk about the other night.”
She froze for just a second.
Barely noticeable.
But I caught it.
Then under her breath, almost to herself, she said one word.
“Nia.”
“Don't blame Nia,” I said softly, the low rumble of my voice cutting through the sudden silence of the penthouse.
“I pushed her for it. I knew something changed on the ride home, Mars. You went from completely in the moment with me on the dance floor to putting up a brick wall.”
She stopped arranging the fries on her plate, her fingers hovering over the porcelain.
She didn't look up at me, her eyelashes casting long shadows against her cheeks under the warm kitchen lights.
The corporate detachment she usually wore like armor was missing, replaced by a rigid, tense stillness.
“It's just club gossip, Jalen,” she murmured, finally looking up, her eyes wide and guarded behind her reading glasses.
“It doesn't matter.
It shouldn't matter to our strategy.”
“It matters to me,” I countered, leaning forward over the counter, closing the physical distance between us until she had no choice but to see how serious I was.
“Because what those girls were saying is a lie. Every single word of it.”
She blinked, caught off guard by the sheer finality in my tone.
“I don't do random hookups, Mars. I don't have a rotation of bottle girls, and I sure as hell haven't slept with anyone at that lounge,” I said, looking directly into her eyes, letting her see every ounce of the truth.
“My life is a circus, but I don't play those kinds of games.
I needed you to know that. I needed you to be able to trust me.”
The quiet returned to the room, but the suffocating tension from before had shifted.
I watched her swallow hard, her gaze dropping down to the plate between us as the reality of my words officially began to dismantle her defenses.
A cat sat curled up on its own little bed on the couch, watching me carefully like it was judging whether I belonged there.
A romantic comedy played on the seventy-inch TV, and on the coffee table an open laptop sat beside papers and a mug.
Like she’d been working while half watching the movie.
I looked back at her.
“So this is what you do when you disappear for three days?” I smiled slightly.
“Yeah.”
She exhaled softly and reached into the fridge.
“Do you want something to drink?”
“Sure.”
She grabbed two beers and popped the caps off.
One slid across the island toward me.
I caught it.
Then she walked around to the other side and sat on the stool across from me, pulling her plate closer.
For a second neither of us said anything.
The TV murmured faintly from the living room.
Her cat stretched on the couch like it had zero interest in whatever tension had just entered the apartment.
Mars took a fry and dipped it in ketchup.
Then she looked up at me.
“So,” she said calmly.
“Let’s talk.”
I started to say something.
For a second I just sat there, turning the bottle slowly in my hand like I was trying to find the right way to begin. The words lined up in my head and then scattered again.
Finally I just said it.
“I’ve never met those girls in my life.”
Mars didn’t look up right away. She took another fry, dipped it, then glanced at him across the counter.
“You don’t have to explain yourself to me,” she said.
Her voice was calm. Too calm.
“We’re not actually dating.”
The words landed harder than I expected.
Something in my stomach tightened.
Not anger. Not embarrassment.
Something closer to disappointment.
I watched her take a bite of her burger, completely unbothered on the surface. A bit of grease glistened on her bottom lip and I caught myself staring at it for a second longer than I should have.
I had the sudden, distracting thought of pulling her toward him and sucking that lip between his teeth.
I cleared my throat and leaned back slightly.
“That’s not why I’m explaining.”
She raised an eyebrow.
“No?”
“No,” I said quietly. “I’m explaining because I wouldn’t disrespect you like that.”
She paused mid-bite.
My voice stayed steady.
For a moment neither of us spoke.
The TV still played quietly in the background.
Her cat jumped down from the couch and padded across the floor like it owned the place.
Mars took another slow bite of her burger.
Still watching me.