Chapter 20 Prime
PRIME
Farah had been blowing up my phone for two weeks straight, insisting she needed to show me her design ideas for the penthouse.
I’d been putting her off, but she was persistent as hell.
Finally, I agreed to meet her at Addis, this Ethiopian coffee shop in Adams Morgan that she claimed had the best pour-over in the city.
I pulled up fifteen minutes late, hoping she’d get the message that this was business only.
She was already there, sitting at a corner table with her laptop open and a portfolio spread out in front of her. When she saw me walk in, her whole face lit up.
“Prime!” She stood, arms already reaching for me.
I braced myself as she pulled me into a hug. Too close. Too long. Her perfume was overwhelming, floral and sweet, and she pressed herself against me like we were more than what we were.
I pulled back, putting distance between us. “What’s good, Farah.”
“You,” she said, smiling up at me. “It’s been too long.”
“Been busy.”
“I know. That’s why I’m so glad you finally made time for me.” She gestured to the chair across from her. “Sit, sit. I ordered you a coffee. Black, no sugar, right?”
I sat down, already regretting this. “Let’s see what you got.”
She opened her portfolio, sliding it across the table. “Okay, so I was thinking for your penthouse, we go with a modern minimalist aesthetic. Clean lines, natural colors—browns, camel, off-whites. But with touches of warmth, maybe some orange and yellow. Also some wood accents, leather furniture.”
I flipped through the pages. Sketches of furniture layouts, color swatches, fabric samples. She’d actually put thought into this.
“I love the idea of a custom bookshelf for your music collection,” she continued, pointing to one of the drawings. “And here—” she flipped to another page, “—a dedicated space for your guitars. Something that displays them but also keeps them protected.”
I had to admit, she knew what she was doing. The designs were clean, sophisticated. Exactly what I’d want in a space but hadn’t taken the time to figure out myself.
“This is good,” I said.
Her smile widened. “Really? You like it?”
“Yeah. It’s exactly what I was thinking but couldn’t articulate.”
“That’s what I do. I get inside people’s heads, figure out what they want even when they don’t know yet.”
There was an undertone to that statement I chose to ignore.
“You still working for that event planning company?” I asked, steering the conversation to safer ground.
“Yes! Actually, that’s the main thing. The interior decorating is just side work, you know? Building my portfolio. But the event planning is where I’m really making moves.” She leaned forward, excited. “We just landed this huge contract with the mayor’s office. Big gala fundraiser next month.”
My jaw tightened. Of course. “Vivica’s event?”
“Yeah! It’s going to be amazing. Like, five hundred guests, live band, silent auction, the whole thing.” She grinned. “You’ll probably be there, right? Since that’s your mother and all.”
“I doubt it.”
“Oh come on, Prime. Please? I want you to see me in action. See what I can do when I’m running a major event.” She reached across the table, her hand covering mine. “It would mean a lot to me.”
I pulled my hand back. “We’ll see.”
“That’s not a no.” She was beaming like I’d just said yes.
I needed to wrap this up. “You got a dessert caterer yet?”
“For the gala? No, actually. We’re still vetting options. Why?”
I pulled out my phone, found Sweet Zin’s Instagram, and showed it to her. “This. Use them.”
Farah scrolled through the page, her eyebrows raising. “Wow, these look incredible. Who is this?”
“Someone I know. They’re good. Really good. And they need the exposure.”
“You trust them?”
“I wouldn’t recommend them if I didn’t.”
She studied me for a moment, something calculating in her expression. “Okay. I trust your excellent judgment. I’ll reach out to them today.”
“Good.”
I stood, ready to leave.
“Wait, that’s it? You’re leaving already?” She looked disappointed.
“I got somewhere to be.”
“Prime—”
“Thanks for the designs, Farah. Send me a quote and we’ll move forward.”
I left before she could protest, stepping out into the cool evening air.
My phone buzzed as I was walking to my car. A text from Vivica.
My house tomorrow 1 PM. Don’t be late.
I stared at the message, my jaw clenching. This was it. The meeting she’d demanded. The one where she’d hold Rashid’s freedom over my head and make me dance like a puppet.
I typed back: Fine.
Her response was immediate: Good. Come alone.
I pocketed my phone and got in my car, heading home. But as I drove, my mind kept circling back to Zahara.
I hadn’t seen her since the farmers market. Hadn’t heard from her except for that one text exchange. And I was tired of waiting.
So instead of going home, I drove to Grits.
The diner was closed, but I knew she’d be there. Knew she snuck in after hours to bake for her business.
I parked around back and tried the kitchen door. Unlocked, like I’d expected.
I slipped inside, moving quietly through the dark kitchen. I could hear music playing softly—some old-school R&B—and smell cinnamon and sugar in the air.
She was at the industrial oven, pulling out a tray of rolls, her back to me. She was humming along to the music, completely unaware.
I leaned against the doorframe, just watching her for a moment. The way she moved. The concentration on her face when she set the tray down and inspected each roll. The small smile when she was satisfied with her work.
Beautiful.
“Those smell good,” I said.
She screamed, spinning around so fast she nearly knocked over the tray.
“What the fuck, Prime!” Her hand was on her chest, breathing hard. “You scared the shit out of me!”
“You know I can get in here anytime, Goddess.”
“Why are you here?”
“Checkin’ on you. It’s late.” I pushed off the doorframe and walked closer. “What are you making?”
“None of your business.” But she didn’t tell me to leave. “What are you doing here?”
“Wanted to talk to you.”
“It’s almost midnight. Normal people don’t just show up at midnight.”
“Good thing I’m not normal people.”
She rolled her eyes but I caught the small smile she was trying to hide.
“I want to take Yusef to learn how to box,” I said.
That got her attention. “What?”
“Boxing. Self-defense. Kid’s getting jumped at school. He needs to know how to protect himself.”
“I don’t—” She paused, wiping her hands on her apron. “I don’t know if that’s a good idea.”
“Why not?”
“Because… because I barely know you. And you’re—” She gestured vaguely at me. “You’re you.”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning you’re dangerous. And complicated. And I don’t need complicated in Yusef’s life.”
“He needs to know how to defend himself, Zahara. And I can teach him that.”
She was quiet for a long moment, studying my face like she was trying to figure out my angle.
“I already said fine,” she said finally. “But if anything happens to him—”
“Nothing’s gonna happen to him. I promise.”
She nodded slowly, then her eyes dropped to my collar. Her expression changed. Hardened.
“What?” I asked.
“You got lipstick on your collar.”
I looked down. Fuck. There was a faint pink smudge on my shirt collar from when Farah had hugged me.
“That’s not—” I started.
“Save it.” Her voice was cold now. “I don’t care who you’re fucking. It’s none of my business.”
“I’m not fucking anyone.”
“Sure.” She turned back to her baking. “You should go.”
“Zahara—”
“I said go, Prime.”
“Not until you hear me out.”
“There’s nothing to hear. You do you. I do me. We’re nothing to each other.”
That stung more than it should have.
“You don’t believe that,” I said.
“Yes, I do.”
“Liar.”
She spun around, fire in her eyes. “Get. Out.”
“Fine. But I’m making sure you get home safe.”
“I don’t need you to—”
“I don’t care what you need. I’m doing it anyway.”
We stared at each other, the tension thick enough to cut.
Finally, she grabbed her things, turned off the oven, and stormed past me toward the exit.
The ride to her apartment was silent. She sat with her arms crossed, staring out the window, refusing to look at me.
I tried anyway. “The lipstick was from a friend. She hugged me. That’s it.”
Silence.
“Zahara.”
“I heard you.”
“Then why are you acting like this?”
“I’m not acting like anything.”
“You’re jealous.”
She whipped her head around. “I am not jealous.”
“You are.” I couldn’t help but smile. “You got a crush on me, Goddess.”
“I absolutely do not.”
“Then why do you care about lipstick on my collar?”
“I don’t care.”
“You’re a terrible liar.”
She was quiet for a moment, then said quietly, “I don’t need you, Prime.”
“Maybe not. But Yusef does. And whether you want to admit it or not, you want me around.”
“For Yusef,” she said firmly.
“Keep telling yourself that.”
I pulled up to her building and she got out without a word, slamming the door behind her.
But as she walked away, I saw her glance back. Just once.
And I knew.
She felt it too.