13. Mahasin #2
The area where Gage presumably was felt way more controlled than the chaos we’d just walked through. A crane arm hovered over an imitation hospital bed, and a gorgeous, brown-skinned actress waddled onto the bed with a fake pregnancy belly.
A birthing scene. Cute, I thought, cracking a small smile.
As the actors settled into their positions, a deep, familiar voice rang out: “Quiet!”
Silence fell over the room like a weighted blanket. You could hear a mouse piss on cotton.
“In five, four, three, two, one—action!” the voice commanded.
I turned my head and there he was. Mr. Gage Blaque. My Gage.
He sat in a director’s chair, half-hidden behind a camera stand, the name CONNOR printed in bold white letters across the black canvas.
Just as I remembered—broad shoulders, crisp fade with thick curls in the middle, calm and confident like nothing in this world could shake him.
I swallowed hard and forced myself to focus back on the set.
“Get this baby out of me!” the actress screamed.
“Nurse One, go get some towels! Nurse Two, go get me a Pepsi. This is going to be a long night,” the play doctor announced.
The hell?
This scene was straight garbage. First, what doctor panics in front of a laboring mother?
We invented the poker face for a reason.
And Nurse One and Nurse Two ? What kind of Dr. Seuss-ass setup was this?
If you don’t know their first names, at least use their last. And a Pepsi ?
Bitch, are you making a sandwich too? You want chips with that?
“This is some straight bullshit,” I blurted aloud, not meaning to.
Everyone in that damn room turned their heads toward me at once. The silence? Deafening. The attention? Unwanted. The embarrassment? Immediate.
I guess it’s safe to say I just crashed the scene.
“Who said that?”Gage’s voice cut through the silence like a crowd when a new checkout line opened. No one moved at first. Then, one by one, fingers started to point at me.
Even Amber.
I swung my arm and smacked her pointed finger down with a glare. “Really?” I hissed under my breath. She gave a sheepish shrug; all that tough-girl shit went right out the window.
Gage stood from his chair, motioning with a quick swipe of his hand. “Everyone take twenty.”
The moment he stood, the air in the room shifted. This man had so much swag infused in that 6’4”, muscular-built body, he damn near floated out of that chair.
At first, he looked irritated—maybe even exhausted. This was a bad idea. And with my track record? I could spot a bad idea the second I stepped knee-deep in one.
But then he turned, following the direction of all the tattling fingers… and his eyes locked onto mine.
That’s when his whole body changed.
His brows lowered just slightly, and his mouth parted like whatever words he had lined up got caught in his throat. His stride faltered. His eyes softened. His lips tried to curl into a smile—but he couldn’t quite commit.
I couldn’t tell if he was happy to see me… or if I needed to be reaching for my mace again.
I stood frozen, hands clasped in front of me like I was waiting patiently for his tongue-lashing. Damn, I wish his sexy ass would give me a tongue-lashing… even that was the best I ever had. My flower moistened at the thought.
Mahasin, focus. Damn.
As the shuffle of people moving off set and the whispered gossip faded into the background, the sound of my pulse thumping at the base of my throat grew louder. Or at least, it felt like it did.
He came closer.
And my breathing shallowed.
I was sure my face was screaming I’m about to die , but he didn’t stop. He kept coming closer—so close, my personal space evaporated.
And I felt him.
That same intoxicating spell he cast on me back at RYZE reconjured itself and rippled through me—low and slow. It was like lustful black magic took over my body, my mind… hell, maybe even my soul.
His scent—woodsy and rich, with the right hint of vanilla—invaded my senses like a head cold. It clouded my thoughts, fogging over the reason I was even there with the urge to let him take me right where I stood.
When he got so close, I could practically feel his breath on my face, time paused.
His eyes—deep and walnut brown—searched mine like he was trying to make sure I was real and not some hallucination cooked up by all the damn set lights.
And then, like a magnet, he reached for me. Gently. Unconsciously.
His hand lifted halfway to my cheek… and I waited.
Waiting to hear him say something soft. Something familiar.
“Dollfa—”
“Baby!”
The nickname he’d given me was sliced in half by a high-pitched voice that practically demanded the whole room know she was present . And his .
A tall, stunning woman with sun-kissed skin and curly ginger hair strutted over and wrapped her arms around him from behind.
Baby? Who the fuck is this bitch with last season’s Chanel on? I’m his baby. His Dollface. Gage is mine, I thought as I clenched my jaw.
Her touch made him blink a few times. Then he took a small step back.
And just like that… my moment with him was gone.
“Everything okay, Gagey Pooh?” she asked him, her eyes flickering to me and back.
Gagey Pooh? I almost threw up in my mouth.
He didn’t look at her. In fact, he never took his eyes off me.
“Paris, this is—” He paused, like one wrong word would crack the entire foundation of whatever lie he was living with this girl. He didn’t want her; she wasn’t his type. “This is Mahasin St. James. Mahasin, Paris Summers—my girlfriend.”
The word girlfriend hit dead center. I think the baby in my stomach even felt that blow. Still, I nodded anyway.
“Nice to meet you, Paris.”
“Likewise,” she said, dismissing me with the same tone you’d use to wave off a fan.
She moved to stand at his side and cupped his face with her hand, forcing him to look at her. He had to tilt his head way down—she barely came to his chest.
“We have a strict schedule today, baby. No time to entertain groupies… and the help.”
Amber’s weight shifted immediately. She stepped in front of me with intention. She already knew I was about to pop this bitch—pregnant or not. Just like at Gage’s penthouse, she became my barrier. Protective. Probably because of the precious cargo I was now carrying.
Don’t get it twisted though—baby or not, Amber would slide a bitch for me… and I’d do the same for her.
“What this carrot-top, used Q-tip lookin’ ass bitch say?” Amber asked, voice steady but her eyes wild.
“Amber, please.” My eyes widened like the Grand Canyon.
Paris, now standing directly in front of Gage, crossed her arms and tilted her head to the side. “Is there a problem?”
“Nah, ain’t no problem. But there’s ‘bout to be a murder,” Amber said, pulling her earrings off. I knew it was go-time the second she reached for one of the ponytail holders she always kept on her wrist.
“Wait!” I called out, arms stretched wide like a damn referee. “There’s no problem. I’d just like a moment with Gage.” I kept my voice calm. “If that’s okay with you, Gage.”
“Whatever you have to say to him, you can say to us ,” Paris insisted, motioning between her and Gage with nails longer than her list of goals.
Amber took every step forward she could, getting right in Paris’s face. “Say what now?”
Gage stepped between them, holding up both hands. “Paris, it’s cool. Give us a minute, okay? Mahasin is an old friend.”
Old friend? This man was just filling me up like a Twinkie, eating my pussy like it was his favorite piece of candy, whispering he loved me while trying to suck my tongue out of my mouth. But now? I’m his old friend ?
Yeah, aight, nigga.
Paris hesitated—clearly annoyed—but leaned in and kissed him. Hard. Nasty. Purposeful. She made sure we saw her tongue go all up in his mouth.
“Fine,” she said as she pulled away, shooting daggers in my direction. “Don’t take too long. You know how much I miss you when you’re away.”
As she strutted off, Amber—never one to let shit slide—got one more lick in.
“My ass-whuppings don’t expire, Miss Spring.”
“It’s Summers !” Paris shouted back, without even looking.
I didn’t give a fuck if it was Winter or Fall —as long as it wasn’t Blaque , I would be okay.
“Amber, can you wait for me back at the front, please?”
“Uh-huh. But just know, Mr. Blaque,” she turned back to him with that familiar daggered glare, “these hands are rated E.”
“Uh… and what does that mean exactly?” Gage asked, clearly confused.
“It means everybody in this bitch can get fucked up,” she said, wiping off invisible lint from his shirt.
This girl is always adjusting somebody’s shirt. That must be her damn coping mechanism or something.
Amber gave me a quick kiss on the cheek before walking away, hips swinging like a single mother with her shit together.
Gage gestured for me to follow. We slipped down a side corridor that smelled like fresh pastries and coffee. Since confirming my pregnancy, I could smell people’s thoughts—and this newfound superpower felt more like a curse than a gift. Everything seemed to make me nauseous.
But the scent of this beautiful man next to me? That balanced everything out.
He opened the door to what looked like a small private break room and pulled out a chair for me to sit.
“Want something?” he asked, opening a mini fridge. “There’s soda, coffee, water.”
“Water is fine,” I said, though I wasn’t sure I could swallow anything right now.
He twisted the cap off and handed me a cold bottle of Fiji water. I took it and pressed it to the side of my neck—I seriously needed to cool off.
“It’s…” He smiled, stumbling over his words. “It’s good to see you, Dollface—” He winced. “Mahasin,” he corrected himself.
That nickname pulled out lustful thoughts I had no right to think.
“What’s Carrot Top’s nickname?” I asked, trying to sound casual but failing miserably.
“At this moment? Occupational hazard,” he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck.
“You look… You look beautiful, Mahasin. And not in a flirtatious way—you just… appear to be glowing.”