Chapter 12
CHAPTER TWELVE
Ireached the lobby five minutes early and still too late to get my mind right.
That was Imani’s fault.
Mostly.
The call that pulled me off the phone with her had been Omar, who had the bad timing to need an actual business answer while I was still lying in bed trying to remember how to breathe like a normal man.
One issue at the motor group. A vendor delay.
Nothing burning badly enough to justify how much attitude I gave him.
By the time we hung up, I needed another shower.
Cool water helped my knee more than it helped anything else. I stood under it with one hand against the tile and made myself remember that Imani and I had agreed to take our time. Calling her instead of showing up at her door had been the responsible choice.
What happened during that call had tested the limits of responsibility, but I had stayed in my suite.
That counted for something.
The part that stayed with me most wasn't what her voice sounded like when she came.
God knew I remembered that. It was what came afterward, when the teasing fell away and she let me ask if she was okay.
Imani had always been good at pleasure. Letting somebody stay close to the softness afterward had been harder.
This morning, she let me.
Then she agreed to come to the game with me.
I got dressed with my knee still stiff, my body still irritated with my good judgment, and my head full of one simple fact: I wanted more than another night alone with her.
I wanted the day. I wanted her beside me while AWU got loud around us, wanted to hear what she remembered and see what still made her laugh before she caught herself.
By the time I stepped off the elevator, I had almost convinced myself I knew how to act.
Then I saw her.
Imani stood near one of The Nocturne’s tall windows talking to a woman with long dark hair and a wide gray streak running from her left temple through the length of it. I noticed the woman first because I knew her face.
Then I looked at Imani and forgot everybody else for a second.
Deep-purple cardigan with gold trim and buttons.
White tank underneath. Light-wash jeans hugging her hips and ass before loosening through the legs over purple-and-white sneakers.
Gold hoops. A small cream YSL crossbody bag.
The front half of her braids was pulled into a high ponytail, the rest falling down her back.
She had dressed for football and still looked like she had come downstairs to test whether I had learned anything about discipline.
Her eyes found mine.
Heat moved through them before she could hide it.
I knew exactly where her mind went because mine went there too.
I smiled.
She narrowed her eyes.
Good morning to me.
“Good morning,” she said when I reached them.
“Morning.”
The other woman turned fully toward me, and recognition settled.
Nia St. James.
I had met her briefly at The Nocturne the previous Homecoming. Hotel bar, maybe ten minutes of conversation before I went upstairs. She had seemed sad beneath expensive clothes and good posture, and that was honestly what I remembered most.
Imani gestured between us. “Nia, this is Andre Jones. Dre, Nia St. James. Her family owns The Nocturne.”
Nia smiled. “We’ve met.”
Imani’s face changed by about half an inch.
I almost laughed.
“Last year’s Homecoming,” Nia added, extending her hand.
“Yeah. Good to see you again.”
“You too.”
Imani’s gaze moved between us. “How did you two meet?”
Nia answered before I could. “Here, actually. Very briefly.”
That little line between Imani’s brows deepened.
I had known this woman too long.
Nia either didn't notice or liked her own life enough not to care. She turned toward the bracelet on Imani’s wrist. “Before you leave, I want your contact information. We’ve been considering more private luxury events here, and Saint Aurelia would fit beautifully.”
Imani changed immediately.
Not because she stopped caring about whatever she thought I had done with Nia. I knew better than that.
Work simply caught her.
“What kind of events?”
“Smaller than a gala. Intimate. Maybe one of the salons or private dining rooms. Something where the room becomes part of the experience instead of swallowing it.”
“I would love to talk about that. We’re discussing private-client experiences around the collection before the larger launch, and The Nocturne makes sense for us.”
They were off.
I stood beside Imani and watched her move from conversation into strategy without changing who she was. Diamonds, access, legacy, atmosphere. She could hold all of it in the same thought because to her it belonged there.
I had missed eight years of watching this woman become good at what she did.
I liked getting some of it back.
They exchanged numbers before Nia looked between us with enough awareness to make me suspicious.
“I won’t keep you. Enjoy the game.”
“We will,” I said.
She smiled at Imani and headed toward the front desk.
I put my hand at Imani’s lower back as we started toward the doors. “You know nothing happened with her, right?”
“I didn’t ask.”
“Your face did.”
“My face did not say anything.”
“Your chin been tight since she said we met.”
Her eyes cut toward mine. “You notice too much.”
“With you? Always.”
Her mouth threatened a smile.
I waited until we were under the awning before adding, “We talked at the hotel bar for a few minutes. That was it.”
“Dre, I really did not ask.”
“I know.”
“Then why are you explaining?”
“Because you care.”
She stopped.
I stopped too.
Her brows lifted. “You are feeling yourself after last night.”
“Last night ain’t the reason.”
Her eyes darkened.
“This morning either.”
“Dre.”
I smiled. “I'm telling you because I have nothing to hide. She seemed sad. We talked. I went upstairs. End of story.”
Imani studied my face. “A sad woman?”
“Yeah.”
“You noticed that.”
“I notice people sometimes.”
“Mmhmm.”
I laughed. “Keep her number.”
That surprised her. “What?”
“Nia’s. Keep it. She seems cool, and that event sounded good.”
The tension left her mouth.
“You’re telling me to stay in contact with a woman you met alone at a bar?”
“I’m telling you I ain’t got shit to hide, and you looked excited about working with her.”
That finally shut her up.
Briefly.
I opened the Escalade’s passenger door. “Besides, you need somewhere worthy of all them diamonds you keep walking around Pittsburgh teasing people with.”
She laughed.
Before she climbed in, I gave myself a second to look at her.
“You look good, by the way.”
“Thank you.”
“You dress for me?”
She blinked. “I dressed for a football game.”
“That wasn't my question.”
“What am I going to do with you?”
I looked at her mouth. “You really want me answering that in front of The Nocturne?”
Heat moved into her eyes.
“Get in the truck, Andre.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
The way she looked at me after that nearly made both of us late.
I closed the door and walked around smiling.
She was still taking in the Escalade when I got behind the wheel. Black-on-black interior. Dark wood. Suede overhead. The custom wheel with my initials worked into the center.
“This is really nice.”
“You said that last night.”
“I mean it.”
“I can tell.”
Her fingertips moved over the seat before she looked at the tinted window. “Do you ever worry about somebody trying you in this?”
The question sounded casual.
Her face didn't.
“Trying me how?”
“Dre.”
I nodded because she wasn't wrong to ask. The truck cost money, looked like money, and was recognizable to anybody who knew cars. I was recognizable to people who didn't.
“They'd have to get through the glass first.”
Her eyes narrowed. “What glass?”
“Bullet-resistant.”
She looked toward the window again. “And after the glass?”
I reached beneath the console and hit the release on the locked compartment.
Her eyes settled on the Glock secured inside.
Then came back to me.
“Well.”
I almost laughed. “That all you got?”
“I’m processing.”
“I don’t walk around with bodyguards. I also don’t walk around stupid.”
“You had that on you last night?”
“In the truck. I don’t carry into AWU, ballrooms, or places where I don’t need it.”
She nodded slowly.
Then her gaze lingered on me a little too long.
I knew that look too.
“You like that.”
“What?”
“Knowing I keep something close.”
“I did not say that.”
“You don't have to.”
Her eyes narrowed, but the flush in her face told the truth.
The old Imani had once admitted she liked a little edge on a man.
Apparently, maturity had not cured everything.
I closed the compartment and pulled into traffic before either of us forgot where we were.
Purple and gold appeared more often the closer we got to campus. Flags from car windows. Alumni jackets on sidewalks. Families crossing streets in AWU gear. Music coming through somebody’s open windows at a red light.
Crown Weekend never stayed neatly behind AWU’s gates.
Neighborhood businesses had purple and gold in their windows.
Church lots became parking. Barbershops had Kings games playing on televisions near the ceiling while somebody argued about this year’s team like Coach Wallace had personally asked for assistance.
Students bought food from people whose families had been feeding Royals longer than some of the campus buildings had existed.
We talked, which gave the heat between us somewhere useful to go.
Nia and The Nocturne came up first, then Saint Aurelia.
Imani was already imagining what kind of private event the two brands could create together.
She asked about my businesses too, and I told her enough to give her the shape of the life I had built without turning the ride into an investor meeting.
Her questions were different from everybody else’s.
Why had I chosen dealerships?
Why restaurants?
Why did Jones Outdoor matter when I clearly had enough money to leave landscaping behind?
That last one made me look at her.
“My father.”
She waited.