Chapter 2
The bar clanged back onto the rack, and I let out a breath, chest heaving as sweat dripped from my face. My home gym was my sanctuary, a place where I could relieve all my daily stress. No investors, no contracts, no bullshit—just me, sweat, and the weights daring me to quit.
I grabbed my towel, wiping my face, when my phone buzzed on the bench. I smirked, seeing Jamila, my sister's name on the screen. She was always calling me when I was in my quiet zone and on my personal time. Nonetheless, I swiped to answer.
“You know it’s barely ten in the morning, right? Some of us are trying to live.”
“Live?” she said, mocking me. “Boy, you ain’t doing shit but in that gym trying to kill yourself. Anyway… Don’t forget you’ve got a meeting at noon.”
“I know.”
“Do you, though?” She teased. “Because last time you swore you knew, and you showed up twenty minutes late. Clients don’t like waiting, even if you are rich with money and good looks.” She scuffed.
I chuckled, reaching for my water bottle. “So, what you’re saying is… I still look better than you.”
“You wish, negro. Mama and Daddy broke the mold when they had me. Don’t play with me, big-headed-ass boy. My edges lay perfectly, my outfit is always crisp… I’m the one carrying the family’s name on my back.”
“Carrying it?” I laughed. “You are barely carrying that tablet you bring everywhere. You work for me. I’m the one who’s paying you the big bucks.”
She huffed. “Whatever. Just be on time today. And wear the navy suit. You know, the one that makes you look less like an asshole.”
I grinned. “That’s your favorite, huh? Are you trying to live vicariously through me?”
“No, I’m trying to make sure my paycheck clears. But, for real, Samir. This can be a good deal. Don’t fuck it up by being a meanie. Leave the attitude home today, please.”
“Good thing I’ve got you then,” I said.
“You damn right. Don’t be late. Noon, sharp.” She paused before speaking again. “Oh, and your wife called.”
“Ex-wife.” I grunted.
“Someone needs to tell her ass that. She keeps throwing around that title like she ain’t been divorced for the past two years. I swear, I’m still trying to see what you saw in that bitch.”
I chuckled lowly. “You really want to know?”
“Ew! No!” She groaned as I continued to laugh. “You play too much.”
“That’s what I thought,” I said, smirking. “Where’s my niece?”
“With her sorry-ass father.”
“You laid down with that sorry-ass nigga,” I responded. “If it wasn’t for my niece, I would’ve been had that nigga in the dirt.”
“Damn, Samir.” She sighed. “You don’t have to remind me that I fell for a fuck nigga. I know what I did. I don’t regret my daughter, I just regret who I chose to be her father.”
“Hey, don’t beat yourself up. You were young and thought he was solid. We all make bad picks sometimes. But outta that situation came my favorite person in the world. So, it’s cool. We good.”
She let out a small laugh. “Yeah, yeah. You just love that girl more than you love me, admit it.”
“Facts,” I said, grinning. “My niece got my whole heart. You? You just get on my nerves.”
“Boy, whatever!” She laughed again, lighter this time. “Just be good today.”
“Copy that,” I said. “And tell my niece her uncle said he loves her.”
“Will do. Bye, Mr. Attitude.”
“Later, trouble.”
I shook my head and headed upstairs for a quick shower.
In my room, I went straight for the bathroom, peeling off my shorts and tossing them into the hamper.
After brushing my teeth, I went through the little skincare routine my sister had me on, washing my face with a fancy cleanser she swore by.
I couldn’t even lie, the shit worked. My skin stayed smooth as hell.
I could dig it, but I’d never admit that shit to her. She’d clown me for life.
When I was done, I hopped in the shower. The hot water hit my skin, rolling the tension out of my muscles as the steam wrapped around me. I dragged the washcloth over my chest, trying to scrub off more than just sweat.
My mind drifted back to what my sister said on the phone about Paige, my ex-wife.
Just the mention of her name always put a nigga in a bad headspace.
No matter how many times I told her ass to stop using my name for her personal gain, she still did the shit, parading with it like she still had rights to it.
The more I thought about the shit, the hotter the water seemed, damn near scalding my skin.
I clenched my jaw and pressed my palms against the tile, letting the spray beat on the back of my neck.
Paige had taken more than my trust when she stepped out of our marriage; she made it damn near impossible for me to trust another woman.
She turned something so beautiful into something that felt like a setup.
The love was fake; it had to be because the moment I let my guard down, someone was waiting to stab me in the back.
That’s the type of wound that doesn’t heal quickly, and what burned me most was that I didn’t see it coming.
I gave my ex-wife everything, spoiled her to no end.
And yet, I was blindsided, burned, caught up in love, thinking we were solid.
I thought the love we built was enough to weather all the late nights I was out hustling and the sacrifices that came with it.
But I was wrong. Instead, while I was out here slanging dope, the bitch was slanging her pussy to another nigga.
I pressed my forehead against the cool tile, trying to ground myself.
Paige’s betrayal wasn’t just about cheating; it was the disrespect, the lies, and the way she flipped the blame back on me like I drove her onto somebody else’s dick.
Using her loneliness as an excuse, she thought I would accept it and we’d live happily ever after.
That shit still rang in my head like a bad song, one I couldn’t turn off, no matter how many times I tried to drown it out.
Shaking the negative thoughts, I dragged the washcloth over my skin one more time before shutting off the water. Stepping out of the shower, my feet hit the heated floor as steam followed me like a cloud I couldn’t shake. I wrapped a towel around my waist and moved into the bedroom.
I slapped on some lotion before slipping into some boxers and a white beater.
My clothes for the day were already laid out across the bed—sharp and pressed, exactly how I liked them.
On the nightstand sat my morning protein shake, condensation dripping down the glass from the chill.
My house butler had everything in place before I even asked.
Funny how the little things in my life ran smoothly, yet the big shit like love and trust was a whole mess. That’s the part Paige didn’t understand. I built structure, control, and routine because chaos had already taken enough from me when I ran the streets.
I took a slow sip of the shake, eyes lingering on the sunlight cutting across the room. Some days, it felt like no matter how much I tried to move forward, her shadow was still there, creeping in the corners of my life.
Slipping on my clothes, the Tom Ford suit jacket fell onto my shoulders like it was made for me, because it was.
The crisp white shirt, blue silk tie, and diamond cufflinks made a nigga feel like a million bucks.
My reflection in the mirror looked like a man who didn’t just enter rooms, he owned them.
I fastened my silver Audemars watch, slipped on my shoes, and grabbed my keys before heading to the garage. I hit the locks on my Bentley Continental, with its midnight black paint, shining like a mirror from the sunlight, as soon as the garage doors lifted.
The engine purred to life, sending a slight rumble through the ride. I pulled out of my winding driveway and cruised downtown, listening to some old-school rap. That was my go-to now because the shit these young generations are listening to is some trash. Not all, but most.
By the time I reached my office, I was already in the needed mindset: controlled, focused, and unshakable.
Jamila was waiting inside my office when I got there, perched on the edge of my desk like she owned the place, tablet in hand already as always, ready to work.
That’s why I hired her. She was always on point when it came to my business, and she was one hell of an assistant.
Even when she got pregnant with my niece a few years ago, her duties never wavered.
“Took you long enough,” she said with a smirk.
“It’s eleven forty-five.” I shot back. “That’s early.”
“Early for you,” she said, standing to hand me the folder. “Read it twice, and try not to stare at her the way you stare at yourself in the mirror.”
I raised a brow. “You don’t know me.”
“Oh, I know you,” Jamila said with a laugh. “Better than anybody.”
“Then you already know this meeting’s about to be handled.”
“Mhm. Here is everything about the client you are meeting today. She owns Zanova’s Tasty Treats. Another location is about to open in a few months…”
“Wait. That bakery G-Ma gets those oatmeal cookies from every damn week?”
“Yup! Her cakes are dope as fuck also. I looked her up. She has over ten million followers on TikTok, and her bakery is doing numbers. You might want to consider this, bro. Oh, and she’s pretty. She’s just your type.” Jamila smirked.
“You don’t know my type. You and mama gon’ stop trying to hook me up. All y’all doing is finding me easy pussy.” I chuckled.
I was speaking facts. Jamila and my mother always find me “nice girls.” They had no idea that those same nice girls were giving up the pussy quicker than the freaks in my mama church.
“Whatever! I’m going to my office to look over some contracts.
Don’t forget to sign the one from Armstrong Enterprises.
I need to send it in before you leave for the trip, which I’m still bummed about because I can’t go.
” She grabbed her tablet and walked out of the office, heels clicking against the marble floors as the door shut behind her.