Chapter 19
Damn.
A nigga’s head was fucked up. I have been blowing up Zanova’s phone for the past few days. I pulled up to her condo twice and even swung by her shop a few times, hoping I’d catch her slipping, but she was never there. Either I was missing her by minutes, or she was purposely dodging me.
I even had Ryan hit up Nyala, trying to get her to drop a hint about where Zanova was staying, but baby girl wasn’t budging. She straight-up told him, “Tell that nigga to kick rocks!” and hung up. I had to laugh when he mimicked her voice. I couldn’t even be mad at shorty riding for her girl.
Now a nigga was down bad. I hadn’t been to the office, hadn’t handled a damn piece of business, and I’d been avoiding my family.
My phone kept lighting up with calls from clients, my sister, and my mama, but I couldn’t focus on shit.
Food didn’t taste right, and sleep? Forget it.
I’d closed my eyes, and all I’d see was Zanova’s beautiful face, those eyes that used to soften when she looked at me now burned straight through me in my head.
And to top it off, I've been feeling sick as a dog these past few days. Nauseous, breaking out in cold sweats, stomach twisted up were just a few of my symptoms. I couldn’t keep shit down, so I was on a liquid diet until something agreed with my stomach.
Every time I hit the bathroom, it felt like I was throwing up my insides.
I ain’t never felt like this before, not even after my wildest nights out, when I’d get drunk off my ass.
Zanova really had a nigga sick, literally.
Today was the first day I had enough strength to get out of bed.
My body still felt weak, but I couldn’t keep lying around like some helpless nigga.
I had shit to handle. Jamila and my team had been holding things down at the office, but it was my job to keep everything in motion, and nothing moved without my approval.
I sat on the edge of the bed, head in my hands, trying to shake off the fog that had been hanging over me.
Between being sick, not sleeping, and stressing over Zanova, I’d been damn near useless.
That wasn’t me. I wasn’t built to fold over any situation, but this one hit differently. I was a nigga in love.
I caught my reflection in the mirror across the room. My beard looked rough, and my body felt like it had been through war. I barely recognized myself.
“Get your shit together, nigga,” I muttered, rubbing a hand over my face.
Zanova might’ve thought that she was done with me, but I wasn’t done with her stubborn ass.
Yeah, she said she needed some time; however, that shit stops today.
She could ignore my calls all she wanted.
After I handled business, she was going to see me.
I ain’t never been a man to give up on something I wanted.
I hit the shower, shaved, and called my barber to come and get me laced up.
By the time I was done getting dressed, I made myself a quick breakfast and headed out the door.
When I got to my office, Jamila was already there, waiting to give me the rundown on any and everything that I missed since I was out.
“So, everything is in order. Oh! The numbers for Fuego Azul are through the roof! We could barely keep up with the demand. But the team’s been working overtime to make sure everything runs smoothly with manufacturing and distribution.
That collaboration with Zanova’s Tasty Treats was a great investment, bro.
Now say thank you…” Jamila waited for me to respond.
“Thank you, my dearest sister.”
“Of course, bro. Everything else is good. We’ll start on next quarter projections next week, so please be 100% by then.”
I nodded as she continued to ramble on.
The second she said Zanova’s name, my mind shifted. That familiar ache I’d had the last few days came creeping back in. I tried to play it cool, leaning back in my chair as if I were unbothered, but my jaw was clenched so tightly, I could feel the pressure behind my ears.
“Yeah… You got it. Thanks for running the show, sis. I really appreciate you for handling everything. I owe you.” I stared down at the desk, pretending to check some invoices on my laptop.
“Zanova still not taking any of your calls?”
“Nah,” I said, shaking my head slowly, eyes still glued to the screen, even though I wasn’t really looking at shit.
“Just give her some time, Samir. I’m sure she will come around.”
All this over Paige and Jerome’s bullshit. I should’ve killed that nigga. And Paige’s dumb ass almost made me catch a case at Joya’s birthday party.”
After I went back inside my niece's party, I damn near had to drag Paige’s ass outside. I really don’t understand why she keeps fucking with me. I’d made it clear on multiple occasions that there was no us, and I even had the legal papers to prove it.
“Mr. Carter!” Hailey came barging into my office, looking frantic. “The police are here to see you!”
“The police? What for?”
Just as Jamila asked the question that I was thinking, two uniformed officers came walking into my office like they owned the place.
“Mr. Carter?” one of them asked me.
“Yeah, that’s me. What’s this about?” I said, my guard already going up.
The taller one responded, “We’re here regarding a report of domestic assault filed against you by a Ms. Paige McDaniels. We need you to come with us, sir.”
For a second, I just stared at him, my mind trying to process the words. Then I laughed. A cold, humorless laugh. “Man, you’ve got to be fucking kidding me. I haven’t laid a hand on that bitch, ever.”
“Sir, you can explain that down at the precinct,” the other officer said, his tone calm but firm.
“So, y’all just gonna take her word for it? No questions, no proof, nothing?” Jamila came to my defense.
The taller cop sighed. “We’re just doing our job, ma’am. Mr. Carter, you’re not under arrest at this point. We just need you to come in for questioning.”
“Man, this is some bullshit!” Jamila fussed.
“Calm down. I got this. Don’t make it a bigger scene.”
“I’ll call Yohan and have him meet you there.” Jamila was already on her phone, texting my lawyer.
“Do that. And tell him to bring me that. He’ll know what I’m talkin’ about,” I said to my sister.
The officers stepped aside as I grabbed my jacket. The whole time, Jamila stood there, phone up to her ear, anger and worry written all over her face. As they led me out the door, I heard her whisper under her breath about beating Paige’s ass on site.
When I got down to the precinct, I was left sitting in an interrogation room while the officers sorted through the paperwork.
The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, making every second drag in this motherfucker.
I could feel my blood still boiling ever since them pigs entered my office, spitting some bogus shit.
My hands clenched into fists, and my jaw ached from grinding my teeth. Paige was officially an enemy.
Part of me wanted to laugh, but it came out more like a growl.
Paige really did all this shit just so she could shake me up.
I could feel the anger pulsing through me.
I was tight as fuck that this bitch did some shiesty shit like this.
Paige better be long gone by the time I get out of here.
I tried to steady myself, taking deep breaths, but every time I closed my eyes, I saw her smirk.
It was the look she always gave when her stupid ass knew she’d gotten me riled up.
Three hours later, the officer finally came to get me. He told me Paige had dropped the charges. I froze, staring at him like I didn’t know whether to be relieved or angrier. Relief hit first, then a cold and sharp metaphorical slap. This bitch was playing with me.
Paige thought this shit was a game. Well, let’s play.
I was escorted out of the interrogation room and sent on my way as if they didn’t strong-arm me to come to this bitch in the first place.
As soon as I stepped into the waiting area, I spotted Yohan posted up near the entrance, phone to his ear, grinning and shit.
Whoever was on the other end had this man showing all thirty-two.
Typical Yohan shit. Always finessing the bitches.
This nigga had on a Brioni suit with his dreads pulled back.
That’s just him, though—always sharp, always looking unbothered.
In all the years I’ve known Yohan, the only time I’ve seen that nigga dressed down was back when we were knee-deep in the streets.
He was a hood nigga to the core, but now, he runs the courtroom the same way he used to run the blocks—ruthlessly.
The man didn’t give a fuck who was in his way.
“Lemme call yuh back, love,” he said into the phone, voice low and smooth. “Yeah, mi a swing by after mi handle dis likkle business. Mek sure dat body ready fi mi, yuh hear?” He chuckled, flashing that same grin before hanging up.
He gave me a nod toward the door, meaning to keep quiet till we were outside. We stepped out onto the sidewalk, cold air hitting my face. I started breaking down the situation, but he cut me off halfway.
“Mi already know, man. Jamila tell mi everyting,” he said, his Jamaican accent heavy. “So what’s de move? You know I can handle this before sunrise,” he said, voice dropping lower, that dangerous edge sliding through his accent. Yohan was always ready to wreck some shit.
“Nah, I want to handle this one personally. Paige thinks this shit a game. I know I can’t touch her right now… That’d have them pigs on me quick. But I’ma let her think shit sweet before I handle her ass.”
“Cool,” he said, smirking. “Mi like how yuh think. Just lemme know if yuh need mi fi clean up after. Yuh need a ride to di crib?”
“Nah, I’m good.”
“You sure, bredren?” His tone had that half-joking concern, like he already knew I was about to do something reckless.
“Yeah. I’m straight. Got some shit to handle. I’ll hit you later.” I dapped him up.
“Aight,” he said, then snapped his fingers like he’d just remembered something. “Oh yeah, mi almost forget.” He reached into his briefcase, pulled out a small paper bag, and tossed it to me. “Mi bring yuh dis. Figure yuh gon’ need it after all dat fuckery.”
I opened the bag, and the rich poutine smell hit me first, damn near making my stomach growl. Sitting on top were a couple of rollups and what I’d told Jamila to have him bring me, and I couldn’t help but smirk.
“You a real one for this,” I said, pocketing the weed. I damn sure needed it.
“Always got yuh, mi genna,” he said, clapping me on the shoulder before heading toward his black Benz.
I watched him pull off before I pulled out my phone, powered it up, and ordered a Lyft.
My destination was already set. Three minutes later, a Toyota RAV4 rolled up to the curb.
I climbed in, sinking back into the seat as the city lights passed in a blur.
Thirty minutes—maybe a little more—and we were pulling up to the tall high-rise.
When I stepped out, I walked into the building, gave a nod to the concierge, and made a beeline for the elevator. My reflection in the mirrored doors looked tired as hell, but I wasn’t turning back now.
Once I hit her floor, I pulled the spare key from my pocket, the metal cold against my hand. I’d gotten the key through Yohan. I had him call one of his locksmith connects to make me a copy. Zanova wasn’t answering my calls, so I did what I had to do.
Entering her spot, the place was dark. I knew she was home because the light over her stove was on.
She never leaves it on when she goes out.
I kicked off my shoes at the door, the weight of the day sitting heavy on my shoulders.
My first stop was the guest room. I needed to rinse off the bullshit from the station, from Paige, from everything.
The hot water hit my skin hard, steam filling the small bathroom as I ran a hand down my face, trying to wash away the anger sitting behind my eyes.
After handling my hygiene, I wrapped a towel around my waist and stepped out onto the balcony. The night air was wet and warm, almost as if it was going to rain soon. I lit one up and took a slow drag, letting the smoke fill my lungs before exhaling into the skyline.
Damn, I needed that.
Now it was time to wake up Sleeping Beauty.