“They’ve still got a ways to go, but things are good enough that they show up for each other. That means a lot to Neevah, and what makes her happy makes me happy. I think they’ve gone back to the hotel. Neevah’s meeting them for breakfast in the morning.”
Which is just as well since tonight is aboutus. I’m going to give her five more minutes before grabbing her and leaving.
Monk glances over my shoulder and a wide smile overtakes his face. “If it isn’t the woman of the hour.”
A cool hand slips into mine, slim fingers intertwining. Neevah’s scent drifts up to me, at once somehow arousing and soothing. When I glance down, her face is lifted to me and glowing with a smile that is equal parts joy and wonder. All my impatience dissipates. She deserves every minute of tonight. I’ve done so many events like this, and the schmoozy, boozy part of a movie release is always my least favorite. As soon as the film has been seen, I’m ready to jet and then be on pins and needles until the box office numbers come in. But this is Neevah’s first movie, first time doing any of this. My plans for tonight can wait if Neevah wants to stay.
Monk hugs her and Neevah loops one arm around his neck, but never releases my hand.
“I can’t help but think that none of this would be possible without you,” she tells Monk.
“Um, need I remind you both that I’m the one who saw Neevah’s potential that first night onstage,” I say, feigning indignation. “I’m the one who fought to cast her. I directed the movie.”
“Yeah, baby.” Neevah playfully rolls her eyes. “You were there, too.”
We all laugh, but I touch Monk’s shoulder and say with all seriousness, “I really do owe you the biggest debt.”
“For bringing your Dessi Blue to you?” Monk asks, some of the teasing lingering in his tone.
“For bringing my Neevah to me,” I correct softly, looping an arm around her waist to pull her closer.
“Oh, God.” Monk groans, closing his eyes. “I think I liked you much better miserable than this cotton candy happily-ever-after shit.”
“Don’t knock it ’til you try it.” Neevah laughs.
Monk’s smile melts as his gaze drifts and locks with Verity’s across the room. She’s decked in a tight black leather dress with cutouts flashing golden brown skin. Her makeup is dramatic—smoky eyes and bold redlips. She looks gorgeous, and when she sees Monk, annoyed. With a quick frown, she looks away, turns her back.
“Not likely,” Monk mutters. He determinedly relights a grin, brighter and more forced than his previous ease. “I think Imma bounce.”
The tightness around his eyes and mouth clearly telegraphs this isn’t the time to tease him, so I just fist bump and let him slip away and out of the ballroom without further comment.
“I thought we had a deal,” Neevah mutters once we’re alone. “That we’d get outta here first chance we get.”
It’s completely the opposite of what I expected her to say and startles a laugh from me.
“Don’t you want to stay a little longer? It’s your big night.”
“It’sournight. And we’ve given enough of it to everyone else.” She drops her head to my shoulder, seemingly unaware of how many eyes have turned to study our linked hands and the unmistakable intimacy of her pressed into my side. “Take me home.”
Throwing caution to the same winds, I bend to kiss the top of her head, forcing myself not to snarl at the photographer who just stole a picture of us.
“I don’t care,” Neevah whispers, mischief glinting in the gold flecks of her brown eyes. “Everyone knows anyway.”
And suddenly I don’t want to hide it anymore either. If anyone sees what Neevah did inDessi Blueand still questions her talent or whether she deserves to be there, fuck ’em.
I press my hand to the silky skin of her back left bare by the dress she’s been torturing me with all night. “Then, baby, let’s go home.”
“This isn’t home,” Neevah says, frowning when we pull up to the Galaxy Studios lot.
“Itwasour second home for months,” I counter with a grin.
I wave at the guard in the booth who knows me by sight and doesn’t bother asking for ID as he motions me through the gate.
“What are we doing here, Canon?” Neevah asks, but her frown has been replaced by anticipatory curiosity. “What are you up to?”
“We celebrated their way.” I park the car and kill the engine. “Now let’s celebrate ours.”
“Ours?” she asks, stepping out of the car carefully in her stilettos and silken finery when I open her door. “Or yours?”
