“Thank you so much for this opportunity,” she said, genuine as always. “I really appreciate you taking a chance on me.”
“Of course.” Farah’s eyes slid to me, then back to Zahara. “Prime spoke very highly of you. He was very… insistent that I hire you. You must be extremely talented.”
The emphasis on “insistent” wasn’t subtle. Neither was the way her gaze traveled over Zahara, sizing her up, finding her lacking.
Zahara just smiled and directed the boys toward the dessert table.
Once she was out of earshot, Farah turned to me.
“Can I speak with you?” Her voice dropped the professional sweetness. “Alone.”
I followed her to a service corridor off the main ballroom. Industrial. Private. Away from prying eyes and ears.
The second we were alone, that mask cracked.
“You played me,” she said, whirling on me. “You fucking played me, Prime.”
“How you figure?”
“You recommended her. Pushed me to hire her. And you didn’t think to mention she was your girlfriend?” Her voice rose, echoing off the concrete walls. “You used me to help your little side piece and you didn’t even have the decency to tell me?”
“Side piece?” I stepped closer, my voice dropping low. Dangerous. “Yo, watch your fuckin’ mouth, Farah.”
“Or what?”
“Or I’ll watch it for you.”
Something flickered in her eyes. Fear. Excitement. That sick combination that told me she liked this—liked pushing my buttons, liked seeing me react.
“Everyone’s winning here,” I said, forcing my voice back to calm. “She got a gig. You got quality desserts for your event. The mayor’s happy. What’s your problem?”
“My problem?” She laughed, but there was no humor in it. “My problem is that I’ve been waiting for you for years, Prime. Years. I’ve been there for you. Made myself available to you. I did your interior design for free! And this whole time, you’ve been fucking some random bitch who makes cinnamon rolls?”
I had her against the wall before I even realized I’d moved.
My hand around her throat. With just enough squeeze to send fear down her spine.
“I told you to watch your mouth,” I said quietly. “That’s my woman you’re talking about. And if I ever hear you disrespecther again—Rashid’s daughter or not—we’re gonna have a problem you don’t want.”
Her eyes went wide. Pulse hammering against my palm. But she didn’t look scared.
She looked turned on.
“Prime…” she breathed.
I released her and stepped back, disgusted. With her. With myself for letting her get under my skin.
“Let me be clear,” I said. “Nothing is ever gonna happen between us. Not now. Not ever. I never led you on. Never made you promises. Never gave you any reason to think we’d be more than what we are.”
“And what are we?”
“You’re Rashid’s daughter. That’s it. He’s like a father to me and you’re like a little sister. And I’ll pay you for your services, right now. I’ll Venmo you.”
She flinched like I’d hit her. Then that hurt hardened into something else. Something cold. Calculating.
“Fine,” she said, smoothing her gown. Fixing her hair. Putting that professional mask back in place. “You’ve made yourself perfectly clear.”
She turned to walk away.
