But even with all the activity, I noticed they never crossed paths. Never spoke to each other. Stayed on their separate ends like there was an invisible wall between them.
I glanced at the nearly empty trays. Almost sold out. In less than two hours.
This was everything I’d worked for. Everything I’d dreamed about since I came to DC with nothing but Yusef and my fears.
And it was happening.
But so was everything else.
The police investigating Larry’s disappearance. Mehar getting closer to finding me. Prime’s past catching up to him. Farah’s hatred burning hotter every time our eyes met.
And the biggest question of all—when should I quit Grits?
I couldn’t keep working there. Not with Mehar showing up. Not with Sweet Zin about to take off. But the way the night was going, with all these new orders, I wouldn’t have time to work at Grits.
“Goddess.”
Prime’s voice, low and close, pulled me out of my spiral.
I turned to find him standing right behind me. Close enough that I could smell his cologne. Feel the heat radiating off him.
“Come with me,” he said. Not asking. Telling.
“I’m working?—”
“Boys got it.” He was already guiding me away from the table, his hand firm on my lower back. “You earned a break.”
He led me through the crowd, past the donors and politicians, past Farah who tracked our movement with those cold eyes, past Vivica who was holding court near the stage.
We slipped through a service door into a quiet corridor. Then another door. Then into a small sitting room—all velvet couches and dark wood paneling. Private. Empty.
He closed the door behind us and I felt the shift immediately. The air getting heavier. More charged.
“You’ve been avoiding me all night,” he said.
“I’ve been working.”
“Nah. You’ve been working and avoiding me. There’s a difference. Not making eye contact.” He moved closer. “What’s wrong?”
I crossed my arms. Put some distance between us, even though every part of me wanted to close it.
“Farah,” I said. “She keeps looking at me like she wants to kill me. What’s that about?”
“Nothing you need to worry about.”
“That’s not an answer, Prime.”
“It’s the only one you’re getting.” His jaw tightened. “Farah has feelings I don’t return. That’s it. Nothing has ever happened between us. Nothing ever will.”
“She doesn’t seem to think that.”
“I don’t give a fuck what she thinks. I’m telling you the truth.” He stepped closer, his voice dropping. “You’re mine, Zahara. There’s no other woman. Not Farah. Not nobody. You understand?”
I wanted to believe him. Wanted to let it go.
But there was something else sitting heavier on my chest.
“Your mother,” I said quietly. “She said you went to prison. That you haven’t been back.”
