It was a rare, slow day in the ER, a few days after Gavin left. We were catching up on charting between patients.
“Sure did,” I said as I entered my notes into the computer. “I told you—he’s corny, but the man can put it down.”
Monica shook her head, laughing. “You’re a menace.”
“I’m saying though! He had the nerve to side-eye me for being crass at the restaurant, but when we got back to my place? He was on that freaky shitallnight,” I smirked. “I think he was still trying to change my mind, but it wasn’t happening. Definitely blocked him as soon as he texted that he made it back to New York.”
“Cold-blooded.” Monica cackled.
I shrugged. “Protecting my peace.” I wasn’t about to deal with another surprise pop-up in a few months.
“So if he shows up again with another Van Cleef bracelet and dick, you’re gonna turn him away?” she asked, giving me a knowing look.
I hummed, but didn’t answer, and she burst out laughing, shaking her head at me as she tapped away on the computer.
Monica had been the one to show me the ropes when I started at Peachtree Memorial, and we immediately clicked. She was younger than me, but a seasoned ER nurse with an amazing bedside manner. With patients, she had the patience of a saint. With men? She, like me, had zero tolerance for the bullshit.
I needed her friendship—not just because I came here not knowing a soul, but because this hospital wasn’t for the weak. A surge of fentanyl overdoses had been stretching the understaffed ER thin, and in just a month, my nursing skills had been pushed to the limit.
At least working most shifts with Monica kept me sane.
“Speaking of men—” I said, logging out of the computer. “What’s up with fine-ass Dr. Matthews? Don’t think I haven’t peeped how he’s been hovering over you.”
Monica groaned. “Jas, please.”
“What? He’s a doctor, so you know he got money. And he’s not-so-subtly been dropping hints that he’s feeling you.”
She snorted. “He’s not my type. Plus, I told you, the women here are catty as fuck. I don’t need them in my business.”
“Not even a cute lunch date?”
“We need staff ready to receive EMS inbound from a three-car pile-up!” Dr. Crawford, the attending physician on duty, called out before she could answer.
Monica and I exchanged a look.
“So much for a quiet day,” I sighed, heading toward Dr. Crawford.
CHAPTER3
CASH “MONEY” BANKS
TWO WEEKS LATER
Our Banks EnterpriseFourth of July block party was in full swing, taking over Underground Atlanta like it did every year. Hundreds of people were milling about in the Atlanta heat—the excited screams of kids in the bouncy house mixed with the 2010s hip-hop blasting from the DJ’s speakers. Food trucks lined the street, serving up free food, and the mobile bars kept the liquor flowing.
Heads turned as Nairobi cut through the crowd. Her dark, oversized sunglasses hid her gaze, but I could feel her dark brown eyes locked on me. She sucked lazily on a lollipop, ignoring the lingering stares. I leaned back against the hood of my Range, waiting.
“Cash Money,” she greeted me, wrapping her arms around my neck. Her voice was sweet enough to mask the ruthlessness beneath.
Nairobi Montgomery was more than a pretty face. She was deadly. That’s why I fucked with her. She was the perfect honey trap: tall, slim-thick, with smooth cocoa-brown skin, and legs that seemed to go on forever. Her beauty made it easy to get close to men, and whether the price was high enough or her mark had outlived their usefulness—sometimes both—she knew how to get rid of them efficiently.
“Why you come to my shit dressed to cause a fuss?” I asked, giving her a once-over. Her legs were on display in tiny frayed denim shorts and a white crocheted bikini top. Her short pixie cut was now a silvery blonde, a switch-up from the bright pink she had last time I saw her.
Nairobi stepped back, pushing her frames onto her head with a frown. “The fuck are you talking about?” she asked, looking down at herself. “This is a casual fit. I wore this to the market.”
“Oh shit! What up, Nai!” Jelani yelled, weaving through the crowd with Slim and Fontaine.
Slim hit me with a nod, grinning as he took a swig of beer. Me and him had been tight since Pop Warner—when we lived on the Westside and before Pops moved us out the hood. Pops always looked out for him, and he was the first of my friends that he recruited in the business. Slim was a solid, lowkey dude, which meant people often slept on him, until they saw him get busy with his hands.
