I swallowed, keeping my face neutral, but my pulse kicked up a little. He stepped inside slowly, his heavy footsteps deliberate, his sharp eyes locked directly on me. Then, he posted up at the edge of my desk, leaned back, and stuck his hands in his pockets, watching me. Silent. Unblinking.
Maseon's voice pulled me back. "Shid, I could swing by ya crib, either or." My mouth opened, but before I could get a word out, Juste's head cocked to the side, his arms folding back across his chest. The nigga was sizing up a phone call. I arched my brow, my own arms folding across my chest. I turned my attention back to the phone. "Office is better. I'll let you know what time I'm available." A short pause came. Then, "Bet you do that." The call ended, and for a few seconds, the room was quiet. Too quiet.
I reached for my water bottle, twisting the cap. "What?" Juste just sat there, his expression unreadable, his energy shifting the entire room. "Maseon, who?" I sighed, already knowing where this was going. "Maseon Dupree, Juste. A client. Needing financial services. That is what I do, remember?"
I watched his jaw tick, his lips pressing together slightly. "Know him?" I asked. I tilted my head, studying him. "Know of him." He answered His eyes darkened, his voice flat, blunt, and sharp as hell—"You fucked dat nigga?" The words hit like a hammer. I sat back in my chair, staring at him, a deep frown settling on my face. He already knew the answer. That wasn't the problem. He just wanted to hear me say it.
"What, you can't hear?" His tone dropped even lower, a quiet challenge. "Did you fuck dat nigga?" I swallowed, my eyes locking onto his. And then, without breaking his stare, I nodded. His lips twitched, like he was about to smirk, but the sound that left his mouth was a short, humorless laugh. He leaned back, rubbing his palm over his face before shaking his head slightly. "Refer dat nigga to a colleague." His voice was even, too calm, and that's how I knew he was pissed. "You not meetin' wit him."
I blinked, my frown deepening. "The fuck you mean, I'm not meeting with him?" His eyes snapped back to mine, his arms folding across his chest. "Exactly what I said. That shit dead." I let out a short, humorless laugh, pushing my chair back slightly. "You got me fucked up if you think I'm 'bout to drop a client for whatever reason you done came up with in your head." Juste's jaw flexed, the muscle ticking as his lips pressed into a firm line.
Before I could even shift back, he was already in front of me, his presence demanding, unshakable. One strong hand gripped my waist, pulling me just enough to feel the weight of his control, while the other tilted my chin up, forcing my eyes on his. "Chiana, stop playin' with me." His voice was low, rough, a quiet warning that vibrated straight through my chest.
His fingers tightened slightly, his eyes dark and dead serious. "It ain't 'bout insecurity. It's 'bout respect. I don't want no nigga sittin' across from you thinkin' 'bout what you look like naked instead of the business y'all supposed to be handlin' ." I pressed my lips together, exhaling slowly through my nose, trying to steady myself. Because this was Juste St. Jean at his core. Possessive. Controlling. Unapologetic about it. I could feel the heat rolling off of him, his presence so heavy, so intense, like he was making damn sure his words weren't just heard, but felt. Still, I wasn't about to just let this ride.
"You blowing shit way—" He cut me off before I could finish, his grip tightening slightly. "Aye, I don't even care too much to keep talkin' about it, Chiana." His voice was sharp, clipped, like he was done with the conversation before it could even start. "I said what I said. I meant what I said." Then he stepped away from the desk, putting space between us, but his energy stayed right there—lingering, thick, pulling at me even though I was trying my hardest not to give in.
I folded my arms over my chest, tilting my head. "So that's it? Juste said what he said, and that's supposed to be the end of it?" He let out a short breath, rubbing his hand over his face before leveling me with a slow, unreadable look.
"You can do whatever the fuck you wanna do, but you heard exactly what I said." That one sentence made my entire body heat up—not from desire, but from frustration. Because I knew Juste. Knew how he moved. That"do whatever you wanna do"didn't mean shit—it was a challenge. A warning wrapped up in fake-ass nonchalance. He was daring me to go against him, just so he could be right in the end. I narrowed my eyes, my arms tightening across my chest. "Juste—"
"Nah," he cut me off, shaking his head before turning on his heels and leaving the office. The sound of his heavy footsteps disappeared down the hall, followed by the faint click of the front door shutting behind him. And just like that, I was alone. Alone with my thoughts. Alone with the frustration buzzing in my chest. I sat there, arms still crossed, my face set in stone, my mind racing. Because I was really starting to hate this shit. Not the money. Not the security. But the way Juste thought he could dictate my every move. The way he thought his word was law, and the moment I stepped out of line, it was an issue. I let out a slow breath, pressing my fingertips to my temples before finally standing up and grabbing my phone.
_
The next day I found myself having to rush in to my office at lunch time . One of my elder clients, Ms. Martine, had some fraudulent charges pop up on her account and wanted to see me after visiting the bank . Something that had been happening a lot lately . I'd decided not to set up the meet with Maseon, I knew it bothered Juste because he hadn't bothered saying much last night , but didn't miss the opportunity to nail me to the cross this morning before he left, still short in his words .
Once Ms. Martine left I tried to straighten my office back up quickly so that I could make it to the grocery store and home because I planned on cooking and I wanted something sweet . I straightened out my shirt that was tucked in my navy blue slacks before bending over to place to file back in the drawer.
"Damn Ana, a nigga do not remember your ass being that thick," Maseons voice came through the air causing me to straighten up and turn around . Chills ran up my arms. I turned seeing Mase standing there , still fine as he'd been when we were kids . He was always a fly nigga. "Please Mase , What you doing here ," I questioned my heels clacking as I walked back over closer to my desk .
"I told you I needed to get up with you bout some shit , you never hit me back . So, I figured I'd just swing by and pray you was here . " He said pulling out the chair sitting down in front of my desk . I crossed my arms over my chest and cocked my head to the side. "And what if I wasn't?" He shrugged, completely unbothered, sliding into the chair across from my desk like he had all the time in the world. "Then that woulda been my bad, wouldn't it?"
"So what's up Mase ? " I questioned trying to figure out what he wanted . He showed me a few of his statements and we talked through them. Maseon still had his hands in scamming, it was clear to see . If I could see it know the feds could. We sat and talked about his finances for another twenty minutes . "Go legit and clean this bullshit up Mase. I'm telling you this is a mess." I said staring at him. He signed running his hand over his waves nodding . Before anything else could be said the door to the building opened again. When I looked up my stomach fell in my ass . Damn!
The second Juste walked in, the temperature in the room dropped. My stomach flipped, my palms itched, and I felt my heartbeat thump against my ribcage. Because I already knew what it was. He was pissed. I could see it in his posture, the way his shoulders sat stiff and squared, the way his jaw ticked ever so slightly. His hands were deep in his pockets, but I knew better. That wasn't a relaxed stance—that was Juste keeping himself from doing something reckless.
Pierre and Noles weren't saying shit, but they stood at both his sides, their presence just as loud. Maseon shifted in his seat, trying not to look tense, but I caught the way he straightened his spine, the way his fingers twitched slightly against his thigh. Juste walked over and sat at the edge of my desk, real smooth, but his energy wasn't laid back. It was calculated, dominant, like he was making it very clear who was in charge here. Then, without taking his eyes off mine, he leaned in and pressed a slow, deliberate kiss to my forehead. That was territorial as hell.
Mase saw it, too. Because he shifted again, throwing a quick smirk on his face, but I could tell it was forced. Juste finally spoke, his tone easy, but laced with something lethal. "Baeeby, I swear me and you had an English conversation that we both agreed and understood about this right here yesterday?" I blinked, keeping my expression neutral, but inside, I was scrambling. I didn't think his ass would find out about this. I parted my lips, trying to find the right words, but before I could say anything, Mase beat me to it. "Ana, you fuckin' with Juste St. Jean?"
The way he said his name, like it had weight to it. Like this wasn't their first time crossing paths. My frown deepened. "Y'all know one another?" Juste didn't look at Mase. Didn't acknowledge his presence at all. He kept his focus locked on me. That was worse than him saying something. Mase let out a low chuckle, rubbing his chin like something about this situation was funny to him. "You always was green as hell, Ana."
My stomach tightened, irritation flaring up quick. But before I could check his ass, Juste turned his head slow, finally acknowledging Maseon for the first time. His expression didn't change, but his tone dropped a little deeper. "Chiana, nigga." That was a correction. A reminder. Then, with the same calmness, Juste continued. "You know who the fuck I am, just like I know who the fuck you is. Million dolla debt Mase."
I froze. My heart stuttered. I turned my eyes back to Maseon, frowning. "What?" Mase clenched his jaw, but his silence spoke volumes. "Somebody wanna fill me in?" I asked, looking between them.
Mase exhaled through his nose, rubbing his temple. "It was some old shit, Ana." Juste let out a humorless laugh, shaking his head. "Pierre , get Chiana keys and drive her to the house. straight there" He said looking over his shoulder . I frowned and squared my shoulders, staring Juste dead in his face, waiting for him to come up with a different plan. Because the one he just spit out Wasn't gon' work. I wasn't leaving him and Mase here together .
Pierre hesitated, looking between the both of us, like he already knew he was in the middle of some shit .I kept my hand firm over my keys, jaw tight. "I can drive my damn self home when I'm ready." My voice was calm, but my stance Unmovable. Juste let out another short laugh, but this one Wasn't humorous at all. His hands slid into his pockets, his gaze locked onto mine, studying me like he was trying to decide just how far I was willing to push him. Then, he nodded once. "Pierre, get her keys."
Pierre cleared his throat, took half a step forward—And I turned my head real slow, my eyes cutting at him like a warning. "Touch 'em, and I swear to God, your ugly ass gon' regret it." Pierre froze. Noles let out a low whistle, stepping back like he wanted no parts of this shit. Juste licked his lips, nodding slow, like he was giving me another chance to do things his way.
"Baeeby," Juste's voice was low, easy, but there was a weight behind it. A warning. "You gon' make me repeat myself?" I tilted my head, locking eyes with him, my expression unreadable. I didn't speak. Didn't flinch. Didn't move. I just stared up at him, like a kid who knew they were about to get in trouble but refused to break first. The room got quiet.
Even the air felt thick, like it was bracing for the storm Juste was about to bring down on me. He let out a slow breath, rubbing his hand down his face, his jaw ticking like he was debating his next move. Before I could react, he snatched me up by the arm, pulling me clean out of my chair like I didn't weigh a damn thing. "What the hell, Juste!" I yelped as my heels slipped on the floor, my body stumbling against his, but he didn't slow down. Didn't hesitate. Didn't give me a chance to catch my damn balance. He dragged me toward the door like he was on a mission, his grip tight, like he was pissed, but still controlling his strength.
I tried to yank away, but Juste had a grip on me like a vice, his fingers locked around my wrist as he pulled me out of the building and straight to the car. The sun hit my face, the heat of the afternoon making my skin prickle, but it didn't compare to the heat radiating off him. He was boiling. "Goddamn it, Juste!" I hissed, stumbling again before finally catching my footing. "Would you let me go?!"
