“Stay with Enola.”
“Will do.”
“Oh, and Hannibal?”
“Yea, boss?”
“Stay away from her,” Gideon ordered.
“Sure thing,” Hannibal chuckled.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Enola climbed out of the back seat of the limo. She was returning to her grandmother with her tail between her legs. She had not only put her friend in danger, but she had endangered her child as well. How was she going to explain that she’d set her entire building on fire, simply because she was having an erotic dream about a man that she’d met once? She couldn’t. But what was even more embarrassing was, she wouldn’t have to since her grandmother was a fucking mind reader.
“Oh, baby,” Ruby breathed, pulling Enola in her arms. “I feel your pain.”
Enola began to cry because coming from Ruby, she knew it was the truth.
“I almost killed them,” Enola sobbed.
“It’s not your fault baby. You were right. You didn’t ask for this. None of this is your fault.”
The driver walked past them with Enola’s luggage in tow. She stared at her bags, wondering if she’d ever be able to go home again. She’d had to take an extended leave of absence from work. And once she was sure that Crystal and Dania were going to be okay, she created an excuse for her absence.
“Ruby, why is this happening now? I’ve never set anything on fire before.”
“Baby, the weaker Mamma gets, the stronger you get. And the stronger you get, the weaker she gets.”
“That sucks,” Enola said with a frown.
“That’s our way, Nola. It is what it is.”
Enola sighed, realizing that her destiny to be the strongest was essentially killing her grandmother. Her gran was right about one thing: nothing in her life would ever be the same again.
“Come on, child. Let’s get you settled. I’ll pump some of my good ole’ étouffée in you. That’ll make you feel a little better.”
* * * *
Enola stretched out on a lounger by the pool. Ruby was wrong. Her shrimp étouffée was absolutely delicious, but it didn’t make her feel better about almost killing her best friend and her little girl. Her inability to deal with her issues almost killed two people that meant the world to her.
“Miss Nola, you have a caller.”
Enola looked back at Benjamin. Her gran and aunt referred to him as a valet. To Enola, a valet was a fancy way of saying servant. He was rather well dressed to be a servant, and Enola could swear that he was wearing an Armani suit. Or maybe it was a very good knockoff.
She smiled at the handsome, older, Hispanic man and asked, “Who would be here to see me?”
He smiled in return and gestured towards the patio door. It was Gideon.
“Hello, Miss Nola,” he said as he stepped out onto the patio.
Enola stood, shocked to see the man of her dreams—literally the man of her dreams.
“Gideon,” she breathed, condemning herself for being so breathy.
“Walk with me?” he requested, holding out his hand.
Enola stared at his hand a few seconds before accepting it. To say that his presence was unexpected would be an understatement. But Enola said nothing.
