"Hon—"
"Come outside, I'm parked on the corner," he cut in.
"Give me five."
"Bet."
I hung up and headed toward my bedroom to get dressed.
"Who was that?" Lynx asked as soon as I stepped into the room.
"Work," I replied shortly, tossing my robe in his direction.
"Obviously," he said, catching it. "But where you headed?"
"I gotta meet a potential client."
"This late?"
Thankfully, I was already in my closet, where he couldn't see me roll my eyes. I slipped on a pair of panties and a sports bra, then pulled on some leggings.
"Street niggas leave out in the middle of the night all the time."
"But you ain't a street nigga," he shot back.
"No," I told him calmly, "but I am a bitch with business to handle."
"So it's fuck everything we were just talking about?"
I looked at Lynx and saw the ghost of everything we could've been.
"Don't put shit on me I didn't say. I'm all for continuing the conversation, but right now I have to go."
I pulled my hoodie over my head and stepped toward Lynx for a quick kiss. He rose from my bed, his hand catching my long, honey blonde braids. My head tipped back gently as his gaze followed mine.
"We're gonna finish this when you get back."
"Okay."
Lynx pecked my lips, then took my hand and walked me to the front door. From the doorway, he watched me as I stepped onto the elevator. I flashed him a smile as the doors slid shut, then let out a frustrated sigh. Finding love shouldn't have been this complicated.
When the elevator doors opened, I stepped off like the boss bitch I'd become. There was no time to sulk over my feelings about Lynx because they no longer mattered. Personal problems couldn't exist during business hours, and since I didn't work a normal nine-to-five, business held precedence over my feelings whenever my services were requested.
I walked down the block with my hands tucked in my pockets until a blacked-out car flashed its lights three times. I headed toward it, and as I got closer, the passenger window rolled down.
"Get in," Honor dryly said.
Rolling my eyes, I opened the door and dropped into the seat. Out of all the Gravehart men, Honor was the one I preferred never to speak to. He was too hard to read. Most men, even the stoic ones, had a tell or something that made them approachable. Honor didn't. No matter the situation, he stayed rigid and distant. Honor could stand right next to you and still feel miles out of your reach. The only time he showed a trace of inflection was when Navy was around, and even then, whatever emotion surfaced was fleeting. It never lingered long enough to feel real or long enough to convince you it wasn't a calculated performance. A man like that couldn't be seduced or controlled. Men like Honor didn't thrive on a woman's need to fulfill their desire. They didn't need women. They needed a woman. One who tasted like survival and sauntered like a threat to his sanity. And once a man like that found her, leaving him became damn near impossible. Because he'd give his life before watching what he needed to survive walk away.
"I need your help." His stoned voice cracked the silence looming between us. Allowing him to lead the conversation was my first lesson in dealing with men. Letting them believe they dictated the flow of conversation made them easier to manage.
Never rush them. Never challenge them head-on. Listen. Ask the right questions. Nod.
That was the golden formula because control never came from force.
"Who gave you my business number?"
"I'm resourceful."
