“I ate already. I didn’t want to wake you,” she said, still multitasking between her call and organizing her things.
“Where you headed?” I asked, biting into a pancake that was still warm but nowhere near as good as what she would’ve made with her own hands in the cast-iron skillet she’d made sure Malice brought over from her place.
“Venue walkthrough for the Morrison wedding. Floral pickup for the charity luncheon. Client meeting at one-thirty.”She slid her MacBook into a leather tote and checked her reflection in the microwave door one more time. Perfection.
“You look good, Co. Stop fussing.”
She turned to me with a wide grin. “Are you whipped, Mr. Grimson?”
“Quit playing, Mrs. Grimson.” I couldn’t help but smile back. “I’m just saying you look good. All that checking four times ain’t necessary. You always look good. But yes, I am. You got some good pussy.”
“Lesley,” she giggled. “I’m on the phone. But thank you, baby.”
I smiled before shrugging and pulling out my phone. I started typing a text message, fingers moving fast across the screen.
“What are you doing?” she asked, watching me with those sharp eyes that missed nothing.
“Telling Malice he’s off today,” I said, hitting send without looking up. I stood, stretching muscles that were still heavy from the night we spent together. “Let me throw some clothes on real quick.”
I walked back to the bedroom with her following behind me, still firing off questions while I pulled open the closet.
“Why?”
“I just told him to take the day off. I’m trying to spend some time with you.”
She turned fully to face me, phone call forgotten, those beautiful eyes wide with surprise and disbelief. “You? You want to drive me around the city?”
I shrugged; this was my way of trying to make up for being gone for two weeks. I’d gone to the warehouse yesterday so I could adjust, get shit straight, and have some time with her.
I grabbed black joggers and a fresh white tee. “I ain’t got a lot of shit to handle today,” I said, pulling the Cuban link chain fromthe jewelry tray. “Figured I’d spend that time with you. Is that cool? I don’t want to be crowding you and shit.”
Her eyebrows shot up like I’d announced I was retiring from the game entirely. “You’d do that?” She was pulling that fitted tan dress over her head as she spoke, the YSL belt already laid out on the bed next to nude heels that would make her ass sit up.
“For you,” I said simply, pulling off my sleep shirt and tossing it in the hamper. “Don’t argue with me about it. Just put those heels on and let me be in your space today. I promise not to be in the way.”
She held my stare for a long moment, trying to read me. I wasn’t sure how much I was showing. Then that small smile appeared at the corner of her mouth, surprised but pleased, like she hadn’t expected to like what she was hearing.
“Okay,” she said finally, voice softer than it had been all morning. “But I’m warning you, I have a reputation to maintain. You can’t be pulling up to these venues looking like you just rolled out of bed. Balenciaga or not. And no crazy shit.”
I looked down at myself, designer everything, chain catching the morning light, beard trimmed to perfection. “Do I ever look like anything less than a king?”
Her smile got wider, and she shook her head like she couldn’t believe what was happening. “No. No, you definitely don’t. But no joggers, baby.”
“Aight, I’ll change.”
Twenty minutes later, I came back out in a fitted short sleeve Burberry check button-up, dark denim jeans, and crisp white Forces. Chain still heavy, watch still glinting, but the vibe was more laid-back than boardroom. Her eyes flicked over me, slow, like she didn’t mean to give me the compliment but couldn’t help herself.
“What car we need to be in today?” I asked, sliding my phone into my pocket.
“Huh?” she mumbled, still typing ferociously into hers.
“You got shit to pick up? We in something big, small, or luxurious. What mood you in?”
“The Maybach is fine. That’s the mood I’m in. I need to be comfortable while I work.”
I made a quick call to the parking attendant before we got on the elevator.
The Maybach was waiting at the curb, black paint so flawless it looked like liquid obsidian under the sun. I walked around to open her door, ignoring the way people on the sidewalk stopped and stared.
