*side eye emoji*
My phone rings, and a smirk slides into place as I answer. “Did I offend you again, princess?”
“If you don’t like me making stereotypes about you, then give me the same courtesy. I also would appreciate it if you call me by my name.”
The tone of Jariyah’s voice increases my smirk and has my dick pushing against my jeans.
“What name would you prefer?” My volume drops into an octave I know women can’t resist as I lean back against the pillow with my right leg over my left.
“My mama named me Jariyah. But I wouldn’t mind if you call me by my middle name.” Jariyah’s voice is but a whisper, and there’s a sultry hint of mischief in her request.
“Oh, really? What is it?”
“Navae. Nobody calls me by it. But I have a feeling you’ll make allowing an exception worth it.”
“Hm. I like it. Navae it is. Since we’re exchanging this type of information, you should know that my parents named me Chayse. So you can call me whatever name feels good rolling off your tongue.”
At this point, I might as well fall face-first into the trap Jariyah set for me, because I can’t deny that I want her. Even after leaving the diner, my mind has found multiple reasons to return to thoughts of this woman. All I can hope is that my attraction and affiliation with Jariyah won’t come back to bite me in the ass once the mayor finds out. I have done a great job of staying under the radar since relocating. It would suck for things to turn sour for me simply by having a romantic involvement with someone who shouldn’t want anything to do with me.
The grand ballroom inside Ribax Cathedral is cast in a warm glow by the crystal chandeliers as guests mingle. The tailored tuxedos and floor-length evening gowns are the norm for this prestigious event. There’s a live jazz band playing a tune unknown to me as I walk the floor unseeing any of the attendees. The cause for this charity gala is lost on me because it’s something else Mom forced me to attend. I feel like Sanai Lathan in the scene where she was at the debutante ball. Only I’m not in a foul mood from my mishandle of a love interest. My melancholy comes from sheer boredom.
On the outside, I look the part in my black sequin ball gown, matching accessories, and the half-empty flute of champagne in my hand. But if someone could see inside, they wouldunderstand that I would love to be anywhere but here. At the center of the ballroom is none other than the mayor of Ribax, better known as my mother.
The smile on her lips and the poise with which she carries herself command respect and admiration from everyone here. She’s in an elegant floor-length mahogany gown that expertly fits her thick frame. Mom moves easily around the room among attendees as she greets her longtime supporters and those vying for her attention. Mom’s interaction with these people is warm and authentic. Her laughter and words are genuine and deliberate.
I have only been here for less than an hour, and I’m numb to all of it. Matter of fact, I want to sneak out of here without anyone noticing, but the target on my back would make that impossible. Everyone here knows who I am, even if they have never had a personal conversation with me. I feel like a trapped dog with every passing minute.
“Why the long face, baby girl?” Dad’s whisper, along with the light touch on my arm snaps me out of my melancholy.
Reginald Owens has always been my rock. My safe place. The one person who makes enduring the life of a politician’s daughter bearable. He’s the only bright spot in this life that was chosen for me long before my birth.
“Oh. No reason. I was thinking about something. I’m fine though.”
“Okay. I just wanted to check on you. You look beautiful as usual.” Dad smiles.
This is only the mingling phase of the event, and knowing how long I have to be here makes me want to ask one of the waitstaff for a shot of hard liquor instead of champagne. The sound of someone tapping the microphone draws my gaze from Dad to the stage, where his wife now stands. The music stops, and the light chatter ends instantly as everyone’s eyes focus onMom. At one point, I idolized the power that Mom wields in the various political positions she’s held. But now, I fight the urge to roll my eyes when she opens her mouth to speak.
“Good evening, everyone. Thank you all for coming out. This is such a momentous occasion, and I am thrilled to be a part of it. I hope you all enjoy tonight’s festivities. But you will dig deep into your wallets to help this amazing charity reach its end goal. Chaplain Copley, can you come up to bless the food for us this evening?” Mom’s smile is as wide as the man who nods and walks to the stage to do as she asked.
Dad steps beside me and interlocks our hands as Chaplain Copley instructs everyone to bow their heads for a moment of prayer. I comply, but my mind spins with thoughts of a place I could be, instead of this room full of high-society folks. I’m so in my head that it takes me a second to respond to Dad squeezing my hand to let me know the prayer is over.
“Are you sure everything is okay with you, Jariyah?” His forehead is a mask of wrinkles, and his eyes narrow with concern.
“Yes, sir. All is well. Let’s head to our table before your wife sends someone to retrieve us.”
The next hour goes by in a flash as I consume unseasoned chicken, rubbery sea bass, bland vegetables, and several glasses of champagne. The conversation flows around me as my mind drifts to a tall, muscular, sexy motorcycle club member. A lazy smile forms, and I ease my phone from my clutch and send a text.
Me:
Hey handsome. Are you busy?
Either Righteous is holding his phone, or I’m just lucky, because his response comes within minutes of me hitting send.
Righteous:
What’s good, fine shit?
My face contorts as I try to process this foreign label as my fingers glide over the keyboard of my phone in response.
