Page 35 of Hired By My Rich Baby Daddy 2

“I don’t know, girl.” She shrugged. “Like you said… you got a man.”

But do I really?

“But PB…he’s a different type of nigga, and he’s more your speed if I’m being real with you.” She glanced at me sideways with a little smirk. “And if you end up talking to him, you might end up folded like laundry, so I say don’t do it.”

I damn near choked laughing. “Girl, stop.”

“I’m just saying!”

We were both cracking up as she pulled out the parking lot of the bar.

“You’re right, though,” I said once our laughter died down, shaking my head at myself. I looked back down at that text one more time, my thumb still resting over the keyboard.

Then I locked my phone and slid it into my bag without messaging him back.

Something felt off the second I pulled into my driveway.

Paisley’s truck was sitting there, which wasn’t unusual. She lived here. But I could’ve sworn she told me she was taking Rah Junior and Summer to the park for a little while.

I parked in the garage, killed the engine and sat there for a second.

Maybe she changed her mind.

I grabbed my phone and keys, got out and came through the door leading into the house. The alarm wasn’t set, but that ain’t mean nothing either. Paisley knew the code and came and went whenever she needed to.

Still, something felt off.

I pushed the door shut behind me real slow so the lock ain’t click loud, set my keys down on the entry table instead of dropping them in the bowl, and stood still.

I looked toward the kitchen.

Empty.

Front room was empty too.

I started up the stairs, taking my time, looking down at my phone for a second and smirking after seeing Nourah hadn’t texted me back.

I looked up just in time to see somebody moving around my room. My hand went straight to my waist.

I moved closer to the wall and came around the corner slow, and when I got to my bedroom doorway, there he was.

A nigga with his back to me, looking around at my shit, which confused the fuck outta me on how he got in.

His family was about to be planning his fucking funeral. That’s all I knew.

I pulled my gun off my hip, letting my hand hang down at my side.

I came through that doorway smooth, one long step, then another, closing the distance before my arm rose up and I put that steel right against the back of his head.

He froze.

“Nigga.” My voice came out low. “Who the fuck sent you?” I asked, gritting my teeth.

His hands went up slow. Then this nigga started laughing.

His shoulders shook with it, and I ain’t like that shit at all. Wasn’t shit funny.

I pressed the barrel harder against his head, making his head fall forward.