“Can I help you?” It’s a question embedded with what the hell?
“I wondered if your office was up here,” Bridget says casually, strolling closer. She stares at the flowers on my desk before turning frosty blue eyes on me.
“Are you here with the crew?” I ask. “It’s Baller Bae looking at the collection?”
“Yes. I wanted to see what all the fuss was about.” She pauses significantly, running her eyes over my skinny jeans, ribbed tank top, and sheer cardigan. “I don’t get it.”
My patience is fraying.
Lord, grant me the serenity not to kick her ass.
With God on my side, maybe Bridget will make it out of here in one skinny blond piece.
“What can I do for you, Bridget?” I ask. “It was Bridget, right? We met the other night at the restaurant I believe.”
“You know damn well who I am,” she drawls with deceptive indifference. “Or at least you should since you’re fucking my husband.”
Lawd, don’t fail me now.
“I think you should probably go before you make yourself look even more desperate,” I tell her, I hope with some kindness and not the middle finger I want to shove up her nose.
“Sure you don’t want me to stick around?” She sits on the edge of the desk and caresses one lotus petal. “I could give you some pointers on how Kenan likes his dick sucked. We were together over a decade. Maybe save you a lot of time.”
I step close until I’m standing right in front of her. I carefully slide my flowers away from her touch.
“Why would I want advice from the woman who lost him?” I ask, my voice hushed. I don’t need a scene. I’m sure her cameras are within striking distance. I’m giving her as little ammunition as possible.
“You won’t be able to keep him,” she sneers.
“Well at least we’ll have something in common and maybe enjoy each other better next time, but for now, I repeat. Leave.”
“You have no idea who you’re dealing with,” she says, chin up, hair flung back.
“Oh, no, you don’t know who you’re dealing with,” I say, my tone soft with danger she doesn’t, couldn’t understand. “You should pray to God my kindness and patience don’t run out, or you will know.”
“Just remember I offered to help you get it right,” she says spitefully, standing to her feet.
“You can best believe when I am fucking your ex-husband,” I tell her, “you’ll be the last thing on our minds. Now get the hell out of my face, out of my office and stay out of my way.”
“I won’t let you ruin things for us,” she says, her voice vehement.
“You already ruined it,” I say pityingly.
And I do pity her. I’d hate myself if I lost a man like Kenan, lost a life with him. Desperation clings to her, and I wonder if she cheated on him and then woke as if from a dream to realize what she had done? What she had lost and squandered?
She stares at me and then at the flowers one more time. Something gives in her eyes, and the façade slips. She blinks overly bright blue eyes, turns, and leaves.
20
Kenan
I’m leaning against “the tank,” as Lotus calls my truck, when she comes out of the building. All the skinny individual braids are gathered and braided into two thick ones. She looks like a little girl, except for that ass and those breasts and her lips and every other part of her.
So just the hair pretty much.
I open the passenger side, but when she steps past me to get in. I grasp her elbow gently and turn her so her back is to the open door. I prop my arms against the car frame overhead and lean down.
“Hi.” I pitch the word low and dip to kiss the line of her jaw.