From a few steps away, I watched Isabella weave through the group of fans until she was leading the pack. A chubby, baldman guarding the overdressed lady extended his hand to stop her, but he was too slow. My persistent sibling karate chopped the bodyguard in the center of his neck, causing him to catch his throat in his hands.
“Oh, shit!” C. Rose snickered as she removed her sunglasses to reveal a pair of orbs the same hue as a penny. Her slender nose and permanent pucker fit her face, and despite the makeup she wore, I could tell she was young. At first glance, she reminded me of a young Chaka Khan.
During my daydream, a deep grumble caught my attention. C. Rose’sprotectionstumbled toward Izzy with a screwed-up face. My first thought was to drop him with no words, but the idea of being arrested in front of Isabella changed my mindset.
“Trust me. It’s not worth it,” I vowed, lifting my hoodie to show the gun tucked in my waistband. He was an armed guard, but I would bet every cent I owned he wouldn’t be able to pull his pistol before I sent a bullet through his forehead.
“Yeah, okay.” Big man sized me up before looking past me. “C. Rose, you good?”
I spun around in time to catch the reality star roll her eyes and wave him off.
“What’s your name, beautiful?” She addressed my hyper sibling.
“Isabella, but everyone calls me Izzy.” She faced me and snatched my beanie off my head. “Can you sign my hat?”
“What the hell?” I groaned.
“You have a million of these. You won’t miss it, Ishmael.”
C. Rose giggled at our exchange and autographed the cashmere cap.
“What are you doing in the mall withoutrealsecurity?” Izzy asked as if reading my mind.
C. Rose’s pouty lips turned down on the ends like the thought triggered annoyance. “I don’t normally shop for myself, but mypersonal shopper quit, and my assistant is attending a funeral. I didn’t have the patience to wait on a delivery.”
My weight shifted from one foot to the other as I dissected her tone. Her voice reminded me of the tone girls used on the party line. Soft. Whiny. Fake.
“Where did you learn the karate move you used on Chunks?” C. Rose wondered aloud.
“My brother. We took a few lessons together. He’s a part of a security company too.” The motormouth dug in her purse and pulled out a business card she must have snatched from my truck. “Take this. You need real protection on your team. Don’t let the glasses fool you. He’s the real deal.”
C. Rose’s perfectly arched brows twitched when she looked at me, then back to the wounded guard massaging his neck. His vision raced to his boots when he spotted all eyes on him.
“Izzy, let’s go.”
She sulked, but she followed me to the exit. “It was nice to meet you, C. Rose!”
The silence that followed caused me to look over my shoulder. C. Rose had already turned her back to the mob and placed her shades back over her eyes.
Every few months,I had the urge to date. Most times, the idea came about after talking to Isabella or seeing the interactions between my club brothers and the women they fell for. I had never been easily influenced, but my guilty pleasure was seeing something I wanted and working until it was in my hands.
Though I was on my third date in a month, I nervously waited for Presley to arrive. My last few meetups hadbeen unsuccessful, but my conversations with Presley flowed naturally, so I kept my word and showed up.
As I fiddled with the empty cocktail glass on the table, I glanced at the bar, where my best friend and my favorite hater watched me. It was out of character for me to need a chaperone, but I asked them to sit in a corner of the restaurant during my date. After the last one, I didn’t want to run the risk of having to stop another crazy broad from trying to steal from me.
When Durk and Essen waved and danced in their seats, I looked away. The pair were cousins who argued like siblings. When I met Shiloh—the president of S.O.E—he introduced me to his little sister and cousin. It took some time, but over the last few years, we became attached at the hip.
I moved to check the time on my phone, but a sweet scent tickled my nostrils.
With the grace of a supermodel, Presley tossed her big hair over one shoulder when she reached the table.
“It’s good to see you, beautiful,” I commented while pulling out her chair.
“Thank you. It feels good to be seen.”
Once I settled across from Presley, I admired how much she looked like her photos. It was obvious she could get filter happy, but it wasn’t enough to make her look like a stranger in person.
Before we got down to the basics, a server walked over and took our drink orders. Presley requested red wine, and I asked for a club soda. I liked a glass of brown liquor like the next man, but drinking in the company of a stranger wasn’t my style.
