Deep down, Mena knew she wasn’t being fair to Julian. Her loving boyfriend was the easiest punching bag for her frustrations. She’d figure out a way to deal with the texts without telling Omar and definitely without telling Julian.
Omar continued, “All you’re doing is making yourself miserable. This bad mood is probably because sticking to your principles is causing you to miss out on the D you’re used to getting on the regular.”
Mena’s mouth dropped open as she stumbled into the elevator.
“Trust me, I learned a long time ago that withholding sex from Charlie hurts me more than it hurts him, so I don’t do that shit anymore. Now what you need to do is go home and forgive your man between the sheets. I promise you’ll feel better about everything after he makes you holler,” Omar said.
Mena groaned as a sly stirring ached between her legs. She and Julian hadn’t made love since they’d returned from Florida. Spending the holidays in Jacksonville had been Mena’s bright idea, but now she regretted suggesting that they spend the holidays with their parents. The trip had been a disaster, and her dear mother had planted the seed of marriage in Julian’s head.
Why hadn’t she gone to Zanzibar as Julian had proposed? Things would still be good between them, and she would have been getting her daily, and sometimes twice, dose of the man she’d fallen in love with.
Mena pressed the button for the twelfth floor and leaned against the elevator wall. Sighing, she whispered, “I hate it when you’re right.”
“No, you don’t. That’s why you call me. Really, love, you are not acting like yourself at all, and I think I know why,” Omar said.
“Enlighten me,” Mena said glumly. She didn’t know if she could handle another scathing analysis of her psyche from Omar right now.
“Even though you have a lot going on, I know that the trial is wreaking havoc on your life … probably at a subconscious level. Having to come back here in a few months and testify against the woman you considered a mentor for trying to kill you would stress anybody out. That’s why you’re overreacting to this thing with Julian and your mom,” Omar explained.
Mena took a deep breath. Not a bad theory. The texts had pushed thoughts of testifying against her former boss from her mind. But, it was in her best interest to let her best friend think he was right.
“What do you want? A gold star for being right about me?” Mena asked.
“Honey, please. You know I go platinum and diamond only. Now, I gotta get to work. On this side of the world, the day is just starting,” Omar said.
Mena exchanged goodbyes with her friend, and then slipped the phone into her purse. Stepping out of the elevator onto the twelfth floor, she frowned at the stench of burnt food in the air. Mena followed the horrific scent, growing in intensity, all the way to her door.
Pulse racing, she pressed the key card against the panel and pushed the door open. A wave of gray smoke billowed into her face, almost choking her. Her eyes darted across the living room to the dining room nook, where the windows were perched open at a slight angle, allowing the stench and smoke to escape to the outside.
Closing the door behind her, Mena stopped and listened for Julian, but she didn’t hear any sounds. On the island, she found the source of the culinary mayhem. A crusted blackened gooey substance still smoking in a stainless steel pot. Mena couldn’t fathom what the dish should have been.
Next to the pot was a folder with a logo of a peach pierced by a trident and a tidal wave curving around the perimeter of the fruit. Below the logo was Tactical and Intelligence Defense Executive Services. Mena coughed as she ran a finger along the edge of the folder, curious about the contents.
“You’re home … early.”
Mena jumped, startled, and turned. In an instant, she felt dizzy, but not from the smoke. Her heartbeat thudded in her chest as her eyes feasted on Julian as if for the first time. His presence filled the room, large and imposing. His muscular chest bare as he rubbed remnants of food from his neck and arms. His smoldering, soulful brown eyes rested on her, hesitation in his glance as he waited for her to make the next move.
Suddenly self-conscious, Mena tugged at the collar of her dress shirt and leaned back against the kitchen island. “Yes, I am, wise guy.”
“Don’t get me wrong. It’s nice to see your face before midnight. Is the restoration going okay?” Julian asked, taking a step toward her.
A flurry of sensations rocketed through her body as he reduced the space between them.
Mena waved a hand through the dissipating smoke. “Yeah, it is. Finally got a breakthrough on the settings I needed to use, and it’s starting to work. Remember my co-worker, Isaac, who I told you about. He wasn’t too pleased that I actually started making progress on the piece after struggling for the past two days.”
“Need me to beat him up for you?” Julian asked, a hint of mischief in his eyes as he took another step toward her.
Mena erupted in laughter. “No, that won’t be necessary.”
“Well, just know it’s an option that’s always on the table,” Julian said.
“I’ll keep that in mind. So, what kind of culinary experiment went wrong here?” Mena asked, jerking her thumb back toward the smoldering pot.
“I was trying to surprise you by recreating your mom’s shrimp and grits. She walked me through the recipe over the phone—“
“My mother gave you her coveted grits recipe? I don’t even know that one,” Mena said.
“She was trying to help me get out the dog house,” Julian said, closing the gap between them. His arm brushed against hers as he leaned on the island next to her. “I thought if I could make your favorite dish, you’d finally forgive me. So, she gave me the recipe with a few conditions.”
