“Meu Deus. Who are you? The sleep police?”
“Yes. And you under arrest.” He pulls a croissant from the bag and takes a massive bite and crumbs scatter across his shirt. “Also, you look like shit. Eat something.”
He tosses a second croissant at me. I catch it one-handed but don’t eat it.
“Man, I’m still recovering from you impregnating my future wife,” Kamal says through a mouthful of pastry.
“She’s not your future wife.”
But even as I say it, I know Kamal’s exactly the type she’s always dated. Black, good-looking, and intelligent. He’d fit beside her in a way I never would.
“Jasmine will decide that.” Kamal grins, brushing crumbs off his chest. “You won’t be alive to do anything about it, anyway.”
He’s been talking about marrying her when they’re both sixty ever since he found out we slept together in Vegas. Apparently he’d had a crush on her for years, which I had no idea about, and he wants his fill of women before settling down with her. I know he only says it to mess with me, and I hate that I can’t just laugh it off the way I would have a year ago.
I shoot him the bird.
Jaxon laughs from the couch. “Kamal, if you keep this up, Antonio might hurt you. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him look this close to murderous.”
“Since this meeting isn’t going anywhere, get out of my office.”
“Bye, future brother-husband.” Kamal stands, swiping the remaining croissant from the bag. “Eat the pastry and go wash yo’ ass.”
“I hate you.”
“Love you too, man.”
A soft knock interrupts his exit. My assistant pokes her head in. “Mr. Da Rocha? Ms. Haywood is here to see you.”
Jasmine appears in the doorway. She’s wearing an oversized t-shirt and denim shorts. The sight of her makes the tension I’ve been carrying for eighteen hours dissolve.
“Oh.” Jasmine blinks at the room full of people. “I didn’t realize you were in a meeting. I can wait.”
“We were just leaving.” Kamal’s smile widens. “Jasmine. You look lovely.”
She laughs. “Kamal. Always a flatterer, I see.”
“Only when it’s true.” He opens his arms. “Come here. It’s been too long.”
It’s only been three days. We had dinner at Jaxon and Jessa’s on Saturday when they formally invited us to their wedding in the Maldives. The ceremony was meant to make up for the drunken vows they traded during Meesha’s bachelorette weekend in Vegas.
Jasmine steps into the hug without hesitation, and I’m out of my chair before I register moving, crossing the room in three strides.
“All right.” I place my hand on the small of Jasmine’s back, positioning myself between them. “That’s enough of that.”
Kamal’s eyebrows shoot up and he smirks. Jaxon coughs, poorly disguising a laugh.
“Don’t you have somewhere to be?” I ask Kamal pointedly.
Kamal’s grin turns absolutely insufferable. “Oh, I see how it is.” He backs toward the door, hands raised in surrender. “My bad, my bad. Didn’t mean to touch your girl.”
“Out.”
“I’m going, I’m going.” He winks at Jasmine. “Good to see you, Jas. Take care of our boy here. He’s been through a lot.”
Jaxon claps me on the shoulder as he passes, still chuckling. “Get some rest. We’ll handle the PR fallout.”
Then they’re gone, the door clicking shut behind them, and I’m acutely aware of Jasmine staring at me.
