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“I didn’t think you’d hate it this much.”

“I don’t hate it. It just don’t do nothing for me.”

She studied me. “None of them?”

I left that alone.

Because the answer wasn’t in that room.

I left out the back.

No cameras. No crowd. Just my Lamborghini Urus sitting where I left it.

I stepped out and saw Alana Brooks before I even made it there.

She was leaning by my door, paper in her hand, wearing a cream business suit.

She smiled first.

I stopped a few feet from her. “Don’t tell me you were in line. You hop the gate?”

She laughed. “No. I slid in with another car.”

I looked her over. She was thicker than I remembered, and I couldn’t tell if she had a BBL.

“You too fine to be desperate.” I continued to size her with my eyes.

She turned up her nose, clearly offended. “I’m not desperate. I’m playing the game.”

“This shit is definitely a game. I ain’t ask for this.”

“I’m not here for the fiscal. I came to find out if you think we had chemistry during our interview.”

I smirked. “You think so?”

“I know so.”

I adjusted my watch, eyes still on her. “Thought I wasn’t your type. That’s what you said when I was working a nine-to-five.”

That memory came back quick.

My homeboy tried to line us up. I had just got off work, still in my uniform, ashy as fuck from carrying cases all day. I pulled up, spoke, kept it light. I wasn’t looking to hook up, but my homeboy kept pressing.

She was cool…. Just not checking for me.

I ain’t care.

But I found out later what it really was.

She only dealt with rich niggas.

That was enough for me.

I kept building, and I had women.

So now, seeing her standing here acting like something unfinished was there…

That part was funny.