Page 60 of The Fire We Make

“Do you need me to do anything for Michael Black’s case or-,” Joy started.

“I don’t wanna talk about work shit right now,” Ace cut her off.

Joy cut her eyes at him. Ace hadn’t meant to snap at her but he wasn’t in the mood to censor himself. He was in the mood to make some niggas bleed and as soon as he dropped Joy off at the office that’s exactly what he’d do. For now, he was doing his best not to go cold and let Menace peek through in her presence. Whatever Joy saw made her expression soften.

“Is there anything I can do to help?” She asked.

Ace nodded and tipped his lips up in a slight grin. “Tell me something about you.”

He leaned back, throwing one arm over the back of the booth and used his free hand to lift his glass to his lips. He eyed her across the table, her beautiful features illuminated softly by the lit candle in the middle of the table that was much too intimate for a business lunch in the middle of the day.

“Something like what?”

Ace looked at her for a moment with a blank expression on his face.

“You know what I wanna know.”

Joy shook her head then shrugged. “My daddy taught me self defense and I have a temper,” she said, a shadow crossing her face and the fire in her eyes blazing a bit hotter.

Ace smirked and nodded his head, somewhat satisfied. “Think you can keep that temper under control or will you be assaulting my clients often?”

Joy looked down at the table, the earlier shame for losing her cool creeping back up again.

“It won’t happen again. I’m sorry I don’t-“

Ace hated the way she turned her eyes downward. The shame that she carried for defending herself. He hated whoever made her feel like her fierceness was something to be ashamed of. He liked it and wanted to see more of it.

“Don’t sweat it, Rose,” he said, putting a soothing hand over hers. “That nigga was mad disrespectful.”

Joy smiled and turned her attention back to her menu.

After they’d received their food, Ace began asking more questions, feeling there was more to the story than what Joy was offering. The fire she had in her eyes wasn’t one of a simple temper.

“Are you close with your pops?” he asked, digging for more information.

“It’s complicated.”

“What about your mother?”

“Dead. Are you close with your parents?”

Ace’s eyes twinkled and he tilted his head as if he’d find the answers to the questions he had about Joy Thibodeaux written on her skin. Joy tried to remain stoic but he saw the way she fidgeted under the heat of his stare but didn’t look up, instead pretending to be more interested in the Caesar salad she was stabbing.

“I’m sorry for your loss,” he said.

Joy just shrugged. “Thanks. It was a long time ago.”

“You do that a lot,” Ace mused aloud.

“Do what?” She asked before spearing more chicken and lettuce onto her fork.

“Deflect when I ask you personal questions.”

“That’s because I don’t like to talk about personal shit.”

“Why not?”

“In order to tell you that, I’d have to talk about it, now wouldn’t I?” She quipped.