Page 23 of The One He Desires

A smirk forms when I hear Cynthia huff into the receiver before she replies.

“I hate to disturb you, but you have a visitor, and no, they’re not on your calendar.”

My brows furrow and my forehead wrinkles as my eyes zero in on the bottom right of my monitor as I note the time. It’s eleven forty-six, and I have no clue who could be dropping in unannounced.

“Who is it?” I ask.

“They didn’t give me their name, but I think it could be important.” Cynthia’s voice isn’t one of fear, unease, or hesitation, which increases my confusion.

“Did you call security? You know what, never mind. I’ll be out in a second.” I hit the button again and then finish my last thought.

Then I close the file and take a second or two to force the unexpected person to wait a little longer. Once I’m done, I stick my hand under my desk and remove my office weapon before I take it into my back and then stand to my full height. I grab my suit jacket and slip my arms in it to conceal my gun. With a grimace, I open my door and pull up short when my eyes connect with someone who can interrupt every day God allows me to see.

“Hi, Sincere.” Journee’s voice is light as her eyes twinkle with happiness and humor.

“How did you know where to find me?”

Journee’s smile becomes wider when I move closer to her as Cynthia pretends to resume whatever she was doing before I came out of my office.

“Jamarion.”

The word sounds breathy when it leaves her lips, and her eyes flash with unreadable expressions as I remove the space between us. I was torn between kissing her gloss-covered lips and hugging her. My heart rate increases as I stare into her eyes, and the temperature between us elevates the longer I look at her.

“I thought I would return your kindness with one of my own.”

Journee steps before she lifts a wicker basket, which forces me to disconnect my gaze from her to the brown box in her hand. A cheesy grin slides into place on my lips, and a low chuckle escapes my mouth.

“I hope you brought more than those peanut butter and jelly sandwiches you believe are delicious. I’m a meat-and-potatoes kind of man.”

“Trust me, I assumed you were. There aren’t any flimsy sandwiches in here. But can you take a break to have an impromptu lunch with me?”

I would cancel every meeting on my schedule to get some alone time with Journee. So I ease the basket from her hand, grab her free hand, and escort her to my office without a word. When she passes me to enter my space, my stomach leaps at the fruity scent that wafts into my nostrils. Maybe if I’m lucky, Journee’s perfume will linger in here for the rest of the week. I pull my gaze from Journee and look over my shoulder to address Cynthia.

“Cynthia, please hold all of my calls.”

“Will do. Enjoy.” Cynthia winks at me as I nod and enter my office before closing the door behind me.

The desire and urge to do a cartwheel hits me like a freight train when I see Journee pull out a blanket from the bag I hadn’t seen until now. She unfolds it and lays it on the open area near my bookshelf. For countless seconds, I simply watch her move without saying anything to me. She pulls containers from the basket that now rests on the blanket and then slips out of her flats before her eyes land on me.

“If you have stinky feet, you can leave your shoes on.”

Her nose twitches as if she smells something foul in the air. A thunderous laugh escapes my mouth as her eyes bounce from me to my shoe-covered feet. Not long ago, I was uptight and wishing I had a different career choice while I recorded earlier events. Now, my chest is light, and humor fills my body. This impromptu lunch thing might need to become a weekly occurrence for us.

“I can promise you that you don’t have anything to worry about.” I slip my jacket from my arms and walk it back to my chair.

“I guess Cynthia was right, huh?”

I turn to Journee with wrinkled brows as she points toward my back, reminding me of the presence of my gun.

“You can never be too sure about surprise visitors around here. I pride myself on always being ready for whatever.”

“Let me find out there’s a little hood in you, Esquire.” Journee winks as she pats the empty space beside her on the blanket.

My heart leaps at hearing her call me ‘Esquire’ as I wordlessly move to the blanket and toe off my shoes, before I sit beside her without crowding her space. But damn if I don’t want to be in her skin.

“You do know that being hood is sometimes a mindset right? Humble beginnings don’t always mean that you have to be, or become, a product of your environment. I spent the first ten years of my life in the projects. But I will never pretend like some of those experiences didn’t rub off on me in one capacity or another.”

“Up until two months of my pregnancy, I, too, lived in the projects, so no, you’ll get no judgment from me. But I am curious to know just how far your environment shaped you.”