Page 20

I shove the flyer in my backpack and walk her to her car.

Riale Huntleyand I became friends after my brother died, and my father assigned him as my personal bodyguard following the accident. For years, he’s been my shadow, so I shouldn’t be surprised to find him leaning against my apartment door when I step off the elevator—even though he’s supposed to be in China, doing whatever as my father’s new head of security.

“Fuckin’ took you long enough,” he grinds out, smirking. Riale lives in the apartment directly across from mine, and the floor has been annoyingly silent in the weeks since he left for Asia.

Despite the great Chuck Sandoval being proudly Divine 9, the son of civil rights leaders, and decorating his private cigar room with all the Kente cloth and African busts available on this side of the Atlantic, back then, it seemed like my pops only employed white people—with the exception of Riale’s father.

I don’t think his reason for this came from not wanting to hire Black people. Even today, most of his C-suite and executive team is made up of melanated people. Instead, it seems like it did something for him to have a whole bunch of white men beneath his thumb.

It’s weird, and I’m not sureIwould trust someone I wanted to feel subordinate to me protecting my life, but I didn’t really care then and I sure as fuck don’t care now.

Darren Huntley has worked for my dad since the beginning of his success, operating as Dad’s head of security. It’s no surprise Riale followed in his father’s shoes when Darren retired, although to hear Riale tell it, his dad wanted him to be anywherebutin security for a family like mine.

Riale’s always done what he wants, though.

“When the hell’d you get home?” I lean in to give him a quick dap and side hug. Riale slaps me on the back in return.

“Last night. Took some time to sleep off the time difference, and now I’m on Storm Watch.”

“Funny,” I deadpan, rolling my eyes at the annoying-as-fuck nickname. “Well, come in, I guess.”

“Don’t sound too fucking happy about it,” Riale throws back. I tap my phone to the lock on my front door.

Riale makes himself comfortable on my couch, and I head to the kitchen.

“Do anybody interesting while in Beijing?”

He snorts. “Don’t you mean, ‘do anything’?”

“Nah, I said what the fuck I said,” I reply, and Riale barks out a laugh.

“Not really. Work kept me running ragged the entire time I was there. Work, eat, shit, sleep. That’s all there was time for.”

I hum, pulling the fridge open. My stomach grumbles, and I suck in air through my teeth when I realize Marisol hasn’t been by yet with her weekly meal prep delivery, so all I have are the things to make a sandwich.

Well, I have bread that’s probably still good, some lunch meat I got the other day, and a thing of mayonnaise. Who needs lettuce or tomato anyway?

“You gonna tell me what you were up to?” I ask after I pull out the sandwich fixings, and his face shuts down, as it always does when I try to step too far over the line into what my father has him doing in his new role as security manager for the Sandoval family.

“No,” he replies, his voice low and serious. “I’m not going to tell you.”

There’s a sense of finality to his words that has me not wanting to press more.

Shaking my head, I change the subject.

“So how far up my ass are you going to be?” I reply. “You came back abruptly. Is something going on?”

He releases a long breath, his only tell for his agitation, and one I think he only shows for me on purpose.

“Nothing’s happening, and I won’t be any more in your face than I already am because I’m not your bodyguard anymore. I’m here solely as your friend.”

For some reason, I don’t believe that. Not for a second.

“Although, I do wish you’d get your head out of your ass and allow Chuck to give you a security detail.”

I assemble the sandwich, cut it, and grab a bag of chips and two beers before heading to the armchair next to the sofa where Riale sprawls out.

When I throw a Pabst at him, he catches it in one hand and has it open the next second.