Page 32 of Before I Say I Don’t

Chapter Eighteen

KAMIRA

T he following afternoon, my desk looked like a crime scene of highlighters, case files, and empty coffee cups. I had my Bluetooth in, pacing slow circles in my office as I spoke to a potential client.

“Yes, Mr. Reynolds, I completely understand,” I said, glancing at the notes on my legal pad. “And I can assure you, our firm prides itself on aggressive representation, but more importantly—strategy.”

Right then, Serena strutted in carrying a caramel latte in one hand and sunglasses pushed up on her head. She flopped into the chair across from my desk with all the grace of a bored teenager.

“Don’t mind me, handle your little lawyering,” she whispered.

I smirked then resumed my conversation.

“If you can send over those documents by the close of business, I’ll personally review them before our consultation tomorrow. Yes… absolutely. You have my direct number. Perfect. I’ll see you then.”

I ended the call with a soft click, set my phone down, and slid into my chair. The shift from attorney mode to real life always felt like a jolt—one second commanding a client’s confidence, the next staring down the chaos of my own.

Serena crossed her legs, sipped her coffee dramatically, and waited exactly two seconds before announcing, “Girl, I cannot wait for this bridal shower on Saturday!”

In my head, I was like, Fuck a bridal shower… and a few of the bitches on that guest list. But since Serena had no clue about the storm brewing in my life, I pasted on my fakest smile.

“Mm-hmm… it should be nice.”

Serena grinned. “Nice?! Girl, please!” she waved off. “I’m wearing my backup wig just in case somebody throws a drink and I gotta snatch it off mid-brawl! Don’t play with me.”

I actually laughed at that.

Before I could respond, my phone lit up with Roman’s name flashing across the screen.

“Heyyyyy!” I answered excitedly.

“What’s good, beautiful? You busy?”

“Just got un-busy… for an hour at least. I’m about to grab something to eat.”

“Well, if you don’t want to spend unnecessary money, I cooked. Swing through before you get back to court life.”

A blush crept up my cheeks before I could stop it.

“At this point, I believe you’re trying to get me fat or—” My words cut off when I realized Serena was still in the room.

She was side-eyeing me like I’d just admitted to running a Ponzi scheme.

“You know what… I’ll come through,” I said softly, chewing a smile.

“Aight. See you soon.”

I hung up. The second I did, Serena tilted her head.

“Girl, you got a good fiancé.”

Of course, she thought that was Viangelo.

“I wish a man made me smile like that. Last time one had me grinning was when he tripped over the dog and went face-first into the coffee table.”

I stood, grabbing my purse. “Just remember, everything that glitters ain’t gold… and sometimes the glitter is just cheap spray paint trying to cover rust. When you find a good one, hold on to him because there aren’t many left.”

Serena snapped her fingers. “Whew, preach!”

“I’m heading out. You want me to bring you something back?”

She shook her head. “Nah, but if your fiancé got a single brother who can fry chicken without burning the grease, fix a leaky sink, don’t live with his mama, pay bills on time, don’t snore, and keep his phone face-up on the table, send him my way. I’ll marry him tomorrow.”

If he did, I still wouldn’t send him your way, sis. You’d thank me later, I thought, forcing back a smirk.

“Lunch delivery,” Roman greeted me with that sexy smirk, stepping aside so I could walk in.

The man was wearing gray sweatpants and a white fitted tee… and Lord have mercy, if that wasn’t intentional. My eyes dropped automatically… and stayed there longer than they should’ve. His print was ridiculous—the kind of disrespect that made my thighs press together on instinct.

If this man knew the things running through my head right now. Scratch that—he probably does.

His smirk deepened. “Eyes up here, Kam,” he teased.

I brushed past him, pretending to be unbothered. “You wore that on purpose.”

“Maybe. You ready to eat?”

“Starving!” I exaggerated, walking in to find his dining table already set with two plates of steaming food, and iced tea in tall glasses.

“You made Chinese?” I asked, impressed.

“I told you I can cook,” he shrugged, pulling my chair out. “Lo mein, sesame chicken, beef and broccoli, and egg rolls—by me, not from some greasy spot.”

I took a bite of the chicken and almost moaned.

“Okay… I’ll admit it; you might actually be dangerous.” I chuckled.

“Dangerous?” Roman scoffed lightly. “Try addicting, baby,” he added, followed by a flirtatious wink.

My fork slipped against the plate.

Addicting.

The way he said it wasn’t casual; it was prophecy. And maybe I was stupid for letting it ring true, but damn if he didn’t already have me checking for symptoms.

Racing pulse? Check. Dry throat? Check. A sudden, irrational desire to rearrange my whole life around one man’s smile? Double check. Lastly, the urge to push this plate aside, climb across the table, and let him feed that smirk right off my lips? Triple check.

I was already memorizing how Roman’s hand gripped a fork, how his forearm flexed when he reached for his glass, and how the veins along his wrist pulsed like a countdown. If that was addiction, then withdrawal was going to be hell.

And I didn’t even want a cure. I wanted him—his hand on my throat, his weight pinning me down, his mouth dragging confessions out of me I swore I’d never say. I wanted the heat of him pressed into every place that ached, the kind of dose that left me trembling, ruined, begging for more.

“So… how did the tasting go?” he asked, digging into his food, changing the subject like a man who knew when to redirect fire before it spread.

“Let’s just say… your boy was ten minutes late but tried to act like he was doing us a favor by showing up. Then he got mad at me for defending my sister when she and his mama exchanged words. Typical.”

I gave him the rest of the rundown.

Roman shook his head when I finished. “Slaw as fuck. That’s all I can say.”

I laughed under my breath. “Slaw?”

“Slaw. No seasoning, no loyalty… just… coleslaw.”

I giggled. “You’re silly.”

He leaned back, fork in hand, eyes on me. “For real, how you feeling about all this?”

I chewed slowly, then put my fork down with a soft clink against the plate.

“Honestly? Numb,” I admitted, exhaling slowly, the weight of the situation pressing down on me. “But it’s cool. Just one more week.”

The words hung in the air; a bittersweet anticipation tinged with trepidation.

“Speaking of your boy…” Roman shifted in his seat, setting his fork down, leaning forward on his elbows. “Angelo texted me not too long ago. He wants to ‘meet up’ again later… probably to talk about you.”

My brows went up. “You gonna go?”

“Hell yeah!” he replied without hesitation. “Ain’t nothing he can say to make me change how I move, but I’m curious to see how he plays it.”

“Well, I already know you’re going to spill the beans afterward, so enough about him. But explain why I had to find out from Marcus that you two ran into each other and he practically gave you a job offer at our firm.”

Roman leaned back in his chair, wiping his mouth with a napkin.

“We did run into each other… and yeah, he mentioned that I should come work at the firm,” he confirmed slowly. “I won’t say he actually gave me a job offer.”

“So… are you considering it or…” I pressed, my curiosity piqued.

“At first, it was a hell no , but I didn’t tell him that. But now…” Roman stood, walked around the table, and lifted me right out of my chair.

My hands connected around his neck. Then, he leaned in and we kissed a deep and passionate kiss, he trailed his lips down my jaw, my neck…

and before I knew it, he’d pulled my blouse up just enough to free one breast. His mouth closed around my nipple—warm, wet, and deliberate. My head fell back with a sharp inhale.

“Roman…” I breathed, my knees nearly buckling and my nails digging into his shoulders like I needed him to hold me up or I’d melt right into his floor.

He hummed low against my skin, that dangerous little sound that sent heat shooting straight through me.

“You shaking already, baby?” he murmured, his lips dragging over my nipple, tongue flicking slow, taunting. “And I ain’t even started yet.”

A gasp slipped out before I could stop it. My fingers curled in his shirt, pulling him closer like I couldn’t get enough.

He smirked against me, dark and knowing. “Unexpected enough for you?”

“Mmm,” was all I could manage, my voice breaking into a soft and needy tone.

“Good,” he rasped, his voice dropping into that tone that made my thighs press together. “Next time, I’m laying you on this table, making you eat with my dick still inside you… watching you try to keep a straight face while I fuck you slow.”

A shiver ran through me so hard I thought my knees might give out completely.

“Is that what you want, Kamira?” he whispered, his teeth grazing me just enough to make me flinch. “To walk back into work all pretty… and sore from me?”

I swallowed hard, but he didn’t let me answer before giving one last, lingering, filthy drag of his tongue over my nipple, sucking it into his mouth until I whimpered.

Then—like nothing had happened—Roman straightened my blouse, fixed it with careful fingers, and stepped back. His eyes were still locked on mine, heat radiating between us.

“Now,” he said with a wicked grin, “finish your lunch before I decide to keep you here and make you call in sick. ’Cause if I start… you’re not leaving on time.”

My chest rose sharp, my fork trembling in my hand.

Roman wasn’t bluffing. His eyes said it clearly—one wrong move from me and I’d never make it out that door.

And the crazy part? I didn’t want to.