Page 42

. . .

Los Angeles in October was still warm—but the breeze had changed. The sun cast a copper glow over the skyline and the palm trees swayed like they knew fall was finally creeping in.

Aku was in her element.

Niah was in her own little world, mouthing the lyrics with Aretha.

The office had exploded with more racks—richer fabrics, deeper colors, layers of suede, leather, and silk. Grammy season was coming, and so was her ex.

“Ain’t No Way” by Aretha Franklin played low from Aku’s speakers. Devin looked damn near angelic in his designer fit—if angels had tats and threw up sets in red.

She smirked because she had a type.

“Chin up,” Aku said, standing in front of him with her pins between her teeth and a tape measure slung across her shoulders. “You too tall to be lookin’ like you unsure of yourself.”

“I ain’t unsure of shit,” Devin mumbled, his eyes tracing the way she moved.

“Then act like it,” she said, yanking the front of his jacket to adjust the lay. “This your Grammy run, not your album cover. Look presidential, not like you ’bout to slide on somebody.”

He smirked. “You ain’t lost that mouth.”

“And you still ain’t got enough range to handle it,” she shot back, smirking.

Devin laughed, shaking his head. “That why you left?”

“I left ‘cause I got tired of beggin’ a nigga to finally grow up.”

Aretha’s voice bled through the space like a confession.

You know there ain’t no way for me to love you…if you won’t let me…

Devin sighed. “You ever think about us?”

“No,” Aku lied.

He knew her well enough to know when she was lying. He didn’t call her out though.

“You wanted a ring, a baby, a driveway. I ain’t have none of that to give.”

“You had options but, you chose to give me excuses.”

He looked her up and down—head to toe. Her jumpsuit fit every dip in her hip and the pressure on her little booty.

“You look happy though. You feel happy?”

She hesitated. “I’m tryna be.”

“That off your lil’ blue boy?” Devin asked, one brow raised. “What’s his name again?”

She didn’t answer.

“Crescent, right?” He nodded to himself. “Yea, I heard about him. Heard he keep that hoodie pulled low and his problems pulled closer.”

She glared. “That man got more heart than most of y’all industry niggas combined.” One thing she would never do is let anyone play with her man. Aku would fight in his honor, then tell him all about it knowing he was going to slide about it.

“So that’s what you on now? Street niggas with apps?” His finger popped the strap of her jumper since she removed the blazer she paired with it that made it more professional.

Aku stepped back, chin tilted. “That’s what I’m on—men with ambition and accountability.”

She pushed him in front of the mirror, pinning the hem of an olive-green tailored trouser. “I swear, if you miss the red carpet in this look, I’ll block you from every stylist in L.A.”

Devin smirked. “That a threat or a love letter?”

“Boy, shut up,” she laughed, half under her breath.

He looked good. Still had that magnetic pull—the kind that got girls in hotel rooms off one wink.

Devin’s jaw flexed. He still felt a lot for her and needed her to understand she’d always have a piece of his heart because he was madly in love with her. “You wasn’t asking for too much. I was just too selfish to give it.”

Her head bobbed, agreeing with him. She straightened the collar of his silk shirt, her fingers brushing his chest in a way that wasn’t sexual—but looked intimate if you walked in at the wrong time.

Right on cue—the door swung open.

Malik.

In all denim, and that blue flag, their eyes locked.

Devin didn’t move he actually stepped closer to her.

Malik’s jaw tensed, his hand still gripping the door like he needed to brace himself.

“Aku,” Malik didn’t say much verbally, but his glare said enough.

Just stepped in slow, nodded once at Devin like it was a warning, not a greeting.

He peeped everything instantly.

Aretha kept crooning from the speaker.

Ain’t no way…I’m for you…

Aku turned quick. “Malik?—”

He kept his eyes on Devin. “Y’all was havin’ a lil’ moment?”

Devin leaned back, casual as hell. “We was talkin’. That aight with you?”

“That depends,” Malik cupped his hands in front of his body. “You talkin’ as her client or a nigga who ain’t let go yet?”

Devin smiled, wide and wolfish. “You the security or the stylist?”

Malik took two steps forward. “I’m whatever I need to be when it come to her.”

Devin stepped up. Taller, broader…more Brooklyn than LA in the way he squared up. “You bang?” he asked, cocking his head.

Malik smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Do the math, cuh.”

“Watch that cuh shit, bruh.”

Aku stepped in between them. “Y’all not ‘bout to do this in my damn office.”

Niah blinked, hoping it didn’t go too far ‘cause she wasn’t strong enough to hold either man back.

“Nah,” Malik said, gaze fixed on Devin. “I’m cool, just peepin’ the energy.”

Devin chuckled, hands up. “All love. I was just sayin’ hi…getting styled while catching up with a friend.”

Malik cut his eyes. “Sounded more like a goodbye to me, cuh.”

Aku pulled Malik by the wrist, hard. “Com’ere.”

Malik didn’t move, just kept his eyes on the nigga that almost broke his baby.

He stared across the room at Devin, one brow raised like he already knew too much. The tension was so thick it felt humid. His jaw ticked once, that signature quiet rage sitting just behind the calm in his hooded eyes.

Then he glanced over at Niah. “Run that back,” he said, low.

She blinked. “Huh?”

He nodded toward the speaker. “The song. Run that Aretha back - that’s my shit.”

Niah didn’t ask questions. She tapped the screen, and Ain’t No Way started over—strings swelling, Aretha’s voice whispering like a storm just getting started.

Then he turned to Aku.

“You got two minutes,” he muttered, voice hot with something only she understood.

She grabbed his wrist before he could say more and pulled him into the private bathroom.

The second the door shut, he had her pressed against it.

“You really got me walkin’ into that?” he growled against her neck.

Aku gasped, breath hitching as his hand slid up her thigh and gripped. “I told you?—”

“You was smilin’ at that nigga.”

“I always smile when my invoices hit six figures.”

“You wasn’t smilin’ like that for me.”

She arched her brow. “You jealous?”

“Nah,” Malik murmured, tugging her straps off her shoulder to bare skin. “I’m territorial - big difference.”

He sucked slow at the space where her neck met her collarbone.

No finesse, no filter—just hunger. His mouth dragged open kisses across her skin like he was painting her with ownership.

She moaned, fingers tangling in his denim shirt as he lifted her up, setting her on the counter without warning.

Her legs instinctually wrapped around his waist.

“Say it,” he rasped, biting her earlobe. “Say you mine.”

“You know I am,” she whispered.

He kissed her harder…rougher.

One hand cupped the back of her neck while the other slid down to grip her thigh and pull it open wider. The bathroom light caught the gleam in his eye as he locked onto hers.

“Ain’t no way he ever touched you like I do,” he muttered, hot breath against her cheek.

“He didn’t.”

“Good.”

His hand slipped beneath the fabric of her jumper, pulling it down and dragging her closer. Every movement staked his claim. Every breath sounded like worship wrapped in a growl.

Aku’s head tilted back, her voice trembling as she spoke. “This your last chance, Malik.”

He froze just long enough to hear it.

“If you ‘bout to be mad and ruin my place of business, let me know now ‘cause I ain’t with all that. He’s a client,” she said.

He blinked, then leaned in close—lips brushing hers, slow and reverent.

“You think I don’t know that? I ain’t trippin’ cuh.”

She stared into him like she could see the boy he used to be, the man he was becoming.

Then his hand slipped down again, and she gasped.

The kind of gasp that hitched halfway out her throat and left her dizzy.

He smirked, kissing the corner of her mouth as he whispered, “You gon’ leave this bathroom smellin’ like me…lookin’ like me…thinkin’ about me.”

In a trance, Aku nodded, her head falling back when his dick pushed inside of her. “Malik,” she hissed.

“Nah, don’t whisper my name…sing that shit with Aretha,” Malik grunted, diving deeper into her while looking in her eyes. “I’ll kill ‘bout this pussy…you know that?”

“Yes! Ooohh,” Aku’s body started shaking.

He gripped her hips, giving her good, fast and deep strokes. “That nigga know?”

Sucking her lip into her mouth, Aku nodded. “Ba—ba—bay,” she stuttered. “I’m coming…oh, shit!”

“Scream my name or you ain’t coming,” Malik pulled back, his wet dick in his hands.

Aku glared at him, face balled up. “Stop playing,” her hips twirled. “Malik,” she smirked, trying to pull him back in.

“On the gang…or I’m putting this shit back in my pants.”

“Malik!” Aku yelled, falling over to laugh. Her laugh got caught in her throat when he pumped back into her. “Kiss me.”

Always in her trance, Malik locked his lips with hers, lifting her off the counter and fucking her mid-air. He caught every moan, swallowed every declaration of how she belonged to him. Then, he let loose.

“I love you, Aku,” Malik said, staring in her eyes. “And I know you mine… just need that nigga to know too.” He placed her shaking legs on the floor. “Get cleaned up.” He tapped her ass, going to the sink to do the same.

And she did.

When they came out fifteen minutes later, her hair was slightly frizzed, her lip gloss was gone, and there were fresh hickeys blossoming like bruised stars on her throat. Her eyes were glassy, her smile unbothered.

Devin looked up from his phone, clocked the shift in her energy—and the glint in Malik’s eye—and said nothing. “You wild as fuck.”

“You still trying to get styled or what?” Malik asked, not about to let Devin or any other man think they could go back and forth with Aku. As a man, if Devin wanted to talk, Malik was down.