Page 20 of First Comes Forever

“Out of curiosity, what exactly do you have now? I’m honestly fascinated by influencer entrepreneurs.”

She squints one eye. “Fascinated?Please.I know what people say about influencers.”

From the corner of my eye, I see our waitress make a beeline in our direction but quickly pivots and heads in the opposite direction when she sees we’re still occupying the table. As I look around, I notice the cluster of people at the door, waiting for a free table. The restaurant is losing potential business because we’re holding one of the best booths.

But there’s no way in hell I’m interrupting this conversation and leaving at the present moment. I beckon the waitress over.

“Could we see the dessert menu?”

Amani shakes her head while gripping her sides. “No room left. I’m way too full.”

I nod at the waitress and she hurries off to fetch the dessert menu from the hostess stand. “I just need them to bill me for something else. If we’re going to hold a booth here, I want to give them the business.”

“Good point.” She scours the restaurant, now noticing how busy it has become. “Should we go?”

“Nope. I want to hear more about your influencer business. So with your current reach and your ability to cross over to several different lanes—travel, fashion, beauty—you’re racking up what, maybe ten to fifteen thousand per sponsorship? And you probably have the ability to post weekly without looking too bought and paid for, so if my calculations are correct, maybe I should’ve let you pay for lunch,” I say with a smirk.

It’s a joke obviously. I don’t tell too many people about my cumulative wealth, mostly because I don’t know the exact amount. I have a lot of investments over a lot of different industries, meaning my income base is solid. It’s the one thing my mom taught me before she left…don’t put all your eggs in one basket. It’s probably the only piece of advice she gave worth taking. Even if my estimate of Amani’s income is on the low-end, I still outearn her by a lot, meaning from here on forward, I’ll be paying for every single meal she agrees to have with me.

“It’s not that cut and dry. Brands are getting a little more hesitant with their dollars and moving more toward a pay per performance model. I don’t blame them or anything, but work is harder to find, and plus…I have some expenses back home that eat up most of my cash.”

“Being?”

She grumbles and presses her fingertips against her closed eyelids. “Adam Montgomery, you are seriously the nosiest man I’ve ever met. Most guys just ask me what my bra size is on a first date.”

I hold up one finger, trying to control my smile. “First of all, that’s shameful. Second of all, thank you for calling this a ‘date.’ And third, I don’t need to ask. Already know it.”

Her lips part as she scours my face. “No, you don’t.”

I let my eyes rest on her full chest, studying the outward curve of her breasts. “Thirty-four D. Maybe a thirty-two DD in certain brands.”

She closes her eyelids and opens them slowly. Now that she’s staring right at me, I can see the fire flickering furiously in her green eyes. “I swear to God if I get to your condo and see a shrine in my honor,I’m calling the police.”

I laugh heartily. “Oh, come on, there’s no shrine…at the condo. But maybe call first and give me heads-up if you ever plan on stopping by my beach house.”

She narrows her eyes, refusing to let her lips curl into the little smile that I know is about to burst through the seams.

“Calm down,” I say. “It was a lucky guess. I’m somewhat familiar because my brother is in plastic surgery. He owns a practice near Sunset Boulevard. Dr. Alex Montgomery.”

Her eyes widen. “No shit.Your brother? Ialmostgot these done with him.” Amani grabs her full tits through her navy blue T-shirt, demonstrating the “these” she’s referring to. It’s been such an easy and comfortable conversation, I almost forgot how much I want to hoist this girl on top of the nearest countertop, spread her legs, and slam into her until she’s begging me for mercy… Then again, I also want to finish this conversation.

Talk about blurred lines.

“Who’d you go with?”

“Dr. Ellis Marshall. He’s a little farther up north.”

“Why didn’t you go with Alex?” From what I understand, my brother’s practice is pretty reputable.

“Oh, that’s easy—Dr. Marshall was having a Black Friday sale. Let your brother know he’s missing opportunities and needs to put his tits on holiday sales.”

Did she just say “tits?”AmaniMontgomery…I know I swore I’d never get married again, but that really doesn’t sound all that bad.

I chuckle. “I’ll let him know. But Dr. Marshall did just fine. They look…well, he did a good job.” After allowing myself to glance at her chest one more time, I turn my head and mentally try to deflate the growing bulge in my pants.

She flashes me a wicked smile as I grab my glass and take a sip of my ice water. For a moment, it’s just the dull roar of the restaurant, clanking dishes, and the sizzling sounds coming from the kitchen. It’s the first lull in our conversation since we arrived, until Amani breaks it.

“Are you being so nice to me because you want to sleep with me?” she asks candidly. Her tone is unemotional, like she asked me to solve a simple math equation.

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