Page 111 of Rhet

“Okay, I will do it.”

“Great. Now call your assistant tell them you’re having dinner with Father Bartholomew at St. Augustine church.”

“I can do that.” He nods.

“Good. Then tell them you and Father are discussing a new foundation you want to open for his orphanage.”

The Senator frowns. “I’m not giving the bishop money, this is robbery.”

I sigh, looking back at the dead body. “Natasha, baby, are you up?”

The Senator rocks his jaw. “I will pay.”

“Good, I will have one of my boys drive you to the church. Confess your sins while you’re at it and write a big check as you repent.” I get up to leave.

“What about her?” He gestures, but won’t look back.

“Her who?” I ask, hoping he gets the point.

“Natasha. Her?” He squeaks, still pointing behind him.

“There’s no one behind you, Senator. You’re at church having dinner with a very nice bishop,” I say to him flatly, waiting for him to get the point.

He looks back one more time at the body. “Yes.”

“Get dressed. Remember if you didn’t sin a little bit, it means Jesus died for nothing.”

I walk out the room, closing the door behind me.

Julian keeps guard at the door.

“So?” he asks.

“So?” I give him that knowing smile of success.

“The room needs to be purified. Call the crew and have it done.” I take out my phone, checking to see if Zeeta called. Nothing. What the hell is bothering her?

“Done,” Julian replies.

“I’m going upstairs to check on one account, then I’m out.” I head to my office with Zeeta on my mind.

ZEETA

“God I can’t sleep,” groaning into my pillow. Being a creature of habit every day for the past few months I wake up at 4:30. On my day off it’s no different. I toss and turn on my bed, looking up at the white ceiling for answers

I hate having the weight of the world on my mind. I feel like I have the world on my shoulders. Especially since I hold the key to my brothers’ life. I want to talk to Rhet and tell him everything. I want to be honest and free. My mom told me to take a step at a time I want to do that. However, I have to think about my brother and mother’s care, that’s important and how can I think of a man who shot my brother with any kind of feeling.

Rubbing my face, I walk into my living room.

“Is that water?” I peep through my door, and someone is cutting through the water like a knife.

Not thinking, I push my feet into my flip-flops and step outside. I walk to the pool and wait for him to come up for air two laps later. He finally pops his head up. He doesn’t say anything as he presses his palm on the pool’s edge and pushes up to lift out.

I know it may sound cliché, but he looks like one of those beer ads on TV, where the wet guy comes out of the pool dripping. When they push their hair out of their faces and that one drop of water falls from their chin. His muscles are long and lean, then there’s the dip of his Adonis belt, and the tattoos that cover his arm down to his fingertip. Then it’s the outline of his thick dick.

“Hmm, I thought cold water was supposed to make shit smaller?” I whisper to myself.

He looks down catching his breath and then back at me. “It did shrink.”

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