Page 37 of I See You

And even though his face betrayed nothing, even though he knew Nova was just saying whatever she had to in order to get him again—

It worked.

Hassan walked up the glass stairs leading to Roman’s large, secluded office in the corner of the dealership. He knocked once before Roman’s voice called him in. As he stepped inside, the first thing he saw was Roman zipping up his pants while a woman—still dressed in her professional work attire—wiped her face.

Hassan didn’t react. Didn’t speak. He was used to this shit.

The girl smiled at him, but he didn’t move a muscle, didn’t acknowledge her existence. She took the hint and slipped out of the office, shutting the door behind her.

Hassan took a seat, still silent, as Roman grabbed the bottle of hand sanitizer on his desk and rubbed his hands together like nothing just happened.

"Who the fuck I gotta kill or dispose of—if you didn’t already?" Roman asked, getting straight to the point.

Hassan looked at him, but his mind wasn’t in that office. It was back in that therapy clinic. Back on her. Back on the way that black Dior pantsuit hugged her body perfectly.

"Nobody, bruh." Hassan’s voice was calm, unreadable.

Roman nodded, accepting the answer, even though he could still tell something was off. Something was occupying Hassan’s mind, but if he didn’t want to talk about it, Roman wasn’t about to press.

"What do I owe this visit for then? Yo ass only comes up here to kidnap Nova." Roman smirked, leaning back in his chair as Hassan let out a low chuckle.

"Nigga, did you forget? You the one who called me."

Roman blinked, then snapped his fingers. "Oh shit, you right. A real nigga birthday coming up."

Hassan nodded, already knowing where this was going. Roman’s birthday was in two weeks, and like every year, he always did something big.

"I’m thinking about doing some fancy shit this year, and I need your casino."

Hassan nodded again. He hated small talk. Roman knew this. "Nigga, get to the point. What you need?"

"I wanna do some masquerade shit. People dress fancy in that bitch and everything."

Hassantypedawayonhisphone,alreadymakingarrangements.

"Aight. You got it."

"Say less." Roman grinned, already anticipating the turn-up.

Hassan locked his phone and leaned back in the chair, exhaling slowly. He was handling business like he always did.

So why the fuck was she still in his head?

Roman noticed the tension in Hassan’s body language, even though he was trying to mask it. He had known Hassan too long to be fooled.

"Nigga, you sure you straight?" Roman asked, his voice laced with curiosity.

Hassan looked up, his expression as unreadable as ever. "Yeah, nigga. I’m about to head to this meeting, then slide on Nova later."

Roman chuckled at the last part, shaking his head. He already knew what that meant. Hassan wasn’t the type to talk through his problems—he handled them, and when shit was weighing on him, he usually took it out in two ways: violence or sex. Tonight, it looked like Nova was about to be the one catching it.

As Hassan moved toward the door, Roman stopped him.

"I don’t give a fuck who all coming, but make sure Harper bring them junts from the club… especially the short one."

He threw in a wink for good measure as Hassan nodded, even though irritation flared inside him. His mind had finally managed to push Sevyn to the back of his thoughts, and here go Roman, pulling her right back to the front.

Hassan didn’t say a word as he left, moving through the dealership with the same quiet authority he always carried. As he stepped onto the main floor, Nova walked by him, her body brushing against his just enough for her hand to slide across his chest.

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