Page 16 of Rules Of Engagement: St. Louis
I squinted, wondering about this type of questioning. “That’s it for now. Thank you, Dahlia.”
“You’re welcome, Mr. Valentine.”
I ended the call and by the time I left the penthouse, the sun had risen fully. It was going to be a beautiful day.
North River Billiard occupied the top floor of a restored brick building in St Louis County, hidden behind a door marked only with a small brass nameplate. You had to know about this place mostly through word of mouth to find it. Membership was selective and discretion was guaranteed.
The elevator opened directly into the main hall, revealing rich mahogany paneling, leather seating areas, and twelve regulation pool tables arranged in a specific architectural design.
I was sitting at a private corner section when I spotted Dexter. He moved through the space, with hope filling his eyes. I grinned and stood as he approached.
“This has to be good news, right?” he asked.
I glanced down at the short glasses of Remy Martin Cognac Louis XIII. At four thousand dollars a bottle with a smooth expensive taste it had become my signature celebration drink. Following my glance, Dexter grabbed my shoulders, his eyes wide.
“Don’t play games with me.”
I guffawed, grabbed his shoulders and shook him. “Congratulations, Dexter, we got everything we asked for.”
Chapter
Two
CHRISTIAN
The scentof lemongrass and ginger had already soaked into my shirt by the time I turned off the heat. I should’ve let the rice sit a little longer, but I’d been stirring out of habit.
It was a special night after all. Not a holiday, or an extended celebration of my Davidson Deal win, but… a Wednesday.
There was no text from her yet, and no confirmation that she was coming. But that wasn’t unusual. Naomi never confirmed. She didn’t have to. Our Wednesdays were sacred, with carved-out consistency that never needed a reminder. She chose it that way, and I let her.
It had been eleven and a half months since Naomi Blackford had looked at me across that wine bar, her brown eyes steady and direct, making an offer that had sounded like freedom at the time.
“No explanations about what we need or why we need it. No expectations beyond what we want in that moment. No complications from the outside world.”
I could still hear her voice, low and confident, the way it wrapped around those words like a séance. And six months since we’d agreed to make this house, not quite a home, but a stay ifyou will. Our mutual space, where I’d had the honor to be her listening ear. It had brought me closer to her individuality and the powerhouse she was in business, and I had never been more impressed by another woman like I was her.
Back when we’d met, that arrangement was a gift. It was connection without consequence, pleasure without pressure. But tonight, as I seasoned the shrimp with paprika and garlic, I knew I wanted more.
The kitchen filled with the aroma of sautéing garlic and butter as I heated the pan. My hands moved through the motions, chopping cilantro, measuring coconut milk, checking the rice. Cooking had always been my meditation, keeping my mind grounded and quiet after hours of contract negotiations and international calls. But lately, even this ritual filled my mind with thoughts of her.
I imagined Naomi tasting the lime I’d squeeze over the finished dish, the way she’d scrunch her nose and tell me it was “too much citrus”while that smile played at the corners of her mouth, because she loved it anyway.
My phone buzzed against the granite countertop. Dahlia, my personal assistants name, flashed across the screen.
“Christian Valentine,”I answered, with the phone pressed between my shoulder and ear as I stirred the simmering coconut sauce.
“I’m calling to confirm that tomorrow’s contracts are ready for your review,”Dahlia said, warmly. “Also, I could swing by tonight if you need anything before the Henderson meeting.”
Dahlia had been extending a lot of invitations wrapped as professional courtesy. And maybe that was all it was, however, it always felt like more.
“I appreciate you, but I’m good. Get some rest.”
“Are you sure? I could bring dinner.”
“I’m certain. See you tomorrow.”
I ended the call and set the phone aside, focusing on the gentle bubble of coconut milk in the pan. Dahlia was brilliant, beautiful, available—everything that could interest a man. But still, I wasn’t interested, and she was my employee.
