Page 18 of Treason's Temptation
I smirked because it was obvious that’s what Navie was used to. Men lusting after her physical beauty and selling whatever dream they thought she wanted to hear. Every nigga in the room tonight considered it, but pussy didn’t move me. Not even one attached to her pretty ass.
“Good, because I wasn’t offering any. I meant stay and see, easy life is attached to me.”
“Being stuck with you is far fromeasy.”
“It didn’t feel that way when your tongue was down my throat. The suite is paid for. Might as well stay and head to the spa in the morning. The appointment is already booked.”
“You’ve thought of everything except me saying no.”
“My girl doesn’t like her time wasted, so I came prepared.”
Navie wasn’t as discreet as she thought. I saw her slip something in my drink, but calling her out prematurely wouldn’t reveal her plan. Instead, I played along to see how far she would take it.
“I’m not changing my mind. So what’s the next step in your little plan?”
I shrugged, forking Navie’s rigatoni, “Ward is downstairs. He’ll take you wherever you want.”
She stared, unsure whether to risk embarrassment by trying the door again. Repulsed enough by my presence, she pushed up from the table and sauntered down the hallway, hesitating before turning the handle.
“I wouldn’t use my card if I were you, or youwillneed a favor. I notified the bank two hours ago,” I yelled as the door hinges squeaked open.
Navie groaned something inaudible, then slammed the door.
Chapter 6
Treason wasn’t a humble winner. He gloated and relished in catching me red-handed, making it hard to sleep. I replayed every decision from the moment I entered the convention hall. It wasn’t until the sun crept between my blinds that I reached the end of my night, still confused about where I went wrong.
By noon, my sneakers dragged me inside theJeanette Simmons Community Centerwith a check tucked in my purse. You had to give to get, and this donation helped my nonprofit look legit.
“Miss Dixon!” The director, an older Black woman with tight curls and a church-lady energy, beamed as she greeted me. “What a surprise.”
“Hi, Mrs. Jackie. You don’t have to call meMiss.”
“Of course I do. You’re all grown up now,” she leaned back, rubbing my arms like she used to at camp. “What brings you by?”
“A little something for the kids and you too,” I said, handing her the check.
She blinked at the amount.
“This is more thana little.”
“It’s the least I could do.”
“Thank you. This will help so many kids. Half their parents can’t even afford for them to be here,” she sighed, planting her hands on her hips, “But I let them anyway, because if they’re not here, it’s no telling where they’d be.”
“What are they doing today?”
“We’re exploring the influence of African American culture on music from soul to trap. Then they’ll showcase what they learned through a musical.”
I giggled at Miss Jackie’s wild imagination, “Make sure I get a ticket. What did Ezra say about your latest idea?”
He was always the first to let Miss Jackie know her ideas weregayorwack. Usually, he would’ve run over, batting those long eyelashes he didn’t need, by now.
“Where is he?” I asked, scanning the room for chubby cheeks and sandy brown tendrils.
Her brows pinched, taking a minute to think, “He hasn’t been here in a few days now that I think of it.”
“When he comes back, tell him I said hi.”
