I walked into the kitchen with my briefcase in one hand and my business phone in the other.
A huge fruit arrangement on the counter caught my attention.
I walked over, eyes narrowing as I noticed the small gift box tucked beneath it, with a card on top that read:
"My everything. My reason to be alive."
I sighed, then slowly unwrapped the box — revealing the unmistakable red case.
"Cartier," I said under my breath, a small smile tugging at my lips.
I opened it, pulled out the diamond bracelet, and hooked it around my left wrist. I held my arm up, admiring how the diamonds caught the light.
"Wow," I whispered softly.
Then I picked up the fruit basket, walked straight to the trash, and dropped it in.
"Maid," I called out. "Take this out."
I stood there for a second, staring at the bracelet — but not getting too caught up.
He really thought material things could buy his way back into my heart?
Yes, I loved him.
But where my mind was right now?
I couldn't show him that soft, vulnerable Fatima he met all those years ago.
I could've died.
My kids could've died.
It could've been worse.
But it wasn't...
my mind reminded me.
And that alone was the only thing keeping me grounded.
***************************
Today was my day off, but apparently my assistant forgot and booked a meeting with one of our private equity partners.
The door opened, and I stepped into the conference room expecting a stiff handshake and a clipboard.
Instead... I saw him.
Zaire Monroe.
He stood near the window, back partially turned, dressed in an all-black tailored suit that looked like it was sewn onto his body. His frame was tall, broad, and smooth like he didn't have to do too much to command a room — he just was the room.
His waves were fresh and clean, lined up with precision. Dark skin smooth and rich in tone, a gold ring on his pinky, and a watch that said money without needing to explain it.
When he turned around and looked me dead in the eyes, I felt it in my stomach — not nerves. Power.
"Ms. Diallo," he said, voice deep and steady like it knew secrets. "I was just about to leave."
I blinked, caught off guard. "Leave? But I—my assistant said—"
"Yeah, she booked this meeting. I accepted it. But I don't do meetings in unsecured offices."
I frowned slightly. "Unsecured?"
He walked toward me, slow and deliberate, then lowered his voice just enough to make my chest tighten.
"You got cameras. Mics. People listening through walls they didn't build. I don't trust any space with that many secrets."
I didn't know whether to be annoyed or intrigued.
He slipped his phone in his pocket. "I was gonna cancel, but I changed my mind. Thought maybe we could talk somewhere more... safe."
I raised an eyebrow. "Safe?"
He smirked, just a little. "Lunch. My driver's downstairs."
I didn't answer right away. He didn't wait for one.
"I'll walk you out."
Zaire was already holding the door open.
"Fine, but lunch is on you," I said with a slight attitude.
"Now why would I ever let a woman like you pay for anything?" he joked as I walked out of the office, his footsteps close behind.
I could feel his eyes on me the entire time as we headed down the elevator and into his black truck.
"Nobu," Zaire said simply as his driver nodded and pulled off. I glanced back, watching Luxor Rentals Corporate fade into the distance.
"Now for a proper meeting," he began. "I know we haven't met officially, and that you've been doing business with my brother while I was out the country handling other ventures. But now that I'm back, I wanted to formally introduce myself. And I also wanted to say I'm sorry about what happened to you."
"No, it's okay," I said, cutting him off.
"But it's not," he replied, voice more firm. "Word travels fast. I'm sorry you had to go through that... especially alone."
That last part hit different. And I knew exactly what he meant. Who didn't know what happened? A home invasion with my husband nowhere to be found. Everyone knew.
"Thank you for your concern, but I'm a warrior. And a warrior doesn't fold under pressure," I said calmly, without blinking.
"All warriors need somebody," he said quietly, almost to himself.
I ignored it. Like I didn't hear him.
And for once, I wondered if this lunch meeting was a bad idea. I'm very spiritual — I can usually read every energy around me. But with him... I couldn't feel anything. I couldn't make sense of it.
There was something about Zaire I couldn't put into words.
We pulled up to Nobu, and the valet already knew who he was.
They barely said his name before rushing to open his door.
We walked in together, silent but sharp — like we both understood this wasn't just lunch. It was strategy. The hostess led us past the crowd, down a quiet hallway to a private dining room with dark wood walls and low lighting.
As soon as we sat down, the waitress walked in.
"Can I start you both with something to drink?"
He didn't even look at me first. "We'll have two glasses of Moscato. Cold."
I raised an eyebrow. "I don't drink during business."
He finally looked at me, one hand resting on the table, watch catching the light just right. "It's lunch. Not a boardroom. You can relax for an hour, Fatima."
His voice wasn't pushy — just smooth. Like he was saying it for my own good, not to control me.
"I'd rather keep my mind clear," I said, folding my napkin on my lap.
"You'll still be clear," he said quietly, eyes not leaving mine. "One glass won't kill you. And even if it did..." he smirked slightly, "...you'd come back stronger."
I didn't respond. Not because I agreed — but because I didn't have the words for what I was feeling.
The waitress nodded, sensing whatever energy was passing between us. "I'll give you two a moment."
She walked out, and we were left in silence.
Not uncomfortable... just full of unspoken truths.
I sat back, straightened my shoulders, and locked eyes with him.
"Alright," I said. "Let's talk business."
He smiled — just a little.
"Let's."
He reached into his jacket and pulled out a slim black folder, placing it gently on the table between us.
"This is Miami," he said. "Commercial properties. High-end short-term rentals. I've already secured two buildings. One is ready for launch. The other?" He paused, tapping the folder. "It's a blank canvas. Needs the right name behind it."
I leaned back, crossing my legs slowly. "And you think that name is mine?"
"I don't think," he said. "I know."
I raised an eyebrow, still not touching the folder. "That's bold, considering you just met me."
Zaire leaned in, elbows on the table, voice low. "I've seen enough. Your brand has weight. Your properties stay booked. People don't follow your business because of price — they follow it because it feels like power."
I gave a small smile. "So you want to leverage me."
"I want to partner," he corrected, "with someone who knows how to move like a boss without asking for permission."
I finally opened the folder — not because I was convinced, but because I didn't like the idea of him thinking I wasn't.
"What's the split?"
"Sixty-forty," he answered without hesitation.
I looked up. "Sixty in your favor?"
"For the first six months," he said smoothly. "Until the second building is up. After that, fifty-fifty. I front the capital. You run operations. You bring the face. I bring the funding."
I tapped the edge of my wine glass, still untouched. "You really think I'm gonna hand you sixty percent of my expansion?"
Zaire didn't blink. "No. I think you're smart enough to know when the real win comes after the ego sits down."
I felt something shift in my chest — not attraction, not surrender. Just... understanding.
He wasn't pushing me. He was pulling me into a space I didn't expect.
"You don't even know me," I said, voice soft but edged. "You don't know what I've been through. What I've built."
"I know," he said, eyes locked on mine, "that the woman sitting in front of me has already survived more than most. And still showed up on time. In heels. With a business that's still breathing."
Silence.
I looked down at the folder again. He hadn't oversold it. The numbers added up. The market was wide open.
I let the silence linger as I slowly reached for the glass and brought it to my lips.
Just one sip.
The Moscato was cold, crisp, and just sweet enough.
Zaire leaned back with that same unreadable expression.
"So... are you in?" he asked.
I didn't answer right away. I took another sip — slower this time.
Then I met his eyes.
"I don't say yes until I see the buildings myself."
He smiled — not because he won, but because he knew I wouldn't walk away.
"That's all I needed to hear."
The waitress returned, notebook in hand.
"I'll have the miso black cod," I said without hesitation. "And the crispy rice appetizer."
Zaire glanced at the menu once and closed it. "Same for me. Add the rock shrimp tempura."
She nodded and disappeared.
We were quiet for a second, just the hum of the private room and the soft jazz in the background. I took another sip of my wine and finally set the glass down.
"So tell me," I said, sitting forward. "How exactly does Miami play into my long-term?"
Zaire tilted his head slightly, like he was pleased I asked that.
"You've dominated Atlanta. Luxor's name already holds weight in car rentals and housing. But it's regional. Local. Miami opens you to international clients, luxury tourists, seasonal high-ticket renters. Think Rolls Royces parked outside oceanfront penthouses with your logo on the paperwork."
I tapped a manicured nail on the table. "And what's your role in all that?"
"I acquire. I structure. I scale. You operate and own the image. I make sure the foundation doesn't crack beneath the pressure."
I nodded slowly, not giving him too much. "Sounds good on paper. But partnerships get messy."
Zaire didn't blink. "Only when someone's lying."
I sat back, crossing my legs again. He wasn't just talking business. He was testing me. Seeing if I moved emotionally or strategically.
I passed that test a long time ago.
The food came, placed down like we were royalty. And for a few minutes, we just ate. No small talk. No fake praise.
Just good food and real presence.
By the time the plates were cleared, I was already halfway in my head, running numbers.
He stood first. "Ready?"
I grabbed my clutch. "Lead the way."
We walked out just like we walked in — quiet, powerful, and noticed.
The truck pulled off, the city slipping behind us as we rode in silence for a moment.
Then Zaire looked over, his voice calm but deliberate.
"The jet's ready."
I glanced at him. "Jet?"
He nodded once. "We're heading to Miami. I want you to see the buildings yourself — like you said."
I smirked, turning my eyes back to the window. "You move fast."
"I don't waste time," he said. "Time is the only luxury money can't buy twice."
I didn't respond right away. Just ran a finger along my necklace, letting the weight of his words sit.
"Hope you're not expecting me to be impressed," I said finally.
"I'm not," he said, watching me. "I already know you've seen more than most men can afford to dream of."
That made me pause.
He wasn't trying to gas me. He was just speaking facts.
I shifted in my seat, crossing one leg over the other.
"Jet or no jet, this better be worth my time," I said, not breaking eye contact.
Zaire smiled — barely. Just enough for me to catch it.
"I don't invite just anyone to fly with me. And I don't chase deals I can't close."
It wasn't what he said — it was how he said it.
Steady. Quiet. Confident.
The kind of tone that made a woman lean in without realizing she was leaning.
I didn't bite. But I didn't pull away either.
By the time we reached the small private terminal, a black SUV was already waiting on the tarmac, engines humming and stairs down.
Zaire stepped out first and opened the door for me — again, not doing too much.
But doing just enough.
I stepped out, wind catching my hair slightly as I looked up at the jet.
Clean. Sleek. No logos. No flex. Just power.
We walked up the steps side by side, not saying a word.
But everything was being said in the silence.
And we both knew it.
We might be good business partners.