Chapter 3

A low grunt signaled the end, as it usually did. Jerome shuddered on top of Neema as she quietly gritted her teeth and fought not to express the frustration she felt.

As it turned out, Jerome hadn’t lied when he’d told Neema he had too much work for her to visit his home that weekend. That, however, hadn’t implied that he couldn’t stop by her place for a quickie.

Actually, quick was an understatement for the two minutes her fiancé had rutted on top of her like an overweight bull, only to finish before her body had even registered what had been happening. Was this really the life she was committing herself to?

Of course, she loved Jerome, and how the man performed in bed shouldn’t be a factor in her decision to marry him. As long as they were both happy, that was all that mattered. Right? She could tell her fiancé was happy from how he peppered affectionate kisses on her shoulder. What did it matter that she was still tense and buzzing with arousal? She would take care of herself as soon as he left.

As though on cue with her thoughts, the bed shifted, signaling Jerome was ready to make his exit. It jolted Neema out of her musings and back to the present. She quickly plastered on a smile.

Not that it mattered. Jerome barely looked at her as he planted a peck on her cheek, and then he was off the bed and headed for the bathroom. “Did you cook anything?” he shouted, his back disappearing into the tiny bathroom. The sound of the water running came a second later.

Neema sat up and pulled on her bathrobe. She ran her fingers through her short hair. “You didn’t tell me you were coming over.” Neema swallowed down the guilt that threatened to crawl up her throat.

Jerome loved her cooking, and she loved the fact that he appreciated her culinary skills. Had she known he was coming, Neema knew she would have sweated it out in front of the stove to make sure he had a meal to take home with him. As it was, she’d been feeling low and tired when she got home and decided a bowl of noodles and warmed-up leftover chicken wouldn’t kill her. Besides, she’d needed to rest for a few before she got ready for a last-minute job she’d agreed to do tonight for extra cash.

Done cleaning up, Jerome stepped out of the bathroom, dripping water everywhere he went. His scowl screamed disappointment. “I guess I would have to stop somewhere on the way home. I don’t have time to cook anything. There’s really a ton of work I need to finish before Monday.”

Guilt once again swirled in the pit of her stomach. Neema swallowed and cleared her throat, her mind jumping through hoops for a solution. “I could come with you. We don’t have to talk or do anything. I will just cook and clean.” She’d have to cancel the job, but that was okay.

Head already shaking, Jerome pulled on his briefs and went for his pants. “No. I already told you that you can’t come over this weekend. You would be too much of a distraction. Don’t worry about it. I will grab a chicken wrap at the filling station or something. Next time, just have something ready for me.”

Five minutes later, when Jerome left without so much as a kiss for her, Neema felt like a leaf caught in a wild breeze. She sat on the bed, her knees to her chest, and her arms wrapped around them. Tears burned the back of her eyes, and she wasn’t sure why.

Nothing strange had happened. Jerome’s behavior was the same as it had been since she’d known him. Three years they’d been together and engaged for one. Neema had always known Jerome wasn’t the romantic kind. Sure, in the first four months of their relationship, he’d been sweet, attentive, and affectionate. From time to time, she saw that man again, but it had become less and less often with the recent pressures of his work. Neema understood. She always understood.

Fortunately, Neema didn’t have time to sit there and contemplate all her life choices. She had a job to get to, and it would require all her attention and energy.

The fundraiser was held in the ballroom of one of the largest hotels in the city. The air held a heavy scent of money and expensive perfumes more than the food and drinks on offer.

Crystal chandeliers illuminated the space, shining a spotlight on the diamonds and rubies that adorned the majority of the women gathered like afterthoughts, and the occasional man compelled to flounce the depth of their pocket with expensive accessories that did the same job as a ten-dollar bargain bought at a corner store.

Of course, Quinton fit right in with the crowd in his three-piece suit sans a tie. Surveying the floor like a predator, he took a sip of the glass of champagne he’d been nursing for the last half hour. He had no desire to get intoxicated while he was in a room full of well-dressed sharks that wouldn’t hesitate to pounce at the first sign of weakness.

At eight hundred a ticket, Quinton wasn’t surprised by the glamor or the quality of the canapés and booze at the free bar, which, by the happy chatter that seemed to increase in volume with every passing second, seemed to be well appreciated by the other attendees.

His own date for the night had already made good use of the bar, much to Quinton’s irritation. Honestly, he had no idea why he’d called the model to accompany him to the event. It wasn’t as though they were an item. One dinner and some hours spent on a horizontal surface did not equate a relationship. Especially when they knew nothing about each other except their most intimate sounds.

“Pace yourself,” Quinton said quietly when Tabitha gulped down the rest of her wine as though it were water.

His date looked down her nose at him. Or at least, she tried to. Even in her six-inch heels, Tabitha couldn’t beat Quinton’s six-two frame. “Oh. You remembered I’m with you, did you?” she sneered.

Quinton could smell a petty tantrum coming a mile away, and he knew he should probably just walk away, but he felt the need to ask, “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”