Page 17 of Saint Baptiste 2

“Yeah,” Lovelie replied through a sigh, smoothly shifting her eyes to Emerald.

Lovelie was the same age as Tasha, but they were nothing alike. If they were, I would have found someone else to manage my club. That was no hate to baby sis. She just hadn’t been outside enough. Sis was too green.

“Thanks for keeping Emerald company, Lovelie,” I said with a light nod, dismissing her without actually telling her she had to leave.

“Of course,” Lovelie replied with a smile before wishing Emerald a good night. Emerald nodded and thanked her for her hospitality.

I casually rested my elbow on top of the bar. “Wassup Em? Sorry to keep you waiting,” I spoke, with a squint.

She slowly turned to face me. “Sorry to keep me waiting? You’ve got some nerve, boy.” She pointed her finger at me. “The only reason I’m still here is because you’re you. And... I know you, nigga.” She added through tight lips, scolding me the way a mother would scold her child.

“You know me?” I asked with raised brows before shifting my eyes from hers to put them on Deuce and then Seven. “Shit, you sure about that?”

She didn’t know me.

Not as well as she thought she did at least.

She took a deep breath, finished her dirty martini off, and snatched her white YSL bag off the bar top. “You know what, Saint?” She paused and swung her legs to the side to stand. “After the shit you pulled last night... I don’t know anymore. I’m not too sure I do.”

Five minutes later, we were in my office. Emerald and the security guards she thought she needed. Security. For me? For the fuck what? Why would she bring them niggas here? Hm?

Emerald sighed. “You gone tell me what the hell happened last night? Or are you going to waste more of my time standing at the damn window, looking at nothing? Who is she?—”

“Why are they here, Em?” I interrupted, with my hands behind my back, crossed at the wrists.

“Just in case?—”

“Just in case?” I coolly interrupted, again, turning to face her. “And if ‘just in case’... were to occur, what the fuck you think these niggas gon’ do with me? The same shit they did with me last night, baby. Nothing.”

Emerald, seated across from my desk with her right leg tossed over her knee, locked eyes with me. And confusion did somersaults in those beautiful green eyes of her. Her thin brows knitted together as she desperately scrutinized me, trying to find something. A tell. A clue. She was trying to read me. However, she didn’t know me. Not this version. Not a lot of people could say they did. Today, I was the truest embodiment of Saint Baptiste. Gone was the façade. I wasn’t the young boy who called her Amerikkan Manmi. Honestly, hadn’t been that nigga in years.

Finally, she cleared her throat and turned to Seven. “Wait for me at the b?—.”

“Outside,” I corrected with a light grin before turning to gaze out of the window again at that ‘nothing’ Emerald mentioned earlier. The leaves and Ms. Barbara, the elderly lady that owned the café across the street. The leaves were falling, and Ms. Barbara was putting her pumpkins out on her bench. It was fall. When the fuck did summer end?

“You sure?—”

“Yeah,” Emerald quickly interrupted just as I slightly turned my head to the side. “We’re good here, Deuce, baby.” From my peripheral, I noticed her give his arm a squeeze.

“We straight, my nigga?” Seven called out from the door, on their way out.

If niggas thought we formed some type of alliance because of the shit they did last night, they had it wrong. I didn’t give a fuck about them. If necessary, I would do ‘em the same way with no hesitation. The beautiful thing about today was, I was at my house. I had home court advantage and could do what the fuck I wanted to do here. Thankfully it wouldn’t come to that.

I turned completely around and grabbed the back of my chair to pull it away from the desk. We locked eyes, I nodded, and right after they walked out, closing the door behind them.

“Who is she?” Emerald asked with a fiery squint.

“You didn’t answer my question,” I retorted.

When I asked why she brought security, it wasn’t rhetorical. I really needed to know.

“Saint,” She scoffed with a frown and her head slightly cocked to the side. “Do you know what the hell you did last night? I mean... do you really know? It was all over the fucking news. You...” She angrily chuckled and shifted around in her chair. “You really got some muthafuckin’ nerve, lil’ nigga.”

I didn’t say anything. Just stroked my beard, watched, and waited, in silence. Flicking my wrist, I checked the time on my Richard Millie.

Her jaw dropped and she huffed, offended. Sitting back against the chair, she shook her head. “Mh, mh, mh. This shit is crazy. Saint, I brought them here to fuck with you, okay?”

Nodding, I said, “Yeah, I figured. Aye, do me a favor and never do that shit again. If you want me to be nice... never play with me like that again. I like Deuce and them. They some aight niggas. I would really hate to have to do ‘eem bold because you decided to play a silly ass game with me.”

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