Page 38 of Not About That Life
Three
“So, what do you think?” Rasil asks after we’ve inspected the Baldwin Hills home.
It’s a two-story home with four bedrooms, and three bathrooms. It has sizable front and back yards, though I have to admit I’m a bit spoiled by the Ferguson compound yards. The home is located in a gated area and Rasil boasted how some of my neighbors are also doctors, philanthropists, and A-list celebrities.
It’s a perfect home and maybe, once I have some free time fix it up, I’ll rent it out to a nice family. “I love it a lot.”
“I’ll get the paperwork started today. Would I need to contact Ian about this?” He asks.
“Um, no,” my stomach tightens with regret, but Michael’s advice shook me to the core, “this is a separate purchase. He won’t know about this.”
“Okay.” Rasil’s look is blank and I feel the judgment coming from him. Or maybe he’s just trying to get my money and doesn’t care. “I’ll let you know if I need any more information from you.”
We head outside and Rasil locks up the home. “It’s great seeing you again, Domi. We’ll be in touch.”
I head over to my Bentley and get inside. I know I’m doing the right thing and diversifying my assets like Michael’d suggested but it still feels like I’m going against Ian despite everything.
Why is doing the right thing for me feel so wrong?
~~~~
I arrive at Angel Studios and hear music coming from the pole room. I check the calendar and no one is supposed to be there yet so I’m wondering if someone else is practicing. I drop off my items in my office and head over to the room.
When I arrive, I’m about ready to beat a bitch’s ass.
Lowell’s using the pole room – to give a dance for Ian.
I wasn’t expecting either of them to be there and I’m quite suspicious as to why they’re being so open about it knowing I have a key to this place and could come and go at any given time. Maybe it’s better to cheat in front of my face so I wouldn’t have to ask questions about it later.
“Angel,” Ian turns to me with a big smile on his face. “Good Morning, darling.”
Yeah, fuck you, too. “Hi.”
Lowell keeps dancing and doing whatever twerking girls think they do when they don’t have ass. If she knows I’m in the room, she simply doesn’t care. Yep, someone’s about to be out of a job soon. Furthermore, I might be in handcuffs because I’m going throat punch that bitch in her fucking twat.
Ian walks over to me and I’m almost tempted to sock the smile off his face. Great, two throat punches and a reputation for not controlling my temper. Somebody alert Naomi Campbell. “Are you okay? You seem angry.”
“I’m just wondering why one of my instructors is giving a private show to my fiancée.” My eyes refocus on Lowell and I’m tempted to advise her she needs to hold her legs tighter around the pole or she’ll keep losing her ground like she’s currently doing.
Then my emotions check me. Am I really going to tell a woman how to scheme to get my man?
“She was already here when I arrived. I dropped off pastries for the instructors – the gluten-free and healthy variety. I did leave a box of donuts for you on your desk.” His blue eyes glitter with the worddonutand for once, I don’t give a shit.
My face is stoic and my stance is as stiff as Lowell’s dancing. Ian picks up on my clues and leans in closer. “Angel, you’re not jealous, are you?”
Wow, really? I just walked in seeing you be given a private dance from someone who clearly has the hots for you and you’re going to ask that stupid-ass question? And see? This is the type of shit that’s the ignition key of former good girls who get their own episode ofSnapped. “I need to go have adonut.”
I quickly walk back to my office and close the door behind me. I don’t know how I didn’t notice the big pink box of donuts before and I’m almost hesitant to open it and take one.
Almost. Big Girl gotta eat.
Just when the cinnamon roll was calling out my name, my door opens and Ian enters. I smelled his masculine scent and thank God, my hungry-ass was more focused on the donuts than boning him.
“You know you could knock first.” I didn’t miss a beat. You know what? I’m going to choose the pink glazed cake one instead.
Ian obliged and walked back outside. He knocked on the door. “Don’t come in,” I reply.
Ian walks in anyway with a smug look on his face. “Why did I even bother telling you to knock if you were just going to keep disrespecting me like that?”
