Page 22 of A Merry Invitation
She accepted them, her smile widening. “Thank you,” she said. “They’re beautiful.”
“Nah,” he said reaching out to touch a few of her braids. “You’re beautiful.”
“Thank you, again,” she replied. This time she leaned in and touched her lips softly to his.
He wanted to take that kiss deeper. Wanted to pull her to him and kiss her until she understood everything he wanted from her, all his reservations and fears and vowed to make it all better. But he knew he was getting ahead of himself. So, instead, he took her hand in his and said, “C’mon, let’s get your coat and go.”
She accepted his hand and even began walking with him, but she said, “Go where, Slay? I thought your invitation was for one night and then mine was too.”
He stopped just before they came to a door, he figured was one of the dressing rooms she used. It was the only one with the door still closed since she hadn’t been back in there yet.
“What?” he asked.
She blinked and then cleared her throat. “You only wanted one night with me at first. And then,” she waved her hand. “All that weird stuff happened and we ended up, um, doing what we did again. But what are we doing now?”
It was a valid question; one he’d been asking himself for the past couple of days. And he had an answer. He just didn’t want to get into all that here.
“Right now, I want to feed you,” he said. “Can I do that, Willow? Can I take you to get a late dinner?”
It was a starkly different invitation than the one he’d first offered her but Slay prayed she’d accept it.
“Sure,” she said, still smiling. “I could eat.”
He grinned and fifteen minutes later, they were walking out the back door of the club into the cool night air.
His truck was parked at the curb and he’d just pushed the heavy door all the way closed when he heard a distinctive clicking sound.
He saw the gun first, then the man holding it stepped out of the shadows from behind two huge dumpsters. Willow gasped, just as Slay pushed her behind him.
“Remember I said you were messin’ with the wrong one, youngin’?” Titus asked, his lips drawn back in a sick grin. “I see, you decided to follow my lead and get a taste of her for yourself.”
Slay had released Willow’s hand but prayed she’d stay behind him without him having to instruct her to do so. He’d been so eager to get going with Willow that he hadn’t buttoned his three-quarter wool coat and was now grateful for that fact.
“You’re nobody I’d ever want to follow,” he said to Titus with a shake of his head. “Is this really what you wanna do? When you could’ve just gotten your ass on a plane and went back to where you belong without anybody else finding out what a disgusting asshole you truly are.”
Slay kept his gaze focused on the man even though he was keenly aware of Willow shifting behind him. He had no clue what she was doing, just wanted her to stay still and to stay safe.
“That’s not how I roll,” Titus told him. “I’ve gotten where I am in this business because I don’t allow any disrespect. Especially not from some washed-up ass football player who couldn’t keep his own wife from steppin’ out on him. Now, you over here tryin’ to cock-block me.” Titus gave a mirthless laugh, still aiming the gun at Slay.
Years ago, it would’ve pissed Slay the hell off to hear someone tossing what Ebony had done to him back in his face like somehow the way his marriage had ended was his fault. Guilt would’ve driven him to take that shit personally and to lash out accordingly. But he’d grown up since then. He’d learned a lot about himself and about other people. Still, one thing he’d always prided himself on was not taking any disrespect. The hand that remained behind his back after pushing Willow out of harm’s way, had pushed his coat up slowly, until now it closed over the handle of the gun he kept tucked in the back band of his pants whenever he was out in public.
“I can’t block what you were never going to get,” Slay told him with a mocking chuckle. “And you should know that if you’ve pulled this stunt with anyone else, the moment the press finds out this is your kink, your reputation will be trash in the music industry.”
“Nobody’s gonna find out,” Titus continued and raised the gun higher now, until it was pointed directly at Slay’s head.
Slay smirked and pulled his gun out to quickly aim at Titus. “You better not miss,” Slay warned him.
But before Titus could make another move or say another word, a knife that looked like it was straight out of that scene inJohn Wick: Chapter 3, was at Titus’s neck. Jus’s big broad body stood at the man’s back, his gruff voice whispering, “Drop that shit or bleed the fuck out right here in this dirty ass alley.”
Forty-five minutes later, Slay led a very quiet Willow into his flat. He helped her remove her coat and hung it, along with his own, in the closet by the door. She’d walked ahead of him into the living room area of his open floorplan layout. He followed her, easing his phone from his pocket to check his text messages one more time.
There were two from Jus letting him know that the situation was handled and that the two guards he’d called to follow Slay to his flat would stay posted outside the building until Slay was ready to leave again in the morning. He’d never needed his own security team before, had always been able to handle himself from his teenage years growing up on the not-so-nice streets, to his time in college. He’d been used to fighting and standing his ground. Now, as Jus had reminded him after Titus had dropped his gun and Jus had the man lying on his stomach on the ground, his knee on Titus’s back as he cuffed him, things had changed.
Slay was no longer a boy on the streets, or a college student defending himself. He was a multi-millionaire with a high-profile—if basically secret—job that was now bringing more enemies to his doorstep. Although Jus had come on as a security consultant for The Corporation, therefore accompanying Slay to events or meetings that were only in reference to The Corporation, he and Slay had developed a rapport. One that had led Jus to follow Slay to Encore tonight without Slay’s knowledge. And while Slay had been certain he could’ve handled Titus tonight, he didn’t hesitate thanking Jus for showing up when he did. Not having to kill a man in front of Willow was a blessing.
Speaking of the woman who’d sung her way into his life, he entered the living room to see her easing down onto the couch, tucking her purse beside her. He didn’t sit next to her even though he desperately wanted to touch her. But just as he had in the backseat of Slay’s truck, as one of Jus’s guards had driven them here, he’d kept a little distance between them. She needed the space to digest everything that had happened. And she’d probably need even more space once he said all he had to say.
He took a seat in one of the deep-cushioned chairs across from her then thought to ask, “Do you want a drink?”
