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Savannah: Nike’s hosting a private reception and dinner tonight. We need to be downstairs by 6:30. Business attire.

I read her message three times. No good mornin’, nothin’ about last night. Straight business.

Me: Bet.

I tossed my phone beside my plate and leaned back in the chair. I could do business; I’d been doin’ shit I didn’t wanna do for years. But sittin’ across from Juicy, pretendin’ I didn’t wanna love the fuck outta her… That was gon’ be a whole different kind of torture.

I thought I could handle this shit wit’ Juicy. She’d been stiff on me this whole mufuckin’ time, and when I returned the favor, she got extra stiff. Now, we had to stand next to each other, smilin’ like shit was cool. And the fuckin’ dress she had on made it worse. She was covered, but every fuckin’ curve in her body was showin’. That shit had me wantin’ to drag her the fuck outta here.

“Mr. Ross, Mr. Tanaka would like a photo with you and Ms. Mercer,” one of the assistants said.

I glanced at Juicy. She rolled her eyes and followed the assistant. I followed right behind her. When we got to the nigga, I could tell he’d had too many glasses of champagne. His face was red, and he was talkin’ loud as hell.

“Mr. Ross, Ms. Mercer! Come. Have a glass of champagne with me.”

His wife stood beside him, lookin’ at him the same way Juicy had been lookin’ at me all night. The photographer got in position, and I stood next to Mr. Tanaka. Juicy stood next to his wife.

“Mr. Ross, can you stand next to Ms. Mercer instead?” the photographer asked.

I walked toward Juicy, and she was already tense.

“Closer, Mr. Ross,” the photographer directed.

I moved as close as she would let me without jabbin’ her elbow into my stomach or “accidentally” stompin’ on my fuckin’ foot. We both stood up there, forcin’ smiles until the photographer was satisfied. Juicy threw her shoulder into my chest and walked off. The waiters had the table set, so I took my seat and waited for the Grinch to sit her mean ass down.

Juicy was doin’ everything but sittin’ down. She was talkin’ to mufuckas she knew she didn’t want to speak with, laughin’ loud as hell at their corny ass jokes—just bein’ fake as hell. I finished off my champagne and scanned the ballroom. The marble floors had no smudges. The crystal chandeliers hit every piece of light in the room. The drapes covering the windows were pulled back, and I could see the lights outside from the terrace. All that shit didn’t distract me from Juicy laughin’ loud as shit.

“Oh, Mr. Miller! You’re too kind.”

She know damn well she don’t give a fuck about that nigga.

“Let’s eat,” Mr. Tanaka announced.

She finally had to sit her overly friendly ass down. When she did, she didn’t miss a chance to bump into me before takin’ her seat. If I reacted, she was gon’ do somethin’ else, so I sipped my water as the wait staff brought out dinner. Once everyone had their plates, Mr. Tanaka wouldn’t shut his drunk ass up.

“So, Mr. Ross, how did you manage to secure Ms. Mercer as your agent?”

“I reached out to Ms. Mercer. We were already acquainted. Ain’t that right, Ms. Mercer?”

Juicy gave me the same dry-ass smile. “We sure were, Mr. Ross. Lost contact for fifteen years, though. Craziest thing, huh?”

“Fifteen years?” Mr. Tanaka repeated, lookin’ between us. “That’s quite a long time. You two must have been very young.”

“We were,” Juicy answered before I could. “Practically kids.”

“That’s right.” I nodded and picked up my fork. “A lot can happen in fifteen years.”

“Sure can,” she agreed, reachin’ for her water. “People change. Priorities change. Some people even forget how to communicate.”

I almost laughed. This woman was really gon’ sit here and do this shit.

“Well, I guess it’s a good thing we communicate well. Right, Ms. Mercer?”

“Absolutely, Mr. Ross. It sure would be difficult to communicate with someone who isn’t available.”

Mr. Tanaka chuckled. “Well, I’m certainly glad you reconnected. Your partnership seems to be working beautifully.”

“It’s been very rewarding,” Juicy said, smiling at him.