“. . . an escort. On the subway. I hear it can be very dangerous, you see.”

Ledi’s excitement faltered.

“Where do you have to go?” she asked. Of course he’d only asked because he needed something from her. What else was new?

“Nowhere. But now I feel foolish for never having braved the subways and I want my first time to be with you. So we can go anywhere you want. Maybe someplace that makes you happy.” He grinned at her, and that cut right through her disappointment. “I know you’re very busy, Ledi. If you can fit me in, I’d be honored to be one of the many things that take up your time.”

Ledi didn’t know what to say to that. Why couldn’t he call her a Saint Bernard again so she could flip him off and go back to life as she knew it?

“We’ll see,” she said carefully, and then slipped through the door.

This was not okay. She wasn’t supposed to be feeling butterflies in her stomach and doing a happy shimmy as she crossed the hall. She let herself in to her studio, the vibration and flash of light across the room a reminder that she’d left her phone at her place. When she saw the solid block of message notifications from Portia, she wished she hadn’t.

Hey, I have to ask you something. URGENT. Call me!

The texts started off normal, growing more annoyed as the night wore on—probably commensurate with Portia’s alcohol consumption. Ledi scrolled down, reading the increasingly hostile messages with numb acceptance, until she reached the last one.

Wow. The is that good? Thanks for making it clear what your priorities are. Nevermind.

Ledi knew Portia was drunk, knew she didn’t mean what she’d written, but the unfairness of the accusation cut through her like a hot knife, melting away the residual giddiness of her orgasm and of Jamal’s clear interest in her.

After all the sleepless nights keeping an eye on her, making sure she didn’t drunkenly stumble into either the East River or the Hudson . . .

Ledi fought against the sudden urge to cry. She had never done anything for Portia with the expectation that Portia would owe her. She did things because Portia was her friend, and usually a good one. It was when she drank that this negative side sometimes emerged, but drinking had become too common a pastime for Portia. Her friend’s bad habit had become Ledi’s albatross, and she was tired of carrying that particular weight along with her own.

Ledi started to type in a response, out of habit, to ask where Portia was and if she was all right, but then she held down the power button on her phone and swiped it off instead.

She thought of Jamal’s face when he’d asked her to take him somewhere that would make her happy. When was the last time someone had really cared about that? Not to assuage their own guilt, but sincerely?

She pushed away the tension that came with breaking years of habit and headed to shower. Sleep came first; she would deal with everything else in the morning.

Chapter 13

Thabiso shifted in the ridiculous and uncomfortable chair in the fancy restaurant where his lunch meeting was being held. The chair was composed of various parts of animals you’d see on safari in Kenya—the legs were those of a zebra’s, the back a lion’s hide stretched across two large horns that curved up and back—an unironic display of how, when it came to Africa, foreigners had no qualms about taking the pieces they wanted and rearranging them as they saw fit.

The two representatives of Omega Corp who sat across the table from him were just such men. They stared at him with smiles on their faces that were as contrived as the “nouveau Africaine” meal they’d just shared. Thabiso had tried to maintain his composure, but the backing track to their conversation had been that first conversation he’d had with Ledi. Not the kale plating confusion, but about power and what one did with it. As he listened to the men hash out the details of the deal to begin excavating in Thesolo, he’d been acutely aware that though he hadn’t asked for it, he had the power to change the world—or to change his kingdom. Was this how he wanted to use it?

Thabiso took a sip of his bitter coffee and placed it down in the asymmetrical saucer with what he supposed was someone’s idea of a kente cloth pattern.

“So, what do you think?” one of the men said. Tad? Todd? Thabiso could never remember these silly American names.

“I think I need time to mull this over,” he said diplomatically. He really wanted to tell them to strap themselves to the twenty tons of condescending bullshit they’d just tried to sell him and jump into the nearest body of water, but he gave a short nod that he supposed looked thoughtful and gracious. He’d promised Alehk that this deal would go through, but there was a smugness about the men that raised the hairs on his neck. He needed more time. “There are a great many factors that influence a decision such as this. But I will relay this message to the king, queen, and High Council at my earliest convenience and contact you as soon as we’ve reached a final decision.”

What he’d really do at his earliest convenience was get back to apartment 7 N so he wouldn’t miss Naledi. If she even showed up. He’d told her to stop by if she could. She very well might stand him up, given the way she’d fled while still flushed from the afterglow. He’d seen poachers caught in the glare of a military lantern shove off with less haste. He held out hope she would come, but that hadn’t made the last few hours of inane business combat any less torturous. It also didn’t mean he would give in to the demands of these men, just to be done with it.