“So, how did it …” my voice trails off as I realize that the person who just sat down across from me isn’t Nas. It’s a woman. Not just any woman, but the one who was watching Nas from the corner booth as the hostess escorted us in.

“Enjoying your evening?” she says, her thick lips pressed together in a thin line, and while she’s beautiful, the look on her face makes me feel like I need to be on guard.

“Who are you?” I ask, my brows furrowing.

The woman sits as still as a statue, glaring at me like she’d kill me if there weren’t so many witnesses. She raises an eyebrow similarly to the way Nas does when he’s turned on, before licking her lips and speaking again in a husky, aggressive voice.

“I bet you think you’re happy with him,” she says, her gaze as cold as ice. “But that’s because you don’t know him. Nathan Booker is not who you think he is.”

Chapter Thirty-Three

“What the hell are you talking about?”

The words flow from my mouth emblazoned with fire. This bitch was gawking at Nas when we first walked into Longhorn, staring at him from afar like she was fucking him in her mind, and now she has the audacity to come to me with implications that I don’t know him. She has the nerve to tell me that after all we’ve been through together? After all the conversations we’ve had, and the hottest, most impactful sex of my life, she dares to approach me in public and throw this all over me in front of everyone? I should stand up right now and slap her across the face.

I sit across from this random woman, taking in her features as we glare at each other like two people trying to figure out the world’s most difficult puzzle. Even though she’s seated, I can tell she’s about five-six, maybe a hundred-sixty-five pounds, give or take, and she wears her thickness well and with pride. The dark purple flowers on her button-up match her lipstick, and her makeup is flawless. Her vibe is dark, and just looking at her tells me that she has been through a lot in her life. She’s in her late twenties or early thirties, and her glower is intimidating, but I’m too pissed to be worried about that. I want to know what the hell she’s talking about.

“You don’t know Nathan,” she says.

Nathan? Wrong.

I shake my head as I chuckle. “It seems to me you’re the one who doesn’t know him.”

“You may think everything is all good right now, but something is going on behind the scenes that you need to know,” she continues, oblivious to the fact that she doesn’t even know his real name.