Love UnCharted (Love's Improbable Possibility)

That quickly I’d forgotten all about Dawn and her crushing on Azmir. I recalled Azmir being surprised by their visit to the West Coast that Friday night in Vegas and how Dawn said they decided to fly out at the last minute. So when was this luncheon planned? I checked the time again and thought that it was fifteen minutes before their scheduled meeting. My head spun and my heart raced.

Out of all the women who presented as competition for Azmir’s attention, Dawn made me uneasy, heck—JEALOUS! I couldn’t figure out why. Azmir had a constant and dedicated legion of women who fawned over him—in my presence even. Maybe I viewed her as a strong rival, but why? I knew nothing about her other than she was possibly from Atlanta and that she was rather good looking. I felt light flutters in my belly and they weren’t related to my recent illness. I panicked and grabbed my phone to text Azmir.

Hey…what are you up to?

Within seconds, I got a ping.

About to go into a meeting. How are you feeling? Are you okay? Have you eaten lunch?

He was still concerned.

I’m fine. Can’t wait for you to come home later.

I knew I was running game. For the first time, I’d referred to his place as home.

Me too. I’m exhausted. I’ll warm up dinner. You just rest. I gotta go.

It was clear that our conversation was over and I didn’t like it. I wanted to intercept his interfacing with Dawn Desperato Taylor. She was practically salivating that night, in Vegas, at the club when she ogled Azmir.

I had to do something. Devious and insecure thoughts began invading my mind. I dashed into the closet in search of something to throw on—something appropriate for the occasion. I had to fight with my dirty hair to pull it up into a bun on top of my head. Then I took to the vanity to apply make-up. I wore very minimal make-up unless I was going out socially, but today was all about deliberate tactics, also I didn’t want to look as sick as I’d been and needed to color in the recent paleness of my skin.

Twenty minutes later, on my way to the door, I gave myself a once over in the full-body mirror in the master closet. My black sleeveless, skin-tight cat-suit, with a yellow blazer, blue hidden double platform suede Red Bottoms and red clutch completed my look. I did a soft blue smoky eye to match my shoes and nude lips. I headed out the door for the LBC.

En route, I called Peg to ask for Azmir, knowing she’d tell me he was unavailable, but hoped she’d give me the keywords of his unavailability that I needed to locate him.

“He’s in the cafeteria in a luncheon meeting, Ms. Brimm. I can tell him to call you when he returns,” she said in a tone just below rude. She was warming up to me, though not at an expedited rate as I’d wished.

Pissed that they were eating in the same place where he initially pursued me, I pushed the down on the accelerator even more to get me there faster. As I walked into the rec, I was relieved to see a familiar face at the desk so that I could just whisk past to the elevator to head down to the cafeteria. The café was rather large and because it was during the lunch hours the place was pretty packed.

It took little time for me to locate him in the corner—for privacy? Azmir wasn’t alone. He was with Brett and Shayna. Azmir wore a lavender dress shirt and his smoke gray suit jacket hung on the back of his chair. He looked tired, but delicious. That man totally did it for me no matter what he was wearing. My awareness of his heart-stopping Adonis revved up my competitive gene several notches, reminding me of my mission.

I started my amble over to their table, and just when I was a few mere feet away he sensed my presence and gazed over to the exact vicinity until his eyes landed on me.

Let the games begin.

I slanted my concealed droopy eyes and pouted my otherwise pale lips—thanks to my bug. I could tell he was completely surprised by my impromptu visit. Good…now we’re even!

When I approached the table, he didn’t rise as he typically would. But he did breathe, “Ms. Brimm?” as if I was the woman of his wet dreams.

Love Belvin's books