I stood inside the massive building, completely in awe.
I couldn't believe he secured something like this — the amount of funding this had to take.
"How in the hell did you lock in a building like this?" I asked, still in shock, as I looked out the floor-to-ceiling windows facing Miami Beach.
"I have my ways," he said, his voice echoing confidently through the room. "Anything you need... anything you want. I can get it."
He said it loudly, like he wanted the building to hear him too.
I turned away from the view, folding my arms as I faced him.
"This is impressive," I said, pacing slowly across the marble floor. "But I didn't come all the way to Miami just to be impressed."
Zaire let out a short laugh, hands casually in his pockets. "You don't strike me as the type to be impressed easily."
"I'm not," I said flatly. "I came to see if this was a smart expansion. If I'm bringing Luxor Rentals to Miami, I need more than a pretty building and a good view."
He nodded once, his expression serious now. "You'll have full operational control. I already reviewed your model — the car rental arm can thrive here. But your housing rentals... that's where the real growth is."
I tilted my head, eyeing him carefully. "And what exactly do you get out of this?"
"A cut," he said bluntly. "But more than that, power. My firm already owns equity in developments across this side of Miami. Partnering with a Black woman-owned business gives me leverage that money can't buy. And I don't like wasted potential — especially when it's wrapped in Cartier and running multimillion-dollar companies."
I tried not to react to that last line, but my eyes flicked to him before I could stop it.
"I don't need saving," I said.
"I didn't say you did," he replied, stepping closer. "But even warriors need to scale."
There was a beat of silence. Not tension — more like an understanding.
He got it. He got me. And that scared me more than I wanted to admit.
"Alright," I said finally, clearing my throat. "Let's run the numbers."
He smirked, walking over to the conference table and tapping the iPad screen to bring up a file. "You'll like what you see. I don't just offer buildings. I offer empires."
Zaire knew his numbers, his tone was confident without being arrogant, and he didn't talk over me — which, honestly, is rare in this game. I challenged him on projections, scalability, ROI... and he didn't flinch. He came prepared. That told me everything I needed to know.
It wasn't just the building — it was the vision. He wasn't selling me space. He was offering infrastructure. Strategy. A seat at a table I didn't have to beg to sit at.
And the energy?
Subtle, but charged. Not flirtatious in a messy way, but... present. Like he sees me. Not just the CEO. Not just the brand. But the woman behind all of it.
Still, I stayed focused. This isn't about emotion. It's about leverage.
And from what I saw today?
Zaire might be the smartest leverage I've been offered in a long time.
Zaire tilted his head slightly, eyes locked on mine.
"So what's the verdict? You in?"
I raised an eyebrow and leaned back in the leather chair, arms crossed.
"Oh, you think you just gonna slide me a contract and I sign it like some rookie?"
A smirk pulled at the corner of his mouth. "Didn't say that."
"I have lawyers, Zaire. Real ones. They read every line twice."
He nodded like he respected it—but then took two steps forward. Slow. Deliberate.
I was still talking when his hand reached for mine, and before I could react, he slid the phone out of my grip.
"Zaire—"
"Relax." His voice was deep, patient, laced with quiet control.
He didn't look at me right away. Just typed with one hand, the other brushing against my wrist like he forgot—or didn't care—how close we were.
Then he leaned in. Close enough for me to feel his breath against my cheek.
"This deal won't be rushed," he murmured. "But I don't wait forever either."
He held the phone up to show his number, saved under:
Zaire | Empire Talk Only.
I let out a low laugh and shook my head. "Cocky much?"
He finally looked into my eyes. "Confident," he corrected. "There's a difference."
And just like that, he placed the phone gently back in my hand, his fingertips lingering just a second too long.
My pulse skipped.
Not because of what he said.
But because of how he made silence feel like a dare.
Zaire stepped back, just enough to breathe — but his energy didn't move an inch.
"Don't wait too long," he said, voice low, eyes steady. "Sometimes empires come with expiration dates."
I looked up at him, holding my phone but saying nothing.
He smiled, not wide — just enough to show he already knew I was thinking about more than the contract.
"I'm staying in Miami," he added casually, adjusting his cufflinks like this was nothing but routine. "But the jet's waiting to take you back to Atlanta."
He glanced at the phone in my hand one more time.
"When you're ready to build something real," he said, walking toward the door, "you know where to find me."
Then he paused, turned just slightly over his shoulder.
"And don't take too long, Fatima. I don't chase — I build. But I'll be waiting on that call."
And with that, he was gone.
I stood still, quiet, the room suddenly feeling too big. Too silent.
I didn't like the feeling in my chest. That flutter. That curiosity. That warmth.
Because I was married.
Whatever this was — whatever it could be — had to go.
I didn't come to Miami for feelings.
I came for business.
So I gathered my things, lifted my chin, and walked out that door like none of it ever touched me.
Even though it did.
****************
The hum of the jet was low and steady, but my thoughts were louder.
I sat by the window, legs crossed, my mind still stuck in Miami. Zaire's voice echoed in my head — the way he said, "Don't wait too long. Sometimes empires come with expiration." His tone was business, but that energy? That was something else entirely.
I hated the way he made me feel.
Powerful. Seen. Wanted.
And I hated it even more because I was married.
I shook the thought away and reached for my phone, just as it lit up with a FaceTime call.
Brianna (Assistant)
I swiped to answer. "Hey."
Her face filled the screen, excitement bouncing off her voice. "Fatima! The new fleet is crazy. You really did that."
She flipped the camera to show the delivery lot, lined with luxury SUVs, matte finishes, fresh off the truck.
"The Escalades came in first," she said, walking toward one. "We got the black on black interior you wanted, and the custom stitching? Chef's kiss. Wait—look at this one over here—"
As she pointed at the Tesla truck, her wrist caught the light.
My stomach tightened.
A thin diamond bracelet gleamed under the sun, just like the one I'd opened that morning. Not identical — hers had a slightly different band. But the brand? I knew that box. That shimmer. Cartier.
I leaned in.
"Nice lineup," I said smoothly.
"Right?! Oh—and I had them detail the interiors this time. I know how picky you are about crumbs," she laughed.
I leaned back in my seat. "Good job, Brianna."
She kept talking, spinning the camera around, giving me a full tour like it was just another normal day. But my eyes kept going back to her wrist.
Brianna made a decent salary, but I knew her credit. I knew her rent. Hell, I helped her get that little Nissan she just turned in last month.
There was no way she could afford a bracelet like that on her own.
I stayed quiet. Watched. Studied. Not her... but the situation.
Because women don't accidentally end up with matching luxury gifts — not unless someone made sure they did.