The Good Mistress: A BWWM Billionaire Romance (18 page)

Unable to perceive the Somali dialect, Blake determined from Mila’s bittersweet facial expression this was a call she’d take any single moment in any given day.

“It’s my mom,” she whispered. The glossiness of Mila’s eyes wasn’t indicative of a young woman engaging in a heart-to-heart with her own mother after midnight—however, Blake didn’t have a control variable in which to make an accurate assessment. Blake didn’t have parents at all to compare to.

“
Sababtu waa maxay
?” She sounded heartbroken, questioning even.

The call finished quickly. A sliver of a tear trickled from Mila’s glossy chocolate eyes to her ear and soaked into the pillow.

“What happened,” Blake forced himself not to growl, not to be upset with people he didn’t even know. A doctor and a mother who raised three daughters while taking care of home. That was all he knew. Oh, and that her family left Somalia for Ethiopia, but Lamb had told him as much.

“She told me not to call on Wednesdays, that’s all.”

They were at this stage. Learning of each other, and slowly entwining the bests and worst parts of themselves into the storyline. Mila hadn’t been shying away of talks of her parents, but she hadn’t mentioned them either. While Blake had kept any sort of familial cohorts from the topic of discussion, because Mila simply hadn’t asked before. Although, she had come to her own conclusion about Blake being born with a silver spoon. Offering to take her home had been on a whim, another puzzle piece at displaying his love of the beautiful, strong woman before him.

His long arm scooped Mila closer.

After a few moments, she elaborated, “There are certain times I can’t call. Now, Wednesdays are off the table, too. My dad has been coming home early from work on Wednesdays. My mother didn’t answer me earlier today. I should have known.”

“Known
not
to call your own parents?”

She sighed. “It’s not like that. Last Wednesday, she didn’t answer. Usually if she doesn’t answer, I remember to call at a different time during the weekday. Blake, my family has their preferences.”

“You mean your father?” He corrected. “Your father has his preferences.”

“Yes, he does.”

“Talk to me, baby.”

“My father prefers not to see my face ever again, Blake!”

Fuck.
Blake held her closely. Mila was too shaken to even talk. He wanted to know more, but this wasn’t the time. Blake rubbed Mila’s back until sleep claimed her, the woman he’d fallen for all too fast. They’d known each other almost a year, but there’d be no going back.

Chapter 28

Mila

JEANS, TEE, KICKS.
Simple. Too damn simple even for the woman that would rather wear khakis on the weekend—unless it were an outing with Blake.

But this is an outing with Blake.

The lavender shirt slid gracefully off her shoulder. Mila’s hair had been swept into a messy bun. He wanted simple. Dark washed jeans for a soupçon of class. A beige blazer, cut at the waist to accentuate her ass, draped across her Birkin bag. She was happy to toss the nude heels back into the closet for her old, beloved pair of Nike Cortez shoes. Realizing the kicks didn't look well with the rest of the outfit, Mila opted on shades of purple-and-earth-stone sandals. Not half as comfy but from the follicles of her hair, to her flawless nude face, to the soles of her feet, Mila was a natural beauty.

All the while they boarded the jet, Mila considered his parents. Maybe these rich people were down to earth? They had so much money that... Damn, she couldn't even continue to meditate over bullshit.
Blake says they’ll love me. Nothing else matters.

All the while, Mila extended Pinterest-style quotes of self-love, a flurry of emotions consumed Mila by the hour. He was her rock. Her everything. The way such peace consumed her after her mother forbade her to call on Wednesday afternoons. This was a brand new feeling, having a man to love despite not being loved by her very own father. And having Blake to hold her closely while crying last night, well, nothing in this world topped that. Mila endeavored to train her mind from hoping to steal his family from his wife. But as a flurry of white clouds passed by, she took that into consideration, too. The woman, Diane Baldwin, couldn’t love Blake like she loved him. So the discussion went sort of like this… “So where are we going, Martha's Vineyard?”

“Not exactly.”

“San Francisco?”

“It’s a surprise, Mila.”

She'd asked about various quaint places to match their casual attire. Each time Blake smiled and ended the conversation with a kiss to her lips, cheek, forehead or nose. And that ever calming reassurance of his love, and that of his parents…

A metallic glimmer caught Mila’s eye as the plane curved to make its descent three hours later. The Gateway Arch.

Her almond eyes tapered just slightly in thought. “St. Louis? All right now, before we meet your parents you’re taking a chick to Sweetie Pies?” Mila patted her belly. “I could eat.”

“No Sweetie Pies. I'm taking you to an even better place.”

~~~

An Escalade was curbside at the private airport. Blake had obtained the keys from one of his personal attendants as they'd gotten off his Learjet. The scenery had Mila wondering if Blake was strapped. The billionaire handled Keith in a way that still left her astounded even now. But this was a city full of diversified folks. In the greater Los Angeles area, she knew where to go, and where not to go. Even as a fifteen-year-old, visiting her father’s family.

The place had the same character as Mila’s old drinking spot near UCLA, but with a rawer feel. The barebones of the inside were red brick, yet the ambiance didn't waft of stale cigarette smoke and cologne but the aromatics of genuinely good food. The spices of ribs having been marinated to fall-off-the-bone and melt-in-your-mouth consistency wafted into the air.

Hands strummed together, Blake led her across the scuffed natural wood floor.

“B!” A black woman shaped like a figure eight stepped around the hostess podium. Mila’s pupils dilated at the sight of her ass. Jeans had a hold of the heavy curves she was rocking left to right. Besides having the type of ass that men flocked to, those damn dimples had to melt a man’s heart. Any ol’
married
man…

“Zenobia, how are you, girl.” Blake took her into one of those tight embraces.

Mila noticed that his tone had a dialect to it. When he was bossing her around in the past or unappreciative of her not showing him any play, his tone had mellowed into the one he currently used.

“My bad, Zennie, allow me to introduce the love of my
life
, Mila Ali. Mila, this is Zenobia Washington, I haven't seen this little girl in a few years.”

“Little girl?” The walking-wet dream retorted. “Whatever, nerd.” Zenobia turned to Mila. “Mila, you have yourself... Hmmm... Let me just say an
ambitious
man. Though after all the stuff he’s been through, I see him as a brother, in other terms—B, close your ears for a sec— ambition is equivalent to sexy sexy.”

Mila nodded, still at a loss for words. Blake shook his head, wearing a genuine smile. The sort of smile that could never be the norm for a billionaire, a person used to having more and more…

“Yeah, so he leaves you speechless too?” Zenobia chatted as if the women were friends from high school. “One minute Brendan is hacking into the FEDs and the next week he's at a prestigious university.”

“Zennie, the Feds, really? You're supposed to keep that on the low.” Blake chuckled deeply. Yes, it was the same expensive black maple bourbon chuckle that melted the thong right off her ass. But who was this man? Who was
Brendan
?

“Brendan?”

Then another person shouted ‘B.’ For a rather sleek establishment, nobody seemed to take offense to all the banter.

The black man had a butterscotch complexion, and low-cut fade. A button-down, with vest, added a certain level of snazziness to his jeans. He resembled Zenobia, but had to be at least 5 years older. Around Blake’s age.

“Damn, Brendan fucking Walker, how're you going to come through my spot without a call? Now I gotta go kick out good paying customers for my closest.”

“Man, don't put anyone out for me.” They gave each other a brotherly hug. “Isaac, allow me to introduce you to...”

“The woman of
my
dreams?” Isaac looked Mila up and down like candy on a stick.

“Not even big bro,” Zenobia shot over her shoulder, as her voluptuous body strutted back to the podium.

Chapter 29

Blake

HE WAITED FOR
her to react. To make an inquiry. Though the restaurant was packed, Isaac squeezed them at a quaint little table, on the deck outside.

She'd ordered a mojito. Downed it. He took a double shot of whiskey, since the bourbon wasn’t recommended. The waiter treated them like royalty, not because of Blake Baldwin’s current status, but due to his association with Isaac. Salads arrived.

“Can I get the beautiful lady another strawberry mojito?” The waiter placed the salad atop the black cloth napkin.

“Sure, I’ll take ‘em back to back. Oh, and stronger than the last…”

When he stepped away, those almond orbs glided to Blake. “So when were you going to tell me who you are? Google. Wikipedia. Your very own company bio is this big,” Mila held out her index and thumb in measurement. “It sure as hell didn’t say anything about you being an alias.”

Noting the irritation in Mila’s tone, Blake gave a soft chuckle. “For months you've been very wrong in your judgement of me. And in your judgement, you never stopped to ask me one question about my past. Now that you belong to me—”

“
Belong
?”

“You belong to me; I belong to you, Mila. Is there anything brand new about that?”

“No. I love... To be honest, how do I finish that sentence? The ‘I love you,’ simplest fucking phrase ever doesn’t seem to strum together just right if I don't know you.
Brendan
Walker
.”

He nodded, mouth somewhere between a grin and an irritated snarl. “Yeah, so you think I'm a fucking name? You think knowing me is all in a name. When I know every fucking thing about you, Mila. You bite that sweet, softness of the inside of your lip when nervous. So much so that I want to grab you by your fucking neck and bite it for you. You think, think, think, and goddam it, you think some more. Last week, you worried that I’d consider less of you. That’s why you refused to enlighten me of the Keith-stalker bullshit.”

She rolled her eyes.

He snatched the wooden chair closer. The pulse at her neck invited him, but Blake chose not to kiss her. “But I've tasted every inch of your body.” He licked his lips, murmuring in Mila’s ear, “Your gorgeous, sweet pussy has this slight salt to it in the morning as if you've marinated in the love making we've had during your dreams. Oh, I also know when you're dreaming too. Not that you don't snore. You do, just a tad. You pull closer to me after falling asleep and delving in an erotic dream. If the dream is bad, like the one you had after speaking to your mother, your pillow is your comforter because you're so use to going it alone. Or let's bring Keith back into the discussion. You're used to being his wingman from undergrad and grad school. You regret Warren falling for you, you never loved him.”

“I told you I was never in love with him, Bl—
Brendan
or whatever the fuck you wanna be called.”

“Yup, never in love with him. You were in love with his brother.”

Smack
.

The sound drew eyes. All eyes on them. Mila picked up her fork to toy with her garden salad. Blake tossed back a double shot. Then the entertainment began to shift back to each individual table. So maybe he hadn’t meant to take a low blow, but all she did was take digs at him, even from the start.

“I was. But that was a long time ago.”

“Yes, Mila I know that. From the day you opened up about it, I’ve always known it was only puppy love. The thing is, there’s absolutely nothing wrong with you having fallen for Keith as a teenager. But you don’t see it that way. Ironically you've spent more time trying to convince others of the truth and it has left you in a predicament.”

“Hmmm, I guess you’re going to continue to tell me about myself then. Huh?” She shrugged. “What kinda predicament?”

“The kind where life passed you by. Good, I'm glad life passed you by. You settled for Warren because you saw love as a fucking ancient pyramid, unyielding, with the man always and forever on top. Mila you’re capable of so much more than you’ve always given yourself credit for.”

She glanced away. There was this one relationship before Warren that had the potential to be so much more than she allowed. And even with Warren Jameson, the love had blossomed on his end. Only to begin to bloom on her own. Yet, she was so afraid of giving away her heart… The truth was real.

“Then I arrived,” Blake tugged his collar, more for smugness than for show. “so I'm glad you didn't know love until me.”

She took a deep breath.

“See, I know you, Mila.” He kissed her ear. “Now, are you done thinking I'm an asshole, or a number to my bank account.”

“Blake, I've never...”

“You've never used me, Mila.” He stopped to chuckle, genuinely baffled. “Do you know how long it took me to consider a way to get money into your hands after you chewed my ass out about the mortgage? Soon I'll tell you how I fell. When we meet my family. But you've never placed yourself on the pedestal, exactly where you’re meant to be. Let’s eat, then make love all over this fucking town. Tomorrow we meet the folks.”