Prickly Romance: Single Dad AMBW (Billionaire Dads)

SAZUKI

“We need to talk.” I gesture to the path leading up to the back deck.

Ashanti stands in the doorway, the light from the garage house throwing her face in shadows. She’s wearing a big pink bonnet and a matching robe.

“Give me a minute,” she says.

I nod. “I will wait by the pool.”

The door swings shut, choking the light until it’s gone.

I walk away. Silent. Thoughtful.

My head tilts down to make out the path. The water hose is lying on the cobbled walkway. I kick it with my slippers. I do not wish for Ashanti to trip.

Crickets scream bloody murder from the garden to my right. Moonlight shifts through the inky darkness.

My slippers make a dull sound when I step up to the pool deck and find a seat around the outdoor patio table.

Through the filmy curtains covering the balcony doors, I notice a glowing white light. The sounds of a Japanese late night television show filter to me. My mother is inside watching videos on her tablet. In Japan, she would often fall asleep to the sound of the television.

My fingers drum on the table.

Tension winds around my shoulders.

I hope this conversation can remain calm and quiet. I do not wish to wake my mother or alert her to the fact that I am speaking to Ashanti. Tonight’s shenanigans emphasized that my mother has chosen a side.

And it is not mine.

If she finds out I have taken Ashanti to task, she will try to intervene and I will be forced to give in to her.

Ashanti’s footsteps patter toward me. Her shadow falls on the bench, a black mark stretching across slaps of varnished wood.

“What is this about, Ryo?” Her voice is subdued.

I jut my chin at the bench across from me.

Ashanti hesitates and then takes her seat. She is still wearing a robe, but I notice the belt isn’t cinched as tightly as it was before, allowing her dark skin to peek out from the folds. The bonnet is gone. Her hair is bone-straight around her shoulders. The hint of gloss on her lips and shimmer on her eyes tells me why she took so long to join me on the patio.

“This is unexpected. You’re not going to ask me to take a midnight dip with you, right? I can’t get my hair wet.”

I stare at her in the twilight. “I would like to know the meaning of your behavior tonight.”

The smile on her face wilts.

For a second, there is silence.

“What behavior?” She bats her eyelashes slowly. “I thought the evening went well. Dejonae is a delightful girl. Very sprightly. But that’s expected for someone her age. And Niko gets along with her. Probably because she has more in common with our daughter than either one of us.”

I frown at her.

She squirms. “What?”

“Your ability to throw veiled insults have improved over the years.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Dejonae is not Niko’s age. She is not a child. You keep insinuating that she is, somehow, immature and inexperienced when that is not the case.”

“She’s so much younger than you, Ryo.”

“That is not a factor for us. And it should not be your concern either.”

“How can it not be a factor? That’s an entire generation of a difference. I saw her in action today. She’s quick with a comeback or a sarcastic word. That’s the mark of people her age. It’s all about that lip.”

I remain silent. Dejonae’s ‘lip’ is exactly why I was first drawn to her. The more time we spend together, the more I enjoy the way her mind works. Her passion and drive are invigorating. She quickly caught the vision of the foundation and adopted our mission as her own. Every day, she arrives at her desk, charged up and ready to dive into a task.

Her charisma is contagious. A fire that cannot be replicated.

And it is making a difference.

I have never seen such unbridled enthusiasm in my employees. The students feel it. The instructors feel it.

Her leadership quality is commendable.

I can order people to work for me.

But Dejonae can inspire them.

I would never wish to stomp out that side of her.

“I do not mind her ‘lip’ as you say,” I respond finally.

“Oh, I’m sure you don’t.” She motions to my face. “You wear her lipstick well, Ryo.”

Heat creeps up my cheeks, but I remain largely unruffled.

Ashanti shakes her head. “Have you spoken to her about what it really means to be a mother? A stepmother? Girls her age are out having fun with guys, hooking up and reveling in their lack of responsibility. They think it’s ‘cute’ to have a kid, until they face the immense responsibility that it takes. Not everyone is cut out to be a mother.”

“Dejonae is not the type to shy away from responsibility.” I grunt.

This is not the way I wanted the conversation to go. When did this become a defense of my girlfriend?

“Ashanti—”

“You can’t be so clueless, Ryo. These days, women aren’t taught to be homemakers. It’s all about doing what they want for themselves. Why do you think so many ‘modern women’ are single or divorced? They don’t know what it takes to please a man.”

I refrain from pointing out that Ashanti also belongs in the ‘divorced’ category. Does that mean she did not know how to please me?

“She said it from her own mouth.” Ashanti flails her arms. “Dejonae had trouble accepting that a wife is supposed to be in the kitchen. She is neither quiet nor submissive. Your family is going to hate her. Do you think she can handle that? Do you think she’ll stick around and hold her tongue the way I did?”

“My family’s opinions did not matter when I married you and they will not matter now that I have chosen her.”

“She’s not ready—”

“She is my choice.”

Ashanti falls silent.

“You are right to say that she is headstrong, but she also knows when to be silent and when to speak. Dejonae showed an incredible amount of self-restraint tonight. Frankly, it surprised me. I was certain she would say something to you or my mother.”

“Say what? I never antagonized her, Ryo. I thought I was being perfectly welcoming.”

I fold my arms over my chest. This is a slippery slope. I do not wish to fight with Ashanti. Our relationship must remain respectful and friendly for our daughter’s sake.

Niko did not ask to be brought into this world. It is not her fault that her parents rushed into marriage without properly checking that their visions and personalities aligned. I refuse to bring any more anguish and dysfunction into her life by creating an enemy of her mother.

However, Ashanti is making it very hard to remain civil.

I fold my hands together. “We have discussed at length what you perceive as Dejonae’s wrongs. Now I would like to address yours.”

“Ryo, if you’re upset about what happened with the dumplings, that had nothing to do with me. Clearly, it was her first time making gyoza and she had no idea what she was doing. Besides, it’s not strange that you preferred my dumplings. I’ve been cooking for you for years. Some of our best times were in the kitchen as a family.”

“Ashanti, why do you keep speaking of the past as if it were perfect?”

Her eyes dart between mine. Her mouth gapes open slightly.

This attempt at playing naive does not fool me. I did not know much about Ashanti when we married. However, I learned much about her during our three years together. She is notoriously skilled at side-stepping serious conversations, especially when those conversations revolve around something she does not want to discuss.

I would often let things go rather than fight.

But this matter is too important for me to throw my hands up and let it pass.

“Ryotaro, I’m genuinely shocked that you’re out here scolding me, when I was nothing but polite and respectful to your girlfriend. Did you want me to lay down the red carpet and bow before her? I’m not going to do that.”

“I never asked you to worship her. I simply ask that you respect her.”

“And I did. But you have to understand that this is strange for me.”

“Being uncomfortable is one thing,” I insist. “But you took it a step further.”

“How?” she shrieks.

“I will not make a list, Ashanti.” She would only find a way to explain or defend each choice. “What I want to know is why.”

“Why what?”

“Why are you behaving this way with Dejonae?”

“What way?” She throws her arm up.

I study her. Does she really not know? “You found every opportunity to make her feel as though she did not belong.”

“That’s ridiculous!”

Gritting my teeth, I grasp at all the patience I have stored in me. “I have given you the benefit of the doubt because you are Niko’s mother. But I will not cater to you at the expense of Dejonae’s feelings.”

“How exactly have you catered to me?” she demands.

“You showed up at my home without warning and I accepted you in—”

“You accepted me into the garage house,” she points out.

“You eat breakfast with us in the morning and I have not complained.”

“To be fair, your mom is the one who invited me over.”

“You ask for time with Niko and I make all the arrangements for you. Even cutting her time at the farmhouse short so you could pick her up early.” I give her a stern look. “I do not wish to see either you or Niko hurt. This is why I make the effort for you, but I do not want you to misunderstand my intentions. Dejonae is important to me. She is not leaving my life or Niko’s life. Just as I wish to protect Niko, I wish to protect her.”

“From what? Me?” Ashanti’s voice climbs. “Am I the big bad ex-wife in this story, Ryo? How cliché.”

“No one is calling you a bad person, Ashanti,” I say as patiently as I can.

“That’s what you’re saying, Ryo.” She rises from the table and points an accusing hand. “In your eyes, I’m this… Evil Queen trying to get sweet, young, not-a-wrinkle-on-her Snow White to eat the poisoned apple. Well, you know what, screw you. I’m not the villain and I resent you for making me out to be one.”

She starts to storm away.

“Why have you not mentioned your husband since your arrival?” I ask pointedly.

Her body becomes as straight as a sword.

“Is there something you need to tell me?”

She turns to face me.

Her eyebrows hover lower. She squirms.

I tap my finger against the table. “Ashanti, why did you suddenly leave your cruise?”

Her nostrils flare. “I missed Niko.”

“Is that all?”

She licks her lips. “I got a divorce.”

I stiffen in shock.

“It hadn’t been working out for a while. We both knew it. But he…” Her voice breaks. “He was the person I chose. I didn’t want to fail twice. I tried holding on with all my strength.” A tear creeps into her eyes. “He told me pointedly that it was over. He didn’t want to keep lying to himself or to me anymore.”

“I am sorry,” I say gravely.

She taps at her eyes with the pad of her fingers. “The divorce is almost final.”

I drag a hand through my hair, uncertain on how I should comfort her. That feeling of helplessness, pain and failure had plagued me after our marriage ended too.

“It is not your fault, Ashanti,” I say.

“It is my fault.”

“No—”

“Because I shouldn’t have left you in the first place.”

My breath catches in my throat.

“Ryo,” she calls my name in a broken voice, “I was so young when we got together. I hadn’t fully developed an identity yet. I still had so many dreams. So many things that I thought were more important than my family. But I was wrong. All the things I thought I wanted are not the things that truly fulfill me. And all the things I thought I needed in a man turned out to be the wrong things.”

She sniffs. “I thought I wanted someone who would leave everything he knew to be with me, to make me more comfortable. But I realize I had a man who would turn his back on his family just to protect ours.” She laughs self-deprecatingly. “And I thought that being with someone who liked staying in, watching movies, and not going anywhere on the weekends was torture. But I realize that having someone who loves being home with me, just spending time with me without all the other distractions, is priceless.”

As the shock wears off, I shake my head. “Ashanti, I do not think you should continue.”

“You should know where I stand, Ryo.” Her lashes clump together from the tears.

“I do not wish to return to the past.”

“But… haven’t you seen how in sync we are? Over the past few days, we’ve made our own routines and connected our lives again.”

“The lives we lead are separate and they only interconnect for Niko’s sake. That is different than living each day together, exposing each other to the good and the bad parts of ourselves. We can make the first part work, but we have already proven that we cannot live together.”

“But—”

“Ashanti,” I stand, “I did not want you to leave Japan. I was willing to change for you, but you chose to leave me and I accepted it. Now, time has passed and that desire to be what you wanted, to change myself for you… it left.”

She steps closer to me. Her robe sways over her dark feet. “What attracted us to each other hasn’t changed.”

I step back before she can touch me. My face impassive, I remind her, “What drove us apart has not changed either.”

Her expression crumbles with hurt. Inside the deepest chambers of my heart, I feel a prick of guilt. Had I not gotten involved with her, had I walked past her in Japan, had we decided to go our separate ways without sleeping together, would her life be this damaged? Would those tears be in her eyes?

I would not give up Niko for anything but, in this moment, I grieve the life Ashanti could have had, the marriage she could have had, the career she could have had, if we had never met.

“For Niko’s sake, I hope we can continue to remain friends,” I say.

Ashanti glances down. “Are you rejecting me because of that girl?”

“Even if Dejonae had not been in my life, I would not be interested.”

“That’s quite,” she blinks rapidly, “that’s quite decisive.”

The gurgle of the water is all that can be heard as Ashanti gets her emotions under control. I watch the pool lights dance against the beach chairs. It’s a deep and unnatural blue, almost as if we are both stuck in a dream.

“I, uh,… I guess… goodnight, Ryo.” Ashanti turns and plods to the guest house like a listless ghost.

The next morning, my mother informs me that Ashanti left early.

“She is only going to move out of her old house and finalize the divorce,” Mother warns. “She will be coming back.”

“Did you know about her divorce? Is that why you were trying to push us back together?”

“A family should be together.” She twines two fingers. “Original families are better.”

“That is not always true.”

“It is true,” she says stubbornly. Tracing her hands in the air, she explains, “Father and mother. Down to the child. See? Simple.” She rakes her hands through the air, marking invisible lines in multiple directions. “But see this? Father. Step-mother. Step-father. Mother. Child. Confusing.” She shakes her head. “Not good.”

“I am dating Dejonae now. How unfair would it be to her if I left her for Ashanti?”

“You leave her to go back to the original. She is not the original. She will never be the original.”

I realize that fighting my mother on this would be pointless. Abandoning the topic, I get Niko ready for school.

Akira drives us as usual. She asks no questions about the dinner. I assume my mother has already told her everything.

The morning is quiet.

Dejonae greets me at work after her class. She shows no sign of trauma from the night before.

The day passes and bleeds into another.

Two days.

Three.

A week.

Two weeks.

My mother returns to Japan.

I relay Dejonae’s greetings myself, not wanting her to suffer any cold words from my mother’s lips.

After returning from the airport, I get a call from Adam. We discuss the MTB fervently until I sense a presence at the door of my office.

Dejonae is leaning against the doorway, one jean-clad leg propped over the other. Her lips arch up in wicked invitation.

“I apologize, Adam. Can you repeat that?” I ask.

He speaks, but the words slip out of my head like slime.

Embarrassing.

Almost as bad as the nights in bed with a cell phone plastered to my ear, listening to Dejonae talk about her day, her dreams, her challenges. Helping her work through them with a different perspective. Laughing about things that only we can understand.

These days are almost a little too easy, time slipping away in a brush of the calendar on the wall.

“It’s time for the weekly management meeting. Should I hold the elevator… boss?”

My lips curl up. “Thank you, Miss Williams.”

I abruptly end the call with Adam, shut off my laptop and walk beside her to the elevator. We keep a professional distance. But once the doors slide shut, I obliterate the space between us and press her against the wall.

She smiles. “Careful. There are cameras.”

“What are you doing this evening?”

“Me? I planned to go see my parents. Why?”

“Your parents?” I contemplate it for a moment. “I’d like to join you.”

“What?” Her jaw drops.

The doors open.

I step away from her and calmly walk out.

Her legs struggle to maintain my stride. I slow down so we can walk in step.

Dejonae gives me a suspicious look. “Why do you want to meet my parents?”

“We have been dating for some time now.”

“And?”

“And I have been meaning to meet your parents.”

“Mr. Sazuki.”

“Morning, sir.”

I lift a hand in greeting and stride past my employees.

Dejonae casts them a quick nod before lowering her voice. “That is a big step.”

“I would have taken that step a long time ago if I had it my way,” I tell her.

She frowns up at me.

I dig my fingers into the door handle to keep from touching her. “After you, Miss Williams.”

“Thank you, Mr. Sazuki,” she grinds out.

The room is full already. I abhor tardiness and it has trickled into the psyche of all the employees.

“Mr. Sazuki.” Miss Cottingham rises when I enter.

I wave her back to her seat.

She and Dejonae exchange frosty looks.

They have developed a functional working relationship, but the scandal with the reporter left its mark.

Dejonae takes her seat around the table. The harsh look she floats my way informs me that the conversation is not over.

I wipe my chin to keep my smile away. This is not the time and place to expose how amusing I find her.

After settling in my chair, I start the meeting. We discuss the MTBs, which the instructors have been training with for a few weeks now. We then discuss the group classes and our ability to handle an influx of students.

Since the article’s release, we have been receiving requests not only from parents, but from churches, schools and community centers who wish to participate in the program.

While the admin give their presentations on how they are choosing students, I find my eyes straying to Dejonae. She is listening intently to the discussion but, when she feels me watching her, her eyes falter.

I have iron concentration… unless she is in the room.

Her eyes narrow at me.

I glance down to hide my smile.

The room falls quiet.

“Mr. Sazuki, did you have something to say?”

I straighten immediately. “No. Carry on.”

The presenter gives me a strange look before proceeding.

Dejonae laughs behind her hand. I give her a sharp look, but she does not quiver as others would. Her eyes continue to tease me.

When it is her turn to speak, she gets up and gives her speech with confidence.

“So far, students have made immense progress and that’s largely due to the instructors and to the early adoption of the MTB. We’re seeing a better grasp of concepts such as rhythm and timing. But one of the hardest things we’re dealing with right now is belief.”

I set my chin on my fist, riveted.

“When someone is told from a young age that they can’t do something, it gets difficult to change that mentality when they’re older. What we’re seeing is students making progress and doing well, but not believing that they are. It’s causing a high turnover rate.”

Her eyes dart to me. I give her a small, encouraging smile.

She returns it with a faint smile of her own. Her voice carries steadily through the room.

“I think students who are wavering in confidence should have some kind of affirmative project.”

“What kind of project?” I ask.

“It could be a small five minute performance for their families or their schools. A concert at a hospital. Somewhere they see the impact their music is making.”

“That’s a waste of time and resources,” Miss Cottingham interjects. “We can’t go around worrying about every student who lacks confidence. That’s not our job. Our job is to teach them music.”

“We can put all the information in their heads and strap more and more MTBs to their bodies to help them, but it won’t change anything if they don’t believe they can do it.”

Mumbles of agreement echo through the room.

But Dejonae is not done.

She plants a hand on her hip. “If our job was only to teach music, then why did most of you leave your previous positions to come and work here? Wasn’t it to inspire? Wasn’t it to encourage the belief that music belongs to the deaf community too?”

Pride swells in me, causing my chest to inflate.

Dejonae has never backed down from a challenge, whether it is a simple game or a challenge of her authority. Even if her responsibilities are on a smaller scale compared to mine, there is much I am learning from her conflict management skills.

The meeting reaches a smooth conclusion with a few instructions from me and clarifications from the other members.

I text Dejonae to stay behind.

Everyone files toward the door while she remains seated, pretending to fiddle around with her bag.

I push my chair back and walk to the door. After the last person leaves, I secure it shut and turn to her with a heavy look.

“If you had something to say, you could have said it in your office.”

“My office has too many windows and I do not trust the blinds.” I gesture to the bright overhead lights, the quiet air conditioning unit and the exposed brick walls of the conference room. “Look. No windows.”

“I knew you would do this eventually.” She tosses her head.

I advance on her. “Do what?”

“Abuse your power.”

I drop my arms over her chair, caging her in. “What do you have against me seeing your parents?”

She rolls her eyes. “I don’t know. Maybe the fact that you’re older and you have a daughter and it’s kind of a lot to take in.”

“You have not mentioned me at all?”

“This is our dirty little secret, remember?” She fiddles with one of my shirt buttons.

I narrow my eyes.

I am tired of keeping us a secret. If I had my way, I would announce it dryly and succinctly, as I do everything that is important to me.

“Dejonae,” I say softly, straightening up and leaning against the table, “do you doubt me when I say that I am devoted to you?”

“Of course not.” Her eyes dart away.

I press my lips together.

Jealousy is a natural thing. I still seethe when I see her ex-boyfriend hovering around her.

But I let him be.

Because I trust her.

And I trust that I treat her so well, she would not even think to leave me.

Does she not trust me the same?

A warm hand falls on my thigh, turning me to liquid silver. “Are you upset?”

“It is fine. I will not mention meeting your parents again.”

How strange.

Disappointment. Yearning.

All feelings I thought had died along with my first marriage.

And yet, Dejonae has my heart in a chokehold. When am I going to stop falling for her? When will I reach the end of this obsession? Why is it so much harder to remain balanced and distant when it comes to her?

Her lips quirk up. “You’re cute when you sulk.”

“A grown man does not sulk.”

She shakes her head. “Did you know your dimples flash when you pout?”

Intent on proving my point, I pounce across the table and kiss her so passionately that her chair goes flying backwards.

We bounce into the wall.

Dejonae gasps. “What was that?”

“Proof that I am not angry. Or petulant. Or any other emotion that you wish to tease me about. I respect you and I will follow what you want. There should be no confusion about that.”

She smiles and jumps out of the chair, wrapping her arms, legs and mouth around me. I grab her tighter, sipping from her lips as if she is rare, premium sake. A liquor I could easily get drunk on.

My fingers skate across her jeans and cup the back pockets. I kiss her ferociously, desperate for every stroke of her lips.

Her limbs turn languid, fingers sliding off my hand and melting against my shoulders as if she has lost all bones. Her low moan slides against my neck and invites me to do my absolute worst.

Do not worry, kitten. I will.

I carry her to the desk, setting her on the edge of it and keeping her thighs spread. Her mouth is pure danger against mine, unleashed desire, the hottest flames.

I press into her, finding the center of her with my trousers. She bucks her hips, every whimper skittering out of her bruised lips telling me that I am not the only one who wishes to take things to the next level.

My thirst for Dejonae has been burning me up inside. Every night when I have to roll out of bed for a cold shower, every glimpse of her dark lips in the middle of a meeting, every brush of her hand and sound of her laughter drives me to the brink.

I slip my hand under her T-shirt.

Delirious.

Desperate.

I need more of her skin. More of her body.

She kisses me urgently, her hands skating through my hair. Every flicker of her tongue, every taste of her lips, every nip of her teeth propels me forward.

When did I lose my rational mind? When did I become this beast?

I only know that Dejonae’s mouth holds the key to every pleasure I wish to unlock. Plump and brown and divine. It feels like the deepest levels of intimacy just to press her mouth to mine.

She has never failed to kiss me back with a passion that meets or exceeds my own. Even now, her fingers tangling and tugging on my hair, she is part beast herself.

Only a soft knock on the door and a quiet ‘is someone in here?’ forces me to pull back.

My eyes land on Dejonae. She is stunning in the harsh artificial lights, eyes dazed, curls messy, and breath thin.

I enjoy touching her.

But the pain of ripping myself away without being fulfilled is beginning to affect me. I am holding on to my restraint by a thin thread. Every bone in my body wishes to tear her apart without mercy.

Another knock sounds.

Dejonae hides her head in my chest.

Panting hard, she blinks at me. I feel her fingers playing with my shirt and glance down to see her looking stunned.

“When did I start to unbutton you?” she murmurs, flapping my shirt.

Winding a honey-tinged curl around my finger, I smooth it back into place.

“Ignore them. They will go away.” I press my forehead against hers, breathing hard. “And you can continue.”

A slow, knowing smile spreads over her face. “I’d kind of prefer to continue on something softer.” She pats the table. “Preferably a mattress.”

My head squeezes.

A wild, hot, mutinous adrenaline surges straight to my pants.

“Tonight?” I croak.

Sacrilege, my body roars.

Tonight is too long.

I want her right now.

There is another knock. “Hello?”

“We are having a meeting!” I snap.

Outside the room, it goes quiet.

Dejonae laughs softly.

I do not.

“Tonight?” I ask her again, waiting for confirmation.

She nods.

My eyes burn into her. I cannot wait to fill her so roughly that she forgets her own name.

Which is not the best thought to have circling through my brain when she says, “Yes, tonight I’d like you to meet my parents.”