"Souls don't meet by accident."
Brooklyn Cooper's POV
Atlanta, Georgia
April 18th | 1:54pm
I'm a fucking mess.
Here I am, standing in front of some fancy-ass building with my stomach in knots, palms sweaty, and about to lie my way into some dude's office who I barely even know. I'm seriously considering just turning around and bolting, but no, i can't.
I'm here to see Torrian Price. Yeah, that guy. One night, no strings—except now there's a string, and it's growing inside me. His string.
I could've went the easy route. Email him, maybe, play it cool. But nope, Moni's ass got me here, standing in the lobby of his dad's massive company building, trying to convince some uninterested receptionist that I'm here for an interview. Yes, i'm lying. Shit, how else would i get to talk to him?
"Uh, yeah. I'm here for a job interview," I lied, my voice a little too high-pitched to sound convincing. But hey, I'm trying.
The receptionist, with her blonde extensions and perfectly painted nails does not care. Doesn't even look up at me right away.
Great. I thought, mentally rolling my eyes.
She's probably seen a hundred girls like me try to weasel their way in for all sorts of reasons.
But I can't just leave. I need to talk to him. And after pacing in front of his damn building for what feels like forever, I'm not about to back down now.
"Excuse me?" I say, making a face intentionally.
She glances up at me like she can't be bothered, flipping through some notebook.
"I'm here for an interview." I said sternly, honestly getting annoyed with this hoes attitude.
"Interview? Okay. And your name."
"Uh, Brooklyn Cooper." I say bracing myself, because I know she's not gonna find a damn thing under my name.
She looks back at me and says flatly, "I'm not seeing a Brooklyn or a Cooper here. There must be some mistake—"
Before I can say another word, a familiar voice cuts her off. Deep. Smooth. And for some reason, I feel my heart skip a beat.
"What's going on?" The voice makes my stomach twist. I look toward the elevator and there he is—Torrian Price, standing tall, looking like he just walked off some damn magazine cover.
This man is fine.
That doesn't even begin to cover it. He's tall, built with broad shoulders, a sharp jawline, and dark skin that glows under the dim lights of the lobby. But it's his eyes that get me every damn time. That deep olive green that makes me feel like he's looking straight through me. And those curly brown locs—messy in that way that makes him look effortlessly good.
He looks at the receptionist, as he walks over, eyebrows furrowing. "Jane, wassup?"
"Torrian," I blurt out, stepping closer to him, suddenly feeling all kinds of awkward. "Brooklyn. From... you know... that night?"
I watch his expression flicker—recognition hitting his face. He doesn't smile, but I can see it in his eyes. That moment when he remembers exactly who I am. The girl who probably shouldn't have ended up in his bed, but did anyway. And now... shit, now I'm here to tell him I'm carrying his kid. Great.
"She said she's here for an interview, but her name isn't in the books. I was just bout to send her away." Jane explains, barely sparing me a second glance.
