Ahmir
Mara, a tall, beautiful woman, sculpted to perfection, silk robe cinched at her waist, wearing the same perfume she used the last time we shared an intimate moment together. “Ahmir,” she purred, stepping inside without invitation. “Tokyo never suits you unless you’re being… entertained.” She trailed a finger along the table’s edge. The kind of woman men flew across oceans for.
Once, she had been a habit. A convenience. A beautiful distraction with no lasting value. Now, she felt like noise.
“You shouldn’t be here,” I said, closing the door behind her.
She smiled like she heard a yes instead of the truth. “Your assistant told me you were in town. And you know I don’t like to be ignored.”
“Mara,” I warned.
She stepped closer until her perfume wrapped around me. “Tokyo hasn’t see
