Imani

Imani scrolled the profiles on the tablet with the interest of a toddler who had been told to eat their vegetables.

Which meant, with no interest at all.

Her PA, Amina stood across from her silent, but Imani could feel the annoyance rolling off her.

After another ten minutes of scrolling through more profiles, Imani hand had grown tired.

She huffed.

"Mrs. Baptiste," Amina sighed. "I'm standing right here ma'am. I can see you're not even looking."

Imani shrugged. She wasn't lying.

She sighed again. "Mrs. Baptiste, your brother insisted that this would be a good idea."

Imani paused and raised her head to look at her.

"And you Amina?" She raised a brow. "Do you think this a good idea?"

She looked thoughtful for a second then nodded.

"Why?"

"You love to spend money Mrs. Baptiste," she said. "You love to spoil people to cherish them, to take care of their needs, give them everything they want and need. You are a very generous woman both in affection and money. That is one quality that makes you a great woman."

Imani could sense a but coming.

"But it's also one quality that has attracted some unsightly people." She continued.

Imani nodded. And oh. Unsightly people it has attracted indeed. People who only wanted the money but not the affection. People that took and took and took.

But still, Imani looked down at the tablet. His twin brother saying he should get a sugar baby was a bit too much.

She sighed, shaking her head. "I don't think-"

"Just take a look at the last profile," Amina cut her off. "If you still don't want to do it after, I'll inform Mr. Baptiste and make him drop it."

Imani stared at her for a long time then nodded.

She turned back to the tablet. She didn't bother looking at the other profiles, just swiped until she was at the last profile.

It made her sit up.

From the corner of her eyes, she could see the smug expression settle over Amina as she noticed his growing interest.

There were two profiles.

Penelope Ellis.

Maisie James.

A couple. A stable one considering they've been dating for six years according to their information.

Imani swallowed and looked up at Amina. "And why would you think these two are any different?"

Amina smiled.

Imani narrowed her eyes. "That is not an answer, Amina."

"I haven't given you one yet, ma'am."

Imani rolled her eyes. '"Stop looking at me like you've just successfully committed tax fraud."

Amina pressed her lips together.

Imani stared at her. "You're lucky I like you too much to go through the trouble of finding another competent assistant."

"High praise Mrs. Baptiste."

Imani shook her head and looked back at the tablet.

Penelope Ellis and Maisie James.

She scrolled through their profiles again, this time paying considerably more attention than she'd given the previous applicants.

Penelope was pretty. Very pretty, actually. She had a face that seemed almost designed to express outrage, and judging by the pictures accompanying her profile, she appeared to do that quite frequently.

In one photograph that looked like it came from Instagram, she was sitting in what looked like an expensive restaurant, holding a fork in one hand and pointing accusingly at someone outside the frame with the other.

The caption read: If I die, tell them the food was mid.

Imani chuckled. Then swiped.

In another picture, Penelope was holding a small ball of yarn, her expression so deeply offended.

The caption read: Knitting because prison is expensive.

Imani's lips twitched.

She was funny.

Or perhaps a brat.

Possibly both.

Imani had always had a weakness for funny women. It was an unfortunate character flaw, really. She could withstand a great deal of nonsense if the person responsible made her laugh.

She scrolled to Maisie's profile.

Maisie was beautiful in a way that felt different from Penelope's. Where Penelope seemed determined to ensure the entire world noticed her presence, Maisie looked perfectly content to exist quietly within her own little corner of it.

There were photographs of her holding a penguin plushie, sitting in a garden with a book, and standing beside Penelope with her arms wrapped around the other woman's waist.

In every photograph of the two together, Maisie was looking at Penelope.

Imani's thumb slowed over the screen.

Six years, and Maisie still looked at her girlfriend like she had been given something precious.

It was absolutely refreshing to see.

"Interesting," she murmured.

Amina made a small noise.

Imani ignored her and opened the section containing their application.

They were not asking for extravagant gifts every week. They weren't demanding an apartment in their names or requesting a monthly allowance that could finance a small country.

Their expectations were surprisingly straightforward.

Financial support in exchange for companionship, dates, and agreed-upon quality time.

Both women would remain in the arrangement together.

Neither would be expected to end their relationship.

And, rather pointedly, any potential partner had to understand that Penelope and Maisie were a package deal.

Imani read that last part twice.

Then a third time.

"Well," she said slowly.

Amina leaned forward. "Well?"

"They're serious about each other."

"Yes, ma'am."

"Six years is a long time."

"It is."

"And they're looking for someone to join them."

"That's what the application says."

Imani raised her eyes.

"Amina."

"Mrs. Baptiste."

"Must you be so irritating?"

"Only because I know you love me."

Unfortunately, Imani couldn't argue with that.

She returned to the profiles, studying the photographs with a thoughtful frown.

She wasn't opposed to the idea of a relationship with two women. That wasn't the problem. She was after all, polysexual.

The problem was that she had spent years being treated like an inexhaustible resource. People wanted her attention when they needed something. They wanted her affection when it came with expensive dinners, designer bags, and holidays in places most people only saw in magazines.

And the moment she wanted something in return-something as simple as honesty, consideration, or a little genuine affection-they suddenly had somewhere else to be.

Her twin brother had suggested a sugar arrangement because, according to him, Imani needed to stop trying to find love in places where people were only interested in her bank account.

His exact words had been considerably less polite.

She had told him to mind his business.

He had told her that her business was the reason he had a headache.

Then he'd sent Amina the information for the agency.

Traitor.

Both of them.

Imani looked at the photograph of the two girls again.

She didn't know what to make of the strange warmth pooling in her stomach.

Perhaps it was the way the two women looked at each other. Perhaps it was the fact that they seemed to have built something solid long before either of them had decided to apply.

Or perhaps she was simply tired of eating dinner alone.

She set the tablet down. "Amina?"

"Yes, ma'am?"

"Have they met anyone yet?"

Amina's smile returned with alarming speed. "Not through this agency."

Imani stared at her. "You knew I would like them."

Amina shrugged. "It was an educated guess."

Imani sighed and rubbed her forehead. "I need you to understand something."

Amina straightened, her expression becoming attentive.

"If I agree to meet these women, I am not promising them anything. I'm not promising to enter an arrangement."

"Of course not, ma'am."

"And if I do agree to this, there will be boundaries. Clear ones. I will not interfere with their relationship, and I will not tolerate anyone attempting to use the arrangement to manipulate me."

Amina nodded.

Imani picked up the tablet again. She looked at Penelope's photograph, then Maisie's. Then at the little section at the bottom of their application where they had described the kind of relationship they hoped to find.

Someone who understands that loving one of us means respecting both of us. We're not looking for someone to complete our relationship. We're looking for someone who might want to build something with us.

Imani read the words slowly.

Something inside her softened just enough to make her wonder.

What would it be like to be wanted by two women who had already learned how to love each other?

What would it be like to be invited into something instead of being expected to provide everything?

What would it be like to come home to people who were happy she was there?

Imani had no answers.

But, for the first time that afternoon, she found herself wanting to find out.

She cleared her throat. "Arrange a meeting."

Amina's smile became positively radiant. "With Penelope and Maisie?"

"No, Amina. With the two penguins in Maisie's photographs. Of course, with Penelope and Maisie."

"Of course, ma'am."

"And don't tell my brother."