Michonne stirred in the massive bed, her arms and legs draped haphazardly across the silk sheets. She was still wrapped in the remnants of sleep, her breathing steady, her dark hair framing her face in wild perfection.
Rick stood at the side of the bed, a coffee cup in one hand and a mischievous grin on his face. He leaned down, lowering his voice to a playful murmur.
"Rise and shine, Sleeping Beauty. You've got a date with Tiffany's." Letting his lips brush her cheek just slightly.
Michonne groaned, turning her head toward the pillow. "No More Rodeo," she mumbled, her voice muffled and groggy.
"Not this time," Rick said, setting the coffee down on the nightstand and sitting on the bed next to her. He gently shook her shoulder. "They're opening the store early, just for you. I've been up for an hour making it happen. All you have to do is show up and give them your name and they'll take care of everything else"
That caught her attention. Michonne cracked one eye open, squinting up at him. "Tiffany's? by myself?" she echoed, her voice still laced with sleep.
"That's right," Rick said with a smirk. "You're picking out a few pieces for some higher-end events and I wanted you to have something special to remember this week. Some diamond earrings, maybe a string of pearls—whatever else catches your eye."
Michonne rolled onto her back, her robe opening slightly. She stared up at the ceiling, her brows furrowing. "I don't know about this, Rick…"
"What's not to know?" he asked his tone light but growing confused as he stood and crossed to the window. Her newly exposed skin becoming distracting.
"You walk in, pick what you like, and that's it ."
She sat up slowly, propping herself on her elbows. "That's easy for you to say. You're not the one they're gonna be sizing up the second you walk through the door."
Rick turned, his brow furrowing as he caught the tension in her voice. "What's that supposed to mean?"
Michonne hesitated, biting her lip. She swung her legs over the edge of the bed, the hem of her robe brushing her thighs as she hadn't bothered to close it. "Let's just say Chanel wasn't exactly rolling out the red carpet for me the other day and I didn't try my luck anywhere else."
Rick frowned, his jaw tightening. "Chanel wouldn't let you in to shop? Where did you get all your new clothes?"
She shook her head, looking down at her hands. "I stopped by after lunch. Figured I'd take a peek there first for a cocktail dress. They… didn't think I belonged. So I called in a favor from a friend of a friend" continuing to look down. Ashamed she let a few unsavory looks send her running, she should've checked those sales associates right then in there.
He stared at her for a moment, his fists clenching at his sides. "They said that to you?"
Michonne shrugged, her expression guarded. "Didn't have to. The looks said enough."
Rick shook his head, running a hand through his hair. "Well, they can go to hell. You don't need Chanel. And you sure as hell don't need to listen to anyone who doesn't know better than to judge you."
Michonne smiled faintly, appreciating his indignation, but she still looked uncertain. "Rick. I don't know if I'm up for that kind of thing again."
Rick stepped closer, his expression softening. "Then I'll go with you," he said simply.
She looked up at him, surprised. "You don't have to do that."
"I know," he said, his voice gentle but firm. "But I want to. I'm not letting anyone make you feel like you don't belong. Not today. Not ever."
Michonne searched his face, the sincerity in his blue eyes making her chest tighten. Finally, she sighed, shaking her head. "You're something Rick, you know that?"
"Yeah, I've been told," he said with a small smile, offering her his hand. "Now come on. Let's get going. The rest of my day is tied up with meetings."
Michonne took his hand, letting him pull her to her feet. She stood in front of him, her uncertainty melting into something warmer as he took her face gently between his hands.
"You know, cowboy, you're making it real hard to keep my head on straight."
"Good," he said, his smile widening as he leaned in a kissed her softly. His eyes hungrily traveled down her now nearly exposed breasts just barely covered by her open robe.
She laughed, playfully rolling her eyes as she turned toward the bathroom. "Let me get dressed. But don't say I didn't warn you—I'm gonna need coffee to get through this."
"Already waiting for you," Rick called after her, grinning as he watched her disappear into the bathroom. Heading to the phone to tell Shane he'd be a couple of hours late and to take their first meeting alone.
The famous Rodeo Drive bustled with activity as the iconic palm trees lining the street cast long shadows over the pristine sidewalks. Rick and Michonne strolled side by side, their steps unhurried as they passed luxury storefronts with glittering window displays. His hand held hers firmly, his thumb occasionally brushing over her skin.
Michonne glanced up at him, amused by the easy confidence in his stride. "You sure you don't mind walking around here? I mean, this doesn't exactly seem like your scene, cowboy."
Rick chuckled, glancing down at her with a playful smirk. "You think I can't handle a little luxury?"
"I know you do the whole suit and tie thing for work but you still don't strike me as a Rodeo Drive kind of guy," she teased, tilting her head. "You look more comfortable in a pair of tecovas than loafers." She longed to see him in his true element, after only a few days she knew the suits and boardroom jargon were a practiced performance. His bowlegged stride and the southern drawl that slipped ever so often and seemed to take over completely in the bedroom told her as much.
"Maybe," he said, his smile widening, she was right, he longed for his ranch especially now that these back-to-back deals kept him living in hotels between here and Manhattan.
"But right now, I'm exactly where I want to be."
Her teasing expression softened, and she turned her gaze back to the street. Despite herself, Michonne felt a warmth spreading in her chest. He had a way of saying things that caught her off guard, leaving her unsure of how to respond.
As they walked, Rick couldn't help but notice the way heads turned when Michonne passed by. She was striking—beautiful in a way that seemed almost unfair. Her simple yet elegant outfit, a sleeveless eggshell halter dress that seemed to float around her, her beauty looked effortless, but it was the way she carried herself—graceful, self-assured, magnetic—that drew attention.
And yet, he also noticed the way some people stared too long, their glances sharp and judgmental. It wasn't lost on him.
"People are staring," Michonne murmured, her tone casual but her eyes averted.
"Let 'em," Rick said firmly, his voice low.
She smiled faintly but didn't respond. It wasn't the first time she'd felt the weight of other people's eyes, and it probably wouldn't be the last. She told herself she didn't care—that she was used to it. But walking hand in hand with Rick, she found it harder to brush off the glances, the judgment she saw lingering in some people's expressions.
As they approached Tiffany's, a particularly well-dressed woman in a crisp white suit passed them on the sidewalk. Her gaze lingered, eyes narrowing slightly as she looked between Michonne and Rick.
Rick noticed immediately, his jaw tightening. The woman's disapproval was practically written on her face, and it made his blood simmer.
Without hesitation, he slowed his steps and turned to Michonne. Sliding an arm around her waist, he pulled her close, his other hand reaching up to gently tuck a stray loc behind her ear.
"They're staring because you look incredible," he said softly, his voice so genuine it made her heart skip.
Before she could respond, Rick leaned in and pressed a warm, lingering kiss to her cheek. Michonne's eyes widened slightly, caught off guard by the PDA, but the feel of his lips against her skin sent a pleasant shiver down her spine.
When he pulled back, Rick turned just enough to catch the woman's gaze. She was still staring, her disapproval now mixed with surprise. Rick simply smirked and turned his attention back to Michonne, guiding her toward the store entrance.
"You're laying it on thick today," Michonne said, her voice light but laced with amusement as they stepped inside.
Rick held the door open for her, his smile widening. "Can't help it. I like seeing you smile."
She gave him a look, half-skeptical, half-intrigued, as she walked past him into the store. But deep down, she couldn't deny the flutter in her chest—the way his words and actions were slowly breaking through walls she wasn't sure she wanted to keep standing.
Inside, the sparkling displays of diamonds and gemstones glittered under the bright lights.
Rick stayed close to Michonne's side as they browsed, his hand resting lightly on the small of her back. She glanced at him occasionally, noticing how relaxed he seemed, how at ease he made her feel despite her initial hesitation.
As Rick watched her eyes light up at a particularly stunning necklace, The saleswoman emerged from behind the glittering counters with a polished smile, her tailored black dress and pearls perfectly aligned with the elegance of Tiffany's. Her gaze immediately landed on Rick, her posture straightening as she began her customary greeting.
"Good morning, sir. Welcome to Tiffany's," she said, her tone crisp and pleasant. "How can we assist you today?"
Rick opened his mouth to respond annoyed she had only greeted him, but before he could, the saleswoman's eyes flicked briefly toward Michonne. There was a subtle shift in her expression, almost imperceptible, but Michonne caught it. Her shoulders stiffened slightly, though she remained silent, her face carefully neutral.
The saleswoman turned her attention back to Rick, her smile widening. "Are you looking for something special today?"
Rick gestured toward Michonne, his brow furrowing slightly. "I—"
"Oh, I see!" the saleswoman interrupted, her tone brightening as if a light bulb had gone off. "You've brought your stylist along to help you select the perfect piece for…"
Michonne raised an eyebrow, her lips parting slightly in disbelief. Rick blinked, momentarily stunned by the woman's audacity, before his jaw tightened.
"Excuse me?" Rick said, his voice low and sharp, cutting through the woman's rehearsed charm.
"She's who I'm here to purchase jewelry for, not my stylist" cutting his eyes at the rude associate. The fact that not even his presence could save Michonne from this woman's obvious mission to belittle angered him. How dare she think that she could treat people like that, how dare anyone.
The saleswoman blinked, her smile faltering for just a moment before recovering. "Oh, I just assumed—"
"You assumed wrong," Rick said, his tone growing colder. "This is Michonne. The Michonne I called about. Get the manager"
The saleswoman's smile froze in place, her eyes darting nervously between Rick and Michonne. "Oh, I… I'm so sorry for the misunderstanding, Mr.—"
"Don't bother," Rick snapped, stepping closer and lowering his voice just enough to make the woman pale. "Where's your manager?"
The saleswoman hesitated, clearly flustered. "I… I can help you, sir—"
"Manager," Rick repeated firmly, his blue eyes blazing.
"Of course," she stammered, nodding quickly before disappearing toward the back of the store.
Michonne exhaled quietly, crossing her arms and glancing up at Rick. "You didn't have to do all that," she said softly.
"Yes, I did," Rick said, turning to look at her. "You think I'm gonna stand here and let someone disrespect you? Not a chance."
Before Michonne could respond, the manager—trying his best to appear distinguished, in his fifties with salt-and-pepper hair and a pinstriped suit—approached with the saleswoman trailing nervously behind him.
"Good morning! I understand there's been an issue?" the manager said, his tone polite but cautious. "I'm Gregory, we spoke this morning, I'm sure I can fix whatever is wrong here," he said already feeling the half-million dollar credit line ( and the commission he would gain from it) slipping
away.
Rick folded his arms, standing tall. "Issue is putting it lightly. Your employee completely disrespected a customer, and went out of her way to make her feel unwelcome" he said, nodding toward Michonne. "And to be honest, I'm not sure I feel comfortable doing business with a store that allows this kind of behavior."
The manager glanced at Michonne, his expression briefly flickering with something like regret before he turned back to Rick. "I sincerely apologize for any offense caused. It was a misunderstanding, I assure you—"
Rick cut him off. "Misunderstanding or not, it shouldn't have happened. I had a line of credit pre-approved for today, but you can go ahead and cancel that," he said, his voice steady and unwavering. "I'll take my business elsewhere."
The manager's composure cracked slightly, his eyes widening. "Mr. Grimes, please, if you'd allow us to make this right—"
Rick shook his head, turning to Michonne. "You ready to go?"
Michonne hesitated, glancing between the manager, the saleswoman, and Rick. Finally, she nodded, her voice calm but firm. "Yeah. Let's go."
Rick extended his hand to her, and she took it, letting him lead her toward the exit. As they stepped back onto Rodeo Drive, the sunlight warming their faces, Rick glanced over at Michonne.
"You okay?" he asked, his tone softer now.
Michonne nodded, squeezing his hand. "Yeah. I'm good. I mean, I didn't need the rescue, but…" She trailed off, a small smile tugging at her lips. "I appreciate it."
Rick smirked, his thumb brushing over the back of her hand again. She liked that.
"I told you—I don't let anyone mess with what's mine."
Michonne's smile widened, though she raised an eyebrow at his words. "Yours, huh?"
"Yeah' you heard me," Rick said letting his southern drawl slip intentionally.
She tried to ignore the warmth that spread through her chest and up her neck at his admission, But as they made their way down the street, reaching Cartier's red-capped windows, Michonne found herself smiling for reasons she couldn't quite explain.
Nearly Two hours later Rick entered his office, one of many in the country. The usual hustle and bustle of his staff buzzed just outside the glass walls, but Rick barely noticed as he settled into his leather chair, Waiting for his computer to power up. He leaned forward, his elbows on the desk, and forced himself to focus on work for a while, Michonne had bewitched his mind and he was sure she'd have his heart by week's end. He shook his head smiling at his revelation and began sifting through the file his assistant had compiled on Phillip Blake, his newest business rival.
Phillip's acquisition of Hershel Greene's company had been the talk of the industry last year. On the surface, it looked like a standard buyout, but Rick wasn't buying the narrative. Something about it didn't sit right with him, and he intended to find out exactly what.
Hours passed as Rick delved into every piece of information he could find. The deeper he dug, the more the picture came together, and the more disgusted he became. Hershel's debts—originally manageable—had spiraled out of control thanks to Phillip's underhanded tactics. Phillip had systematically bought up the smaller vendors Hershel relied on for discounted supplies, liquidating them to cut off his access. Forced to scramble for replacements, Hershel had been left paying premium prices just to keep his company afloat.
Rick leaned back in his chair, rubbing his jaw in frustration. Hershel had been pushed to the brink, forced to take on Phillip as a partner to stay in business. Once inside, Phillip had strong-armed his way into becoming the controlling partner, leaving Hershel with little more than a figurehead role in the company he had built from the ground up.
Rick clenched his fists. It was predatory. Ruthless. And it made his blood boil. He couldn't stand the thought of someone like Phillip running roughshod over a man like Hershel—a man who had probably spent his life doing things the right way, only to have it ripped out from under him by a vulture in a tailored suit.
He leaned forward, his fingers flying over the keyboard as he started planning. Phillip wasn't just targeting Hershel—he was also working on wooing the remaining vendors Hershel still had relationships with. Those vendors were Hershel's last bit of leverage, the only thing keeping him on the board. If Phillip succeeded in stealing them away, Hershel would lose everything.
Rick wouldn't let that happen.
He picked up the phone, dialing quickly. "Shane," he said as soon as his friend and attorney answered.
"Rick," Shane replied. "What's going on? Thought you were taking some time off this week."
"Change of plans," Rick said, his voice firm. "I need your help."
Shane sighed, but Rick could hear the curiosity in his tone. "What's it this time?"
"I need you to get us into the Beverly Hills Polo classic this weekend. The one all the old money types go to."
"The horse derby?" Shane asked, clearly surprised. "Why? Are you planning to wear a fancy hat and sip mint juleps?"
Rick rolled his eyes. "Phillip Blake is going to be there. He's working the crowd, trying to lock down Hershel Greene's remaining vendors. If he gets them, it's game over for Hershel."
"And you're planning to stop him? Why do you care? Aren't you just gonna break the company up into pieces anyway?" Shane asked, his tone skeptical but intrigued.
"I was, but I'm thinking now we get it back to its original CEO and then we'll have an ally forever," Rick said. "If we show up and start shaking hands at this classic, we can keep Phillip off balance. Distract him long enough to throw a wrench in his plans."
Shane was silent for a moment before letting out a low whistle. "Alright, I'll see what I can do man. But you know those invites don't come cheap, right?"
"Doesn't matter," Rick said. "Just make it happen. I'll cover whatever it costs. Plus a bottle of whatever you're throwing back nowadays"
"Alright," Shane said with a chuckle. "I'll call you back when I've got something."
Rick hung up, leaning back in his chair and staring out the window. His mind was racing, already thinking three steps ahead. He needed to secure those invites, get some background on these vendors to charm them, and most importantly he needed Michonne by his side.
Back at the penthouse, Michonne sat cross-legged on the plush hotel bed, staring at the opulent room bathed in the warm glow of the evening sun streaming through the windows. She'd been here for days now, but she still wasn't used to it. The luxury, the quiet, the feeling of safety. She realized, for the first time, she didn't miss her apartment at all.
The tiny place back on the edge of the city she shared with Rosita wasn't home—it had never felt like one. It had always been a temporary stop on her journey, a cramped space that barely held her things, much less her dreams. She had never bothered decorating, never made it hers. Why would she? It wasn't meant to last.
She glanced around the suite, at the shopping bags and designer boxes stacked neatly by the dresser. Most of the clothes and shoes she'd bought still sat where she'd left them, untouched since she'd returned. Michonne didn't even unpack them. A part of her was still in survival mode, ready to leave at a moment's notice, even if she didn't have anywhere to go.
It was silly, she thought. Rick hadn't given her any reason to feel that way. If anything, he made her feel like she belonged here—more than she ever had anywhere else.
With a sigh, Michonne slid off the bed and padded across the room, her bare feet sinking into the carpet. She picked up her room phone and pressed the concierge button.
"Yes, ma'am, how can we assist you?" the voice on the other end asked politely.
"Hi," she said, brushing a hand through her locs. "I'd like to schedule room service for a late dinner. The—grilled salmon, with the mashed potatoes, and asparagus. For two. Could it be brought up around eight?"
"Of course, ma'am. We'll have that arranged for you right away," the concierge replied.
"Thank you," Michonne said, hanging up and placing the phone back on its base.
She turned back to the shopping bags and boxes, exhaling deeply. "Alright, no more excuses," she muttered to herself.
One by one, she unbagged her new clothes, pulling out silks, satins, tailored pieces, and shoes far too beautiful to be real. As she worked, she realized just how little she had let herself enjoy these things. At first, it had felt too indulgent, like a life that wasn't hers. But wasn't that why she had come here in the first place? To make something of herself?
She walked over to the spacious walk-in closet, carefully hanging each dress, blouse, and blazer on the velvet-lined hangers. When she stepped back, looking at the neatly arranged clothing, she felt a strange sense of satisfaction. For the first time, it didn't feel like she was living out of a suitcase.
It wasn't just about the clothes, though. Rick had given her a taste of something she hadn't dared to hope for: freedom. Comfort. A sense that she could stop running, even if just for a little while.
By the time she finished, the closet looked pristine, almost as if it had been curated for a photoshoot. She smoothed the front of her dress and glanced at the clock. Rick would be back soon.
For the first time in a long time, she felt a little more settled. Not entirely, not yet—but it was a start.
Rick stepped off the elevator, loosening his tie as he crossed the foyer to the suite. The day had been long, his mind consumed with thoughts of Phillip and Hershel, but none of that mattered now. All he wanted was to be here, with her.
As he opened the door, the warm, mouthwatering aroma of dinner greeted him, mingling with the soft hum of jazz playing on the suite's sound system. He stepped inside, and there she was—Michonne.
She was barefoot, her slim, toned legs peeking out from beneath a silk dressing gown in a deep shade of emerald that hugged her in all the right places. She had her hair loose save for a few locs tied back away from her face as she moved around the dining table, arranging plates and glasses with careful attention.
Rick stood there for a moment, the tension of his day melting away as he took her in. She glanced up and saw him, a small, knowing smile spreading across her lips.
"Hey, you," she said, her voice warm. "Dinner's here. Thought you might like something to eat." He was a little early. She had jumped out of the shower to answer the door for room service and hadn't even gotten a chance to dress for dinner before Rick came through the door.
He set his briefcase down and slipped off his jacket, tossing it over the back of a chair. "Michonne…" he started, his voice low as he approached her.
"What?" she asked, her smile widening as she smoothed out a napkin by one of the plates listening to His bowlegged stride coming up behind her. "I figured a nice meal would help you relax. I don't think I've seen you eat once despite us going to dinner last night." She chuckled turning around to face him.
Rick didn't respond right away. Instead, he stepped closer, the intensity in his blue eyes making her pause. "What is it?" she asked again, this time a little more breathlessly.
He stopped in front of her, his large hands reaching for her waist. "I don't think I'm hungry for dinner," he murmured, his voice husky.
Before she could respond, he hoisted her up onto the table with ease, his fingers gripping her hips as he stepped further between her legs. The table rattled slightly under her weight, but neither of them cared. Her lips parted in surprise, but Rick didn't hesitate. He leaned in, capturing her mouth in a deep, searing kiss.
Michonne gasped against his lips, her hands instinctively gripping his shoulders for balance. The kiss was hungry, and demanding, and left no room for doubt about what he wanted. Her heart raced as she kissed him back, matching his fervor.
"Rick," she breathed when he finally pulled back, his forehead resting against hers. "The food's going to get cold…"
His lips curved into a small, mischievous smile. "I don't care," he said, his voice rough and filled with need. His hands slid down her sides, his touch firm yet gentle as if she might disappear if he let go.
Michonne tilted her head back slightly, her laughter soft and full of heat. "I take it you've had this on your mind all day too?"
"Maybe," he replied, his lips brushing against her jawline. "But even if I didn't, it definitely jumped to the front of my thoughts the moment I saw you looking the way you do." Leaning in to suck at her throat.
Her laughter faded into a soft moan as his mouth trailed down her neck, his scruff grazing her skin in a way that sent shivers down her spine. She leaned into him, her fingers threading through his hair as the rest of the world faded away.
The plates and silverware sat forgotten on the table as Rick continued to kiss her, his hands exploring her curves like he was committing every inch of her to memory.
Michonne gasped in surprise as he laid her down gently upon its surface, his gaze fixed intently upon her. Slowly but surely, he pulled the silk straps that held her dressing gown closed, letting it fall open and exposing her luscious curves to him.
With sure fingers, he trailed his palms over the softness of her breasts, feeling her nipples pebble beneath his touch. Michonne closed her eyes, surrendering wholly to the sensations that coursed through her veins. She had been kicking herself for reveling in Rick's affections but why shouldn't she? Because Rosita said? She didn't know Rick nor had she seen how he had been treating her, or felt how he was fucking her. Her mind blanked as Rick hoisted her higher still, bending her backward until she lay spread-eagled upon the table, her limbs akimbo and her heart hammering wildly within her chest. With a low growl, he descended upon her, his mouth finding purchase upon the sensitive points of her neck. Michonne shuddered as he kissed her, pulling at her hair and urging her closer.
As Rick's tongue darted into her mouth, Michonne felt herself losing all sense of rational thought. It was as though every fiber of her being was conspiring to draw her nearer and nearer to the very edge of madness. She felt him sliding his hand lower, tracing circles along the curve of her hipbone before slipping his fingers between her thighs.
Michonne moaned loudly as his touch ignited a firestorm within her, driving her to the brink of insanity. She writhed and twisted beneath his skilled ministrations, lost utterly in the throes of passionate abandonment. At that moment, nothing else existed save for the intense, dizzying rush of pleasure that washed over her wave after glorious wave.
He teased her mercilessly, caressing her inner folds with gentle strokes that sent sparks dancing across her nerve endings. Michonne arched her back, pressing herself against his seeking fingers, eager for more.
"Please," she breathed huskily, "take me."
Rick complied without delay, rising between her thighs, dropping his slacks, and positioning himself perfectly. Michonne wrapped her legs around his waist, pulling him tighter against her, and cried out in pleasure as he slid home. Their bodies melded together seamlessly, moving in perfect harmony as they explored the depths of their passions once again.
"Rick" fell from her lips as he pushed deeper. His deep groan vibrating against her skin as they enjoyed the heat their joined bodies created.
Their lovemaking was slow and deliberate at first, savoring every nuance of sensation that passed between them. They kissed deeply, their tongues twining together as they drew breathless whispered expletives from one another.
Rick thrust himself into Michonne, his lips seeking out hers once more, she moaned softly, her nails digging into his back. Her heart pounded wildly within her chest, the intensity of their connection leaving her breathless.
He moved inside her with fluid grace, stroking her tenderly as she writhed beneath him. Every inch of her skin seemed to come alive under his touch, her nerves fizzling with electric energy.
The scent of sweat and desire mingled in the air, filling Michonne's nostrils with heady fragrances. She clutched tightly at Rick's shoulders, urging him onward as his pace quickened.
Each movement brought them closer to the precipice, building ever higher until the air was thick with anticipation.
Michonne's hips lifted instinctively towards Rick's grinding pelvis, inviting him further in. Rick responded eagerly, thrusting harder and faster, sending shudders of pleasure reverberating throughout her body. She clenched tightly around him, drawing him even deeper into her core.
Sweat dripped from their brows and mixed with saliva on their lips as they locked in a passionate embrace. Michonne's moans grew louder, echoing through the penthouse like a call to the dead. Rick grunted low in his throat, answering her cry with one of his own.
Then, suddenly, Rick began to move faster, harder, plunging deep into Michonne's welcoming warmth. The sound of flesh meeting flesh filled the silence of the night as they rode out their shared ecstasy, their cries muffled by the heat of their desire. He gripped her tightly, his knuckles turning white as he fell over the edge taking her with him.
When they finally came back to reality, panting and limp-bodied, they remained joined for several minutes, reveling in the aftershocks of their intense encounter. Rick withdrew slowly from Michonne's velvety core, a trail of stickiness following in his wake.
She struggled to catch her breath giving him a small smile as he leaned in for another kiss.
"You're terrible" she giggled into his mouth yelping as he scooped her up and carried her off to the bedroom.
Later Rick leaned back against the plush headboard, the soft hotel sheets draped loosely around his waist. Beside him, Michonne sat cross-legged, wearing one of his white button-down shirts, which was just a bit too big for her. She was holding a small plate with a heaping spoonful of mashed potatoes, laughing softly as she nudged the spoonful toward his lips.
"You barely ate anything," she teased, her voice warm and teasing.
Rick chuckled, taking the bite she offered him. "Can you blame me? I Got… distracted," he said, his voice dropping as his eyes roamed over her with a lazy grin.
Michonne narrowed her brown eyes playfully, though her lips curved into a playful smile. "Yeah, yeah. You're full of excuses." She set the plate on the nightstand and leaned back against the headboard beside him, her leg brushing against his.
For a moment, they sat in companionable silence, the city lights twinkling beyond the large windows of the suite. Then Rick turned to her, his hand resting lightly on her thigh.
"There's a polo match tomorrow," he said casually, though his tone carried a hint of something deeper. "The Beverly Hills Polo Classic. It's kind of a big deal."
Michonne raised an eyebrow at him, intrigued.
"And?"
"And I want you to come with me," Rick said, his eyes meeting hers with an intensity that made her heart skip a beat.
Her lips parted in surprise, but then a sly grin spread across her face. "You're paying me to be at your beck and call, Rick," she said, her voice tinged with humor. "Why would I say no?"
Her words stung and the feeling surprised him. The remainder of their arrangement hit him again like a splash of cold water. Rick shifted slightly, his jaw flexing as he looked away from her, staring out the window. He wished, not for the first time, that they'd met under different circumstances—that he'd met her under any other set of circumstances, not that it was at all unpleasant, but their start left a dynamic between them that felt almost unfair to her.
But what could he say? He'd set the terms, and she'd agreed. It wasn't fair to want more than what they'd signed up for and he'd be grateful for anything she was willing to give him beyond that. After all, she had chosen him that night. That fact always calmed his raging thoughts.
"Right," he said quietly, brushing off the sinking feeling in his chest. He let himself exhale and reached for her, pulling her close. "Guess I'll take that as a yes, then."
Michonne allowed herself to be drawn into him, her head resting on his chest, her fingers lightly tracing the muscles beneath his skin. She couldn't see the conflicted look on his face as he stared out at the city, his thoughts still slowly ebbing away.
Michonne let out a soft sigh, her voice breaking the quiet. "You're the tense one now," she observed peeking up at him.
Rick pressed a kiss to the top of her head as he pulled her closer. "Just thinking," he murmured, though he didn't elaborate.
Before long, her breathing slowed, and Rick realized she'd drifted off to sleep in his arms. He held her a little tighter, still staring out at the sprawling city.
As the minutes turned into hours, Rick remained awake, his mind racing. He dreaded the day their arrangement would end, the day she'd walk away and leave behind this strange, perfect bubble they'd created. He wanted to hold on to it—to her—for as long as he could, but deep down, he feared it wasn't enough.
With a heavy sigh, Rick finally closed his eyes, willing himself to stop thinking. For now, he had her here, in his arms, and that would have to be enough.
The Beverly Hills Polo Classic was alive with energy—women in elegant dresses and wide-brimmed hats, men in tailored suits, champagne flutes clinking, and the hum of high-stakes excitement mingling with the distant thunder of hooves on the track. Rick arrived with Michonne on his arm, both of them impeccably dressed and impossible to miss.
Michonne looked radiant in a pale yellow 1950s-style belted dress with a heart-shaped neckline that cinched perfectly at her waist, the soft fabric flowing gracefully as she walked. Her chic tan hat sat at an elegant tilt, complementing her white pumps and the dazzling canary diamond tennis bracelet on her wrist. She felt eyes on her as they made their way through the crowd, but it wasn't just her outfit that turned heads—it was Rick, too wearing a light blue sport coat that brought out the striking color of his eyes, his every movement exuding confidence and charm. As they walked hand in hand, heads turned, not just because of their looks but also because of the undeniable chemistry that seemed to radiate between them.
Rick had an agenda, of course—charm Hershel's remaining vendors and undermine Phillip's plans—but being here with Michonne, he realized he wasn't faking a good time like he normally would. Her warm laughter and quick wit only added to the impression he wanted to make.
As they moved through the crowd, Rick leaned on Michonne's natural charm, introducing her to the vendors with ease. She shmoozed effortlessly, laughing at the right moments, making sharp observations, and even drawing out smiles from some of the older, more reserved men. Together, they were magnetic.
Phillip was there, too, watching from a distance. He had tried to woo these same vendors earlier, but Rick was stealing the show. Phillip's teeth clenched as he saw how Rick was dazzling them—and how Michonne only amplified his success.
Michonne excused herself after a while, heading to the bar to refresh their drinks. Rick gave her a glance over his shoulder, his eyes softening as he watched her go. But Phillip saw his chance.
As Michonne waited at the bar, her tan hat casting a shadow over her face, Phillip slid up beside her, his smile too sharp to be friendly.
"You're quite the enigma," Phillip said smoothly. "I don't believe we've been formally introduced, not without the peanut gallery at least - Phillip Blake."
Michonne turned to him, her expression polite but guarded. "I remember, Michonne," she said simply, offering no more than her name.
"You're here with Rick Grimes, aren't you?" Phillip's tone was casual, but there was a sharpness beneath it. "Interesting company he's been keeping lately. Tell me, has he mentioned why he's so interested in Hershel's Greene's old vendors?"
Michonne raised an eyebrow, feigning confusion. "I have no idea what you're talking about. I'm just here to enjoy some polo."
Phillip's smile tightened. "Of course you are," he said, his tone condescending. "But you must have noticed how… invested Rick is. Curious, don't you think?"
Michonne gave a light laugh, effortlessly deflecting. "Not as curious as why you're so interested in me, and what I may or may not notice," she said, grabbing the two champagne flutes from the bartender and stepping away before he could say more.
She made her way back to the middle of the lawn where Rick was but couldn't find him, her heart beating faster—not from fear, but from irritation. Phillip was trying to dig for information, but she wasn't about to give him anything. She just needed to find Rick but she needed to calm down first. She downed both half-filled flutes of overpriced champagne and left the glasses on a nearby table, heading in the direction of the stables.
Rick was deep in conversation with one of the vendors, having moved under a gazebo, his charm on full display. Standing nearby, Shane watched Michonne disappear in the crowd. He had seen the interaction between her and Phillip and immediately felt suspicious.
Once Rick finished his conversation, Shane pulled him aside. "We need to talk," Shane said in a low voice.
"Make it quick," Rick said, clearly impatient.
"I saw Phillip talking to your girl," Shane said, crossing his arms. "What's she doing talking to him?"
Rick frowned, his gaze flicking toward Michonne, or rather where she thought she was at the bar, but now she was nowhere to be seen. "She's not 'doing' anything," he said, his voice sharp.
"Are you sure about that?" Shane pressed. "Rick, do you even know who she is? How do you know she's not working for Phillip?"
Rick's neck flexed backward as his eyes narrowed, the frustration building. He didn't want to have this conversation, especially not now. "What the hell are you talking about?"he said growing more agitated.
"She could be feeding him information about this deal man, she-"
"I found her on Sunset Boulevard, alright?" he cut in, his voice low but tense. "I paid her to stay with me for the week. She's not a spy. She doesn't know anything about Phillip, Hershel, or this whole mess. She just met them at the dinner we had Monday"
Shane blinked, clearly taken aback. Rick immediately wanted to snatch back the words but he couldn't now.
"Sunset? You telling me?" He said his eyebrows raising as a sly smirk formed.
"Look, I got lost and she helped me, the rest is my business, Shane," Rick said, running a hand through his hair. "I don't have time for this. I need to get back to those vendors before Phillip does."
Shane nodded slowly, though he didn't look convinced. "And You sure she's not chatting up someone else?."
Rick shot him a warning look, but Shane smirked again, undeterred. Lowering his voice he said, "… didn't see you as the type to hire someone like that."
Rick stiffened. "It's not like that, Shane." Regretting he had said anything at all.
But Shane wasn't about to let it drop. "Hey, I'm not judging," he said, holding up his hands. "Just saying, if she's… available for hire, maybe she's not as loyal as you think. She seemed pretty comfortable talking to Phillip."
Rick's jaw tightened, his frustration barely contained. "She's not working for Phillip," he said sharply.
Shane held up his hands again in mock surrender, but there was a glint in his eye. "Alright, alright. I'll go find her for you. Save you the trouble."
Rick hesitated, his protective instincts flaring, but Shane was already moving, weaving through the crowd. He returned to the vendors, seamlessly picking up where he'd left off. But as he spoke, his eyes darted around the lawn, searching for Michonne. She had a way of making everything else seem less dire, and the thought of Phillip within 5 feet of her made his stomach churn
The event carried on in full swing, but Michonne needed a moment. The fresh air away from The crowds of "old money" did wonders to calm her nerves. The scent of hay and horses mingled with the distant cheers from the track, grounding her. She leaned against the stable's wooden railing, taking a deep breath and letting the relative quiet settle over her. It wasn't the first time she'd had to deal with someone like Phillip, but the encounter had rattled her more than she wanted to admit.
She brushed her hands down the skirt of her yellow dress, regaining her composure. She thought of Rick, the way he'd looked at her earlier with such genuine admiration, and felt a twinge of something she couldn't quite name. Whatever this arrangement was, it was starting to feel more real than she had intended.
Michonne was just beginning to feel like herself again when she heard footsteps approaching. She straightened, expecting to see Rick, but was surprised when Shane stepped into view instead. She had only met him briefly upon arriving at the event and didn't know much more about him other than he was Rick's business partner.
"Well, there you are," Shane said, a grin spreading across his face. "Rick's been looking all over for you."
Michonne relaxed only slightly, something about Shane's demeanor setting her on edge. "Needed some air," she said simply, her tone cool but polite.
"Understandable," Shane said, stepping closer. "These kinds of events can be… overwhelming. Though I have to admit, you've got a knack for standing out in a crowd."
Michonne crossed her arms, raising an eyebrow. "Something I can help you with?"
Shane chuckled, ignoring her pointed tone. "Just curious about you, that's all. You've got Rick all tied up in knots, and that's not something I see every day."
She didn't respond, her gaze steady and unyielding.
"You're a fascinating woman, Michonne," Shane continued, his voice dropping slightly. "And I've got to wonder… what's a girl like you doing with a guy like Rick? Unless, of course, it's just business."
At that, Michonne's expression hardened. "I don't see how that's any of your business," she said, her voice sharp.
Shane held up his hands, feigning innocence. "Hey, I'm just saying. If you're looking to expand your… clientele, I'm not hard to find."
Michonne's stomach churned with disgust, but she kept her composure. "You've got the wrong idea," she said coldly, brushing past him. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to get back."
Shane watched her go, a flicker of frustration crossing his face. Whatever he'd been hoping for, it wasn't going to happen.
When Michonne rejoined Rick inside, he immediately felt a wave of relief. His conversation with the vendors was winding down, but his focus was squarely on her as she approached.
"You alright?" he asked quietly, his eyes searching hers.
"I'm fine," she lied, offering him a small smile.
Rick nodded, his hand coming to rest lightly on the small of her back. He wanted to ask more but decided against it. For now, it was enough that she was back by his side.
The hum of the town car was the only sound between them as it glided through the streets of Beverly Hills, heading back to the hotel. The energy of the day had faded, replaced by a quiet tension that hung in the air. Michonne sat beside Rick, her hands resting in her lap, her gaze distant. She hadn't said much since they'd left, and Rick couldn't shake the feeling that something was off and that whatever interaction she had with Shane was the cause of it.
Finally, she broke the silence, her voice soft but deliberate. "Did you tell Shane about… this arrangement?"
Rick's hand froze mid-reach for the water bottle in the cupholder. He exhaled slowly, knowing he couldn't lie to her. "Yeah," he admitted, his voice low. "It came out. He was asking questions, and I—"
She held up a hand, cutting him off. "It's fine," she said quickly, her tone clipped, almost dismissive.
Rick's brow furrowed as he studied her profile. She was staring out the window, her expression unreadable. Her fingers played absently with the edge of her dress, but she didn't turn to look at him.
"Michonne…" he started, but her silence was louder than any words she could've spoken.
"I said it's fine," she repeated, softer this time, though there was an edge to her voice that told him it wasn't. She shifted slightly in her seat, tucking her legs to the side as she leaned against the door.
Rick felt the weight of her words—or lack thereof—settle in his chest. He wanted to say more, to explain, to apologize, but something about the way she sat there, closed off, told him to leave it alone.
The rest of the ride passed in silence. Rick stole glances at her every now and then, his stomach knotting as he watched her retreat further into herself. He hated the quiet, hated the way she seemed to shrink away from him.
When they finally arrived at the hotel, the driver opened the door, and Michonne stepped out first, her heels clicking softly against the pavement. Rick followed, staying close but not too close, unsure of where they stood in that moment.
They rode the elevator up to the suite in silence, the tension between them thick but unspoken. Rick found himself staring at the reflection of them in the mirrored walls—him standing tall and unsure, her small frame tense and withdrawn. He wished he could fix it, but he didn't know how.
When they reached their floor, she walked into the suite ahead of him, her posture calm and composed as if nothing had happened. But Rick could feel the distance between them, and it gnawed at him.
He closed the door behind them and paused, watching as she set her clutch on the table and began slipping out of her hat and shoes.
"Michonne," he started again, his voice hesitant.
She turned to look at him, her expression unreadable, before going into the bathroom.
Rick paced the living room of the suite, running a hand through his hair, unsettled by the tension still hanging in the air. He couldn't stop thinking about how Michonne had looked at him in the car, her quiet disapproval cutting deeper than anything she could have said. He wasn't used to feeling like this—so unsure, so vulnerable.
He heard her footsteps before he saw her. She emerged with a strange demeanor, her posture more rigid, her expression guarded. There was something about her that felt… different. A coldness, an edge.
Michonne crossed the room, her arms folded. Her gaze landed on him with an unreadable intensity before she spoke, her tone sharp and sarcastic. "So, since you're telling people I'm a prostitute now, I figure I should act the part, right?"
Rick froze, his chest tightening. "Michonne—"
But she cut him off, stepping closer bracing her hands on his chest, her movements deliberate, calculated. "What's the matter, Rick? You paid for the whole package, didn't you?" Her voice was low, but the bitterness in it was unmistakable. Despite her hands slipping lower. "Guess I should start earning my keep. I wouldn't want you to feel like you're not getting your money's worth."
Before he could stop her, she sank to her knees, right in the middle of the living room, her hands undoing his belt.
"Stop!" Rick's voice was firm, his hands immediately reaching to pull her up, his grip gentle but unyielding. He guided her back to her feet, his heart pounding. "Michonne, stop."
Her jaw clenched as she looked at him, her eyes blazing with anger and hurt. "Why?" she snapped, her voice cracking. "Isn't this what you're paying for? A pretty face to parade around, someone you can tell your friends you bought for the week? I mean, that's what Shane thinks, right? So why not give you the show you signed up for?"
Rick shook his head, his hands still on her arms, steadying her. "That's not what this is, Michonne," he said, his voice softer now. "That's not how I see you."
She laughed bitterly, pulling away from him. "How do you see me, Rick? As someone, you can just… buy and pass around like a damn trophy?" Her voice broke, and she turned away, grabbing her clutch and heading for the door. He could keep his money.
Rick's chest tightened in panic as he watched her reach for her coat. "Michonne, wait."
She continued towards the door, not daring to turn around and look at him. She had been foolish to think he'd take something between them seriously. Rosita was right, and Rick was beginning to bark just like she predicted.
"I messed up," Rick admitted, his voice heavy with guilt. "I shouldn't have told Shane. I shouldn't have said anything to anyone. I was frustrated, he kept accusing you of being a damn spy for Blake and it just… came out. But I swear to you, I didn't mean for it to sound like that."
She turned slowly, her arms crossed over her chest, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. "You told him I was for sale, Rick," she said quietly. "Do you have any idea how that feels? How that sounds? To know that the man who's been treating me like I'm special sees me like… like a transaction?"
Rick stepped closer, his expression pained. "I don't see you that way, Michonne. I never have. You're more than this arrangement, more than any of this." He paused, his voice faltering as he searched for the right words. "I only offered to pay because that's how everything has always worked in my life, I never intended to make you feel this way. But I shouldn't have said anything. I hurt you, and I hate that I did."
She looked at him, her defenses wavering but still intact. "I hated how that felt, him thinking he was next in line. I know how we met is….unconventional but I'd like it if you didn't tell anyone else about it- at least not, that, part" Looking down at her pointed heels drew circles in the carpet.
"Of course," Rick said, his voice thick with regret. "You're right. I didn't have to, and I never should've. I will handle Shane, this is our last deal together, I'm distancing myself from him ."
Michonne's lips parted as if to respond, but she hesitated. From what she heard that day he was a key member of his organization and made a lot happen for him, Rick willing to cut ties without even needing details from her warmed her heart.
"I'm serious, Michonne," Rick continued, his tone pleading. "I care about you. And I'll do whatever it takes to make this right. Just… give me the chance to prove it."
Her gaze softened slightly, her resolve cracking. She exhaled, her shoulders slumping as the anger drained out of her. "Rick…"
"Stay," he whispered, stepping closer. "Please."
There was a long pause, the air between them heavy with unspoken words. Finally, Michonne nodded, her voice barely audible. "Okay."
Relief washed over Rick's face, but he didn't reach for her, giving her the space she still seemed to need.
"I'm sorry," he said again, his voice earnest.
Michonne nodded once more, her gaze back dropping to the floor. "Just… don't do it again," she said quietly.
"I won't," he promised.
For a moment, they stood in silence, the tension between them beginning to ease. Then, without another word, Michonne turned and walked back toward the bedroom. Rick watched her go, his heart still heavy but hopeful. He knew he had messed up horribly, but at least she was still here.
"Are you coming?" she called from the bedroom pulling him from his thoughts.
He heard the bath faucet begin to run loudly, the large Japanese soaking tub filling with hot water. The comforting aroma of lavender filled the room as he joined her, unbuttoning his shirt while toeing off his loafers, more than ready to wash the ending to this day away and start anew.