Chapter 16 Hendrix
CHAPTER 16
HENDRIX
I ’m not really a basketball fan.
I’m here for the vibes and the exposure. That moment displaying Chapel on the jumbotron at the biggest game of the playoffs so far? That’s why we came. Millions of people just saw her in the best seats in the house. That clip will circulate all over social media for days. The sports pundits on TV probably identified her as the current “it” girl who won the model competition Lewks . They’re sharing her backstory, commenting on the “unlikely” victory of a woman with vitiligo winning a beauty competition. All going according to plan.
In my peripheral vision, Chapel blows a kiss to the camera, clouds of pink champagne spilled across her brown skin. Her hair has been cropped close and dyed strawberry blond. On-screen she is a tableau of vibrant colors and contrasts, a bird of paradise in full bloom. All eyes on her tonight could translate to my phone ringing off the hook tomorrow. We haven’t landed a cosmetic contract yet. That’s my personal goal; for a makeup company to want her, not to cover up her vitiligo, or to say she’s beautiful in spite of it, but to look for ways to highlight that she’s beautiful because of it. One of them could see her tonight on the biggest stage in sports, not just holding her own, but holding the world rapt.
So I endure two hours of a game I’m not particularly interested in.
I’m playing on my phone when the text message comes over.
Maverick : Wordle? Animal Crossing? What’s so good on that phone you couldn’t be bothered to smile for the cameras?
I look up, glancing around the arena, but I don’t see Maverick anywhere. Realistically, it’s a sold-out crowd of thousands, so no surprise there.
Maverick: Look higher.
I let my gaze roam until I find the luxury boxes that ring the upper level of the arena. In one of them, I barely make out Maverick standing beside his assistant, Bolt, and a man taller than the two of them.
Me: Candy Crush actually.
Maverick: I have a box.
Me: I see that.
Maverick: Come up.
He’s really saying come see me , which I definitely should not do.
Me: I think we’re fine down here with the common folks.
Maverick: Common folks, my ass. Your seats are $25,000 a pop. Probably cost more than this box.
My brows stretch to my hairline, shock freezing my fingers over the keypad for a second. I knew these were fantastic seats when Imani offered them, but I didn’t realize they were that good. She probably didn’t either since they were gifted to her.
Me : Nothing but the best for my girls
Maverick: I think you should come up here if only so we can observe my assistant and yours insult each other for thirty seconds before sneaking off to fuck like wildebeests in some dark corner.
Bolt didn’t call Skipper and she didn’t call him. Though it was a strange encounter, I could tell she was disappointed he never reached out at all.
“Ladies, one of my friends has a box,” I say, leaning forward to look at Chapel and Skipper. “And invited us to come up. You interested?”
“Hell, yeah.” Chapel grabs her small YSL bag. “I know they got better food and superior liquor.”
“You’re probably right.” I laugh.
Me: Tell me how to get there. We’re on our way.
Maverick: I was hoping you’d say that.
Ten minutes later, I’m asking if this was a good idea. Putting myself in closer proximity to one of the most charismatic, intelligent, successful… and dammit fiiiine men I’ve ever met makes no sense when he’s strictly off-limits. When indulging the attraction could derail my goals. I’m still reciting this mantra to myself when the elevator arrives at the box floor and the doors open.
“Who’s this friend, by the way?” Skipper asks. “I didn’t bother to…”
Her words trail into astonished silence when we come face-to-face with Bolt as soon as we step off the elevator. A muscle ticks in his jaw and his posture is stiff—shoulders tight and hands shoved into pockets of flawlessly tailored slacks. Tonight’s bow tie is pin-striped. Skipper’s steps halt beside me and she growls under her breath.
“Ms. Barry,” Bolt addresses me, not looking at Skipper. “This way. Mr. Bell is waiting for you.”
Skipper grabs my elbow and hisses in my ear. “I’m gonna piss in your coffee tomorrow. You coulda told me.”
“And miss this reaction?” My chuckle is low, my amusement is high. “No way.”
When we step into the luxury box, Maverick’s back is to me. He and the other man I spotted from the floor face the plexiglass. Even though the man stands a few inches taller than Maverick, I recognize the legacy of his strong shoulders and the proud set of his head in who I presume to be his son. They’re deep in conversation, and when they turn their heads to speak to each other, their profiles are so similarly stark and strong and raw-boned, I’ll eat my Louis Vuitton sneaker if they aren’t father and son.
“Now this how we s’posed to be living.” Chapel lets out a low whistle. “We shoulda been here all night.”
Maverick turns to face us, and our eyes connect. The glance is as hot and quick as a drop of oil in a pan, but we both look away immediately. Maybe it just feels that way to me. Maybe all this unwanted awareness sparking between us lives only in my imagination.
I really hope so.
“Hendrix,” Maverick says, walking over to us. “Good to see you again.”
I summon a neutral smile that doesn’t telegraph any of the damn you look good thoughts running through my mind. Standing tall in a black discreetly Gucci T-shirt that molds his powerful chest and biceps, dark jeans, and vintage J’s, the man is gasp-worthy. It’s not even how expensive he looks and smells. There’s a magnetic field beneath that layer of class and sophistication that I have trouble resisting.
“Good to see you, too, Maverick. Thanks for the invitation.” I gesture to my two friends. “You remember Chapel, of course. And my assistant, Skipper.”
“This suite is amazing.” Chapel inspects the luxurious leather seats, the well-appointed bar and bartender, the gourmet buffet. “You do it up, huh? Thanks for putting us on.”
“It’s good to have company,” Maverick replies with an easy smile. “People have been coming and going all night.”
“Who you pulling for?” Chapel asks.
“The Vipers. My dad worked with them for years so I grew up a fan.” He turns to the man at the plexiglass. “Hey, Pop, come meet some friends.”
Maverick’s father isn’t exactly a carbon copy of his son, but the resemblance is unmistakable. I tip my head back to meet his eyes, the same dark, microscopic-strength stare his son locks on you, though there is something distracted in his demeanor. Like it’s a habit to assess people, but he can barely be bothered anymore. Not rude, just like his mind is half somewhere else.
“Chris Bell,” he says, evenly dividing a smile between Chapel, Skipper, and me.
After Maverick introduces us, his father makes a few minutes of small talk before walking back over to the plexiglass. It looks like the third quarter is getting underway, and Chris Bell watches with the air of a sentry on guard.
“Ladies, help yourself to anything you see,” Maverick says. His gaze drifts to Bolt, who has made himself scarce and is standing by the bar. “I dare you to stump the bartender. He knows every drink you can imagine and some you’ve never heard of.”
“I’d love to test that theory,” Chapel says. “Let’s get our drink on, Skipper.”
Skipper eyes Bolt at the bar for a second before lifting her chin in a defiant angle and nods. “Pour it up.”
As soon as she reaches the bar, she and Bolt glare at each other for a few seconds. I can’t make out what they’re saying, but judging by the growing surprise and then fascination on Chapel’s face, they’re insulting each other in some angry, arousing ritual like what we witnessed at the showcase.
“Told you it’d be fun,” Maverick whispers to me.
My lips twitch, but I refuse to let my full smile out.
“They’re still in the room,” I tell him. “So maybe they’ll be able to resist the weird urge to smash within a minute of seeing each other.”
“I kinda hope they can’t. I never have anything to tease Bolt about.”
“Is he like your right-hand man?”
“Something like that.” He shrugs.
“He seems…” I glance over to the bar where Bolt and Skipper are still snapping at each other, but now with mere inches separating their faces. “Intense.”
“Not usually quite that intense, but your assistant brings out the worst, or at least the weird, in him.”
Chapel’s eyes bounce between them like she’s watching a tennis match.
“I should go rescue Chapel,” I say. “She has no idea how odd things could become in the next two minutes.”
“And you need a drink,” he agrees, walking with me toward the bar. By the time we reach them, Bolt is grabbing Skipper’s hand and dragging her from the suite, puffs of furious smoke practically coming off them both.
Maverick looks at me meaningfully with I told you so eyes.
“Okay, yes,” I laugh. “You were right.”
“What the hell did I just witness?” Chapel asks, looking toward the door that slammed behind Skipper and Bolt. “That was maybe the hottest thing I’ve ever seen that I didn’t have to pay for.”
“Unfortunately,” I say, “we had a front-row seat for… that… the first time they met at the Aspire showcase.”
“I wasn’t sure if it would be as… that,” Maverick gestures toward the door they just used to exit, “as last time, but it was.”
“So they met where?” Chapel asks, a smile on her face even as her brows pinch the tiniest bit.
“Maverick and Bolt attended my venture capital fund showcase last week,” I say.
“Ahhh.” Chapel’s unreadable expression catches my notice because her face is always completely open. I never have to guess what the woman is thinking, but now she is inscrutable in a way I have never seen before.
“You want a drink?” Maverick asks us.
“Yes, please,” Chapel answers, smiling at the bartender. “Can you do a Lemon Drop?”
“In my sleep,” he answers, shifting his attention to me. “And you?”
“French 75,” I say.
“No Golden Cadillac this time?” Maverick asks, smiling.
“That was an unusual night.” I pause to look down at the floor as the remembered stress of my mother’s phone call tightens my middle again. “In a lot of ways.”
“Any of those support groups appeal to you?” he asks, the teasing fading and replaced by concern.
“I haven’t looked at any yet.” I raise my hands in defense before he gets the chance to chide me. “I will. I promise.”
“I didn’t send those groups to give you one more thing to do. I wanted you to have the information at your fingertips when you’re ready and need it.”
“I know. Thanks again.”
“How’s your mother?” he asks.
“She’s pretty good. I think I told you my aunt is having surgery?” I wait for his nod and then go on. “That’s not for several weeks, but I’ll visit next week just to check on them.”
“That’s good.” He grabs my hand and squeezes. “You’re a good daughter.”
That small encouragement draws a smile from me. He answers with a smile of his own, and we’re not looking away when I’m sure we should be by now.
“Ahem.” Chapel clears her throat pointedly and snaps a look between us. “Looks like our drinks are ready.”
I drop Maverick’s hand like a hot poker and force myself to concentrate on not liking him. Sure enough, all three drinks are lined up on the bar waiting. Chapel grabs her Lemon Drop and hands my French 75 to me.
“You ladies grab something to eat if you want to.” Maverick gestures to the table laden with food. “Lemme see if Pop needs something stronger than that weak beer he’s had for the last hour.”
As soon as he leaves the bar, Chapel grabs my wrist and tugs me a few feet away.
“What’s going on, Hen?” she whispers, searching my face in the discreet lighting of the luxury box.
“Um, what do you mean?”
“I mean…” She glances over her shoulder, presumably to make sure we’re not being overheard. “With Maverick Bell.”
I feel my face shutter. I know my lips pinch and the muscles of my shoulders tighten. I’m like a turtle crawling into my shell to protect myself from attack. It’s not an attack, though. It’s a question layered with concern. Nothing close to the inquisition my body is processing it as.
“Nothing’s going on.” I shrug and take a sip of my drink. “You know we met at the party.”
“You mean at Zere’s party?” She drops Zere’s name as if reminding me of her existence.
“Of course at Zere’s party. What are you implying?”
“I met him at the same time you did, but somehow he’s been to Atlanta to see you since.”
“Not to see me . To attend Aspire’s showcase.”
“And apparently you’re texting each other now?”
“He sent me some support groups. You remember that night he mentioned his grandfather had Alzheimer’s, right?”
“I remember.” Compassion softens her expression for a second before she goes on. “And now he’s inviting you up to his luxury box like you’ve been besties for years?”
“It’s not like that.” I sneak a glance at Maverick with his father. They’re both kind of yelling at the glass now that the game is underway and not going favorably for the Vipers, judging by their reactions. “He’s just been nice.”
“There’s something happening under the surface,” Chapel says. “At least it feels that way. The two of you talked like I wasn’t there.”
“That’s bad manners,” I joke. “Not… not anything else.”
“For the sake of the show, it can’t be anything else, Hen. It’d be hella awkward if you start something with the man our producing partner is actually still in love with.”
“It would be, which is why I’m not starting anything.” I pause. “Not that I want to start anything.”
“Just be careful, okay? Don’t cross any lines with him.”
“I won’t.” I rush the words out. I really want to drop this, especially with Maverick in the room.
“Okay,” Chapel says, glancing down at her phone and sounding a little distracted. “Oh, wow! You remember Kyra?”
“Is that the model who was dismissed in the semifinal round on Lewks ?”
“Yup.” Chapel slides her phone into the pocket of her miniskirt. “That rapper she’s dating, Big Jeezy, has a box. She saw us on the jumbotron and wants me to swing by to say hi. You wanna roll?”
Maverick approaches, and I return his smile.
“It would be rude for me to leave now,” I tell her. “Especially with Skipper still MIA.”
“That girl is MI F . Missing in Fucking, but aight.” Chapel sets her empty glass down on the bar. “I’m gonna go holla at Kyra, but I’ll be right back.”
Maverick arrives at my side as Chapel leaves.
“Other plans?” he asks, nodding to the door closing behind Chapel.
“One of her friends has a box, too, so she’s just popping in to say hi.”
“Got it.” He turns his back to the bar and leans his elbows on the surface, a stout glass held in one hand. “So we talked with Hue this week.”
“Oh, I’m aware.” The tension that built inside of me as soon as he approached loosens at the prospect of discussing one of Aspire’s founders. “To say they’re excited about you getting involved is an understatement.”
“We’re excited, too. I’m always looking for investments, but especially since I sold the True Playahs app.”
“That was a huge risk, yeah? Selling what was kind of the cornerstone of your business.” I toast him with my French 75. “Cheers to that kind of confidence.”
He grins and shrugs. “In this game you have to be, especially as a Black man moving in these circles. I ain’t waiting for nobody to tell me I’m the shit. You better know it going in.”
“Oh, I get that. We gotta build ourselves up. And well, I have my girls. My friends always got my back and remind me who the hell I am if I forget.”
“I like you, Hendrix.” He says it without a smile, in a way that sounds earnest and real and not like he’s saying something to fill the space. He doesn’t take it back or explain it away, but forges on. “The kind of confidence that you exude is magnetic. You know that?”
I stare at him, my lips wrestling in the battle between a smile and a scowl. He shouldn’t be saying this shit to me, even though it’s presented as if it’s perfectly harmless. I know better. I know those are the kinds of words that cling to the inside of your mind and play on repeat when you’re drifting off to sleep.
He takes another draw from his drink, watching me over the rim of the glass. He seems completely comfortable with the silence that builds and tightens like air being blown into a tiny balloon. He’s unafraid of the pop, but my muscles tense with the threat of it; the destruction. I need to distract myself. Now.
“I wanted to ask about one of your ‘risky’ investments,” I say, forcing myself to meet his gaze again. “You mentioned that you’ve invested in cannabis before.”
“Still do.” He straightens and sets the glass on the bar, an alertness replacing the languor from before. “What’s up?”
“Nelly and Kashawn approached me with something they termed ‘out of the box.’ Something we’ve never done before, but they want us to consider. Or at least one company they want us to consider, but it’s a vice industry.”
“There’s restrictions on those.” He frowns, his dark, thick brows bunching. “They can be a little tougher, but I’m familiar with the ins and outs if you need any help. What aspect of cannabis? A grower, a dispensary, an app? What we talking about?”
“It’s a grower, but she has ideas that are more scalable.” I grin and shrug a little sheepishly. “The extent of our knowledge doesn’t go beyond smoking it.”
“Funny,” he says, but there’s an inward concentration to his expression that may mean his wheels are spinning.
“We just want to know a little more about the business. Nelly feels strongly that we should give this woman a chance, but we’ve focused a lot more on tech-enabled companies.”
“That all makes sense. I definitely take a risk investing in growers, but it’s not as much about ROI for me. The prohibition of cannabis has done a lot of harm specifically to our community. I want to assist marginalized entrepreneurs who have been historically disenfranchised by legislation designed just as much to target us as it was to protect anyone else.”
“That’s a really restorative approach,” I say approvingly.
“Absolutely. The system criminalized activity around this drug in a way that disproportionately prosecuted Black people. Why not flip the script now that it’s legal and use it to create generational wealth in our community, for our families? Close some of the gaps created by the shit we had to put up with since we got here.”
“Amen to that.”
“Cannabis has now been classified as a less-addictive drug. NBA players used to be penalized, suspended for it, and now the league has reached an agreement to allow it. Baseball, hockey, and football had already made that adjustment.”
“I heard that, and couldn’t help but think about how Iverson caught a case way back in the day for weed.”
“Exactly. Ricky Williams lost a whole season of football because of it, but times have changed. Hell, one state recently issued mass pardons to those doing time for marijuana-related charges. As legalization spreads, so does opportunity. We need to take advantage of that.”
He slides his hands into his pockets and rocks a little on his heels, eagerness radiating from every pore. And I realize that money is like a playground for him; investments an adventure.
“I got an idea,” he says.
“Famous last words?” I set my empty glass on the bar and signal the bartender for another.
“No, famous first ones.” He levels a look on me that tells me we’re headed for a bad idea. It’s full of challenge and maybe a little mischief. “Come with me to Colorado.”
“Um, no.” I was already questioning my wisdom coming to his box tonight. A road trip? No damn way.
“There’s a grower there who has branched out into more scalable efforts,” he continues. “A point-of-sale app similar to what she may be considering.”
“I don’t think—”
“Not just you, of course,” he cuts in, his smile knowing, like he read my mind at a glance; could see my thoughts. “Bring Nelly and Kashawn, too. I bet they’d love to meet this grower.”
He knew the buttons to push. Of course I wouldn’t want to refuse such an opportunity so perfect for what we’re considering out of hand, at least not without consulting my partners.
“Can I let you know in the next day or so?” I ask.
“Of course. Whenever you’re ready.”
“Shit!” Maverick’s father shouts, banging a fist on his leg. “What the hell? You can’t…”
He closes his eyes and rests his forehead against the plexiglass.
“We losing?” Maverick calls unnecessarily.
“We shouldn’t be,” his father spits. “We coulda had this. Maybe still could. I’mma go down.”
“Pop, stay outta Coach’s ear,” Maverick says, a warning note in his voice. “Our time is coming, but tonight—”
“I ain’t saying nothing to none of ’em,” Chris barks. He closes his eyes and purses his lips tightly, a man trying to hold his shit together if I’ve ever seen one. “I just need to be closer to the action. I wanna be down on the floor.”
“Gotcha.” Maverick nods, the tension around his mouth easing. “You know where the seats are.”
Chris shifts his gaze from his son to me and then back again. “You staying here?”
“For now, yeah,” Maverick says, not looking away from his father or at me. I wish I could pluck the words passing between father and son out of the air because they seem to be holding a silent conversation.
“All right.” Mr. Bell turns a charming smile on me and extends his hand. “Very nice to meet you. You’ll have to come back when there ain’t a playoff game on the line. I promise I’ll be more social then.”
“I understand.” I take his hand and he gives it a little squeeze, his smile deepening before he lets go.
“Lemme get down here before the fourth quarter starts,” he mumbles, heading for the door.
Bolt and Skipper pass him coming back in, looking slightly less disheveled than the last time. Bolt’s bow tie is firmly in place, but the neat line of his clothing is disrupted by the pucker of a shirt hastily stuffed back into his pants. Skipper’s blouse and jeans look as neat as they did before, but a red mark blooms at the side of her neck.
Maverick and I share a quick amused glance before schooling our faces into we don’t see nothing neutrality.
“You’re back,” Maverick says smoothly with a gentle, discreet elbow in my side.
“Yeah, hi,” I add, suppressing a grin. “The fourth quarter is just getting started.”
They glare at our obviously fake blissful ignorance and then turn their glares on each other. When their eyes catch, something softens in their expressions. Only for a second, though, before Bolt turns away and marches over to the bar.
“Whiskey neat,” he barks to the bartender.
Skipper watches his back, her lips trembling. When she looks at me, her eyes are wide like she’s trying not to cry.
A low rumble of disapproval slips from my chest and I look at Bolt’s back with daggers. It was cute when I thought Skipper was enjoying this, but if that motherfucker hurt my girl…
“Was that a growl?” Maverick asks, low-voiced.
“Check your boy. If he hurts Skipper—”
“He wouldn’t.” Maverick frowns. “Not like that. Never.”
“If he hurts her in any way,” I tell him. “His ass is mine.”
“Protective, aren’t you?” he smiles, admiration entering his eyes.
“Of my friends, yeah.” I glance over to where Skipper stands, shifting from foot to foot awkwardly and shoving her hands in the back pockets of her jeans. “We’re gonna head out. I’ll text Chapel to let her know.”
I start off, but his hand on my elbow pulls me back, pulls me closer. The scent of good-smelling man suffuses the air around me, and I have to force myself not to burrow into Maverick’s neck to investigate further. He smells sexy and masculine and costly. It’s good cologne and clean skin and him. His hand at my elbow stops me from walking away. I relish the hardness of his body pressed into me for a few seconds. Every one of my curves wants to mold to the unyielding lines of him.
Smells good. Feels good. Looks good.
Damn.
When I glance up, he’s staring at me, nostrils flared like he’s breathing me in as deeply as I’m breathing him.
This shit cannot happen.
I jerk my elbow away, and it breaks the spell—brings me back to my senses.
“You’ll think about the trip to Colorado?” he asks, eyes falling to my mouth. I want to hide my lips from him because what if he’s imagining how they would feel pressed to his, open under his. Because that’s the rogue thought torturing my mind right now.
“I told you I’ll ask Kashawn and Nelly.” Tension laces my voice and I let out a sigh. I’m tired of trying not to be fascinated by and drawn to this man, but it’s not a fight I can lose. There’s too much at stake for my career and for Chapel’s.
When I look back to Maverick there is a knowing there that makes me think maybe I’m not the only one tired of fighting.
“Sorry.” I lick my lips and soften my tone. “Thank you for being willing to help us. If we’re able to take you up on your offer, I’ll reach out to Bolt and—”
“Reach out to me,” Maverick says, a firmness in his words that I dare not dispute. “Directly.”
Our eyes hold for a few seconds, and all the breath clogs in my chest. I can’t breathe under the intensity of Maverick’s dark eyes—of all that checked energy aimed at me.
I finally nod, drawing in a deep breath and releasing it on a whoosh.
“You ready, Skip?” I ask, crossing the room and looping my elbow through hers.
She glances over at the plexiglass where Bolt stands, back stiff, turned away from the room. At my words, he angles his head slightly as if waiting, listening for my assistant’s response.
“Yeah,” she snaps, eyes narrowed on Bolt. “Let’s bounce.”
Maverick’s brows are raised just as high as mine and the speculation in the gaze he splits between our two assistants is just as evident.
“Thanks again for inviting us, Maverick,” I tell him, dragging Skipper toward the exit and not waiting for his response.
As soon as we’re outside, Skipper’s proud posture collapses and she drops her face into her hands.
“Oh, my God,” she groans. “Why did I let that happen again?”
“And he got that neck good.” I laugh a little, hoping to lighten her mood.
“What?” Her head snaps up. “What do you mean?”
I nod to the hickey she obviously doesn’t realize is there. “You know that light skin of yours shows it all.”
Her hands fly to both sides of her neck, eyes wide.
“I can’t believe I’m this weak. He’s not even that cute.” She glances up, uncertainty on her face. “Is he?”
“I mean, he’s not my type.” I give her a small smile. “But I can understand his appeal. Give yourself a break. What’s so bad about hooking up with a guy who obviously can’t keep his hands off you? And you seem to be having the same reaction. I don’t see the problem.”
“The problem is he’s an asshole.”
“Oh, that.” I chuckle. “Hey, the sex is good and you don’t have to marry him. The two of you won’t even see each other on a regular basis.”
“I guess that depends on how regularly you and Maverick see each other.” She gives me a pointed look. “Are we gonna talk about that ?”
“Nah.” My smile dissolves and I pull my phone out to text Chapel, dropping my eyes from the knowledge in hers. “We ain’t talking ’bout that.”