Chapter one Kendra #2
Her boyfriend, as of five minutes ago, is Cory.
He worked in Finance up until recently and has been volunteering at a community center in Harlem while figuring out his next move.
Hopefully, he’s open to helping me and Denise with the business plan for her line.
It’s going to take a significant investment to get off the ground before all the major brands flood the market with their own plus-size apparel.
The curly-haired Black woman is her friend, Tiffany. She also runs the Harlem community center where Cory and Denise both volunteer. This close, she looks mixed with something, though I know firsthand Black people come in every color of the rainbow.
The Black woman with locs is Maya, who was recently married to Adam, the hipster currently glued to her hip. She works at Tiffany’s center too, but as a paid teacher.
The other men are Adam’s brothers. Noah is the second oldest, and he is, in fact, a talent agent for Luxe Partners. I’ve heard their name around, but I don’t think they have a modeling division. His twin is a hotshot lawyer who couldn’t make it tonight.
And last but not least, the tall one is Damon.
He’s a former professional athlete who just returned home from playing basketball in Spain.
I have no idea how I’ll keep all these new names and faces straight, but no way will I forget Damon.
His imposing stature and intense stare are almost overwhelming.
His eyes follow me for all four blocks as we walk to Roxy Bar.
It isn’t leering exactly. That’s too sinister for the energy I’m picking up.
More like…watching intently. Even after we get to the bar and order the first round of drinks, entertained by Denise, Maya, and Tiffany’s dating escapades and a live band playing bossa nova-infused jazz, I feel his gaze on me.
By the time I finish my second Paloma, I’m done waiting. I’m too wired from an amazing show, and way too horny from months without dick. He’s remained in my periphery all night, and I swivel in my chair to address him directly.
“So,” I start, loud enough to be heard over the music, “what’s your deal, Damon? Are you the strong, silent type, or are you just working up the nerve to talk to me?”
His eyes widen at my boldness.
“Uh,” he sputters. “N-no. I mean, yes, I’m working up the nerve to talk to you, and no, I’m not the strong, silent type. I mean, I am strong, but—”
I put my hand on his shoulder to stop his rambling, and he blows out a frustrated breath.
“Sorry,” he mumbles, his face red from both the alcohol and extreme embarrassment. I hide my smile with another sip of my drink.
“I’m just a person,” I offer. “I don’t bite. Plus, whatever you say is bound to be less creepy than another hour of staring.”
When he chokes on his rum and coke, I can’t help the laugh that escapes my lips.
“Kendra Gray is not just a person,” he starts, referring to me in the third person. “Kendra Gray is a fashion icon and one I can’t believe is having drinks with us mere mortals.”
I put my glass down, spilling some onto my hands in the process, and eye him thoughtfully.
“A fashion icon, huh? I wasn’t picking up a gay vibe, but I have had a few drinks.”
He sputters again, and I decide ruffling his feathers is one of my new favorite things.
“Now, hang on! I’m as straight as they come,” he protests with the most conviction I’ve heard from him all night. “I saw you in an ASOS ad a while back and made a point of learning the name that went with such a beautiful face.”
I roll my eyes.
“Smooth. Very smooth. That sounds like a long way to say you cyber-stalked me.”
He stammers again, but narrows his eyes when he notices I’m openly laughing at him.
“Oh, ha ha,” he drawls. “Excuse me for getting tongue-tied around one of the most beautiful women in the world.”
He’s practically pouting. It’s so adorable I decide to have mercy on him and grab more napkins to dab at the cocktail running down his shirt. He stills immediately at the contact, and I don’t miss the slight flare of his nostrils, or how his pupils dilate in hunger.
Nope. Definitely not gay.
“I was only teasing.”
“Sure you were,” he grouses, wiping at his shirt with his own pile of soggy napkins.
“Hey, it got you to talk to me, didn’t it? I may be the Kendra Gray, but right now, I’m just out for drinks with friends after a fun day at work.”
We look at each other in silence while he considers that. Celebrity has its perks, but sometimes, I just need to be a person. He must sense that, because his shoulders relax and a genuine smile spreads across his tempting lips. God, I need to get laid!
“Ok, just Kendra. Can I buy you another drink?”
I chug down my mostly full glass and nod.
“Yes, please. A Paloma with Fresca and salt on the rim.”
He gives the bartender my order before turning back to me, angling his knees to brush mine.
“A tequila girl? So, that means I have to watch out for you, doesn’t it?”
“I’m a tequila woman—” He raises his hands in mock surrender. “And you definitely have to watch out for me. Few men can handle all of this,” I say, gesturing up and down my body.
“I’d damn sure like a chance to try,” he mutters. It’s just quiet enough for me to pretend I didn’t hear it over the music, but from the quirk of his lips, he knows I did.
“And what does your drink say about you?” I demand. The skin of my thigh tingles with each graze of his leg, and I’m starting to think Damon’s got more game than he originally let on.
“That I’m strong but sweet, and I might knock you off your feet,” he replies without missing a beat. His intense focus paired with the new flirty energy is making me sweat. I force a giggle.
“Did you mean for that to rhyme?”
“No. Just a happy accident. Kinda like taking my brother up on a free ticket to New York Fashion Week, and then getting to meet you.”
“Oh,” I mumble dumbly. I feel like I’ve been hustled, tricked into believing he’s some clueless simp when he’s really a shark.
He leans closer. Close enough for me to see the tiny mole next to his left ear. Close enough to smell the rum from his drink on his breath. Close enough to see more of the tattoo under his shirt—wings going across both collarbones.
I’m just about to lean in when a hand claps Damon on the back and breaks the spell.
“Bro!” Noah interrupts. “We’re moving this party uptown to Clemente. You in?”
Noah must sense the tension between us because he removes his hand and immediately backpedals.
“Or you could stay here. A client just posted about their amazing Negronis, but I know Campari isn’t really your thing.” Sorry!, he mouths to Damon. He must be too tipsy to realize we can both see him.
“It’s cool,” Damon says, glancing at his watch and standing up. “It’s getting late, and I’m retired now. I can’t party like I used to.”
What? Things were just getting started and now he’s going to bail?
Noah looks just as shocked as I feel, but shrugs and turns to help Tiffany on with her coat. I stand too, letting my confusion show.
“It looks like we’re moving to the next bar. You sure you won’t join us?” My mojo must be off if I have to ask him after all that flirting and staring. His face is resigned.
“Yeah,” he sighs. “I’ve been stuck in a shoebox of an apartment since I got back, and I’m touring a few new places tomorrow.”
“Fun!” I grit out, pasting back on my public smile. And the night started off so well…
I force myself not to watch him as he leaves and pull on my own coat to brave the chilly late-winter night. He didn’t even ask for my number.
It’s probably for the best. Hooking up with the brother of your new business partner’s boyfriend is needlessly messy.
Just saying that was messy. At least tonight when I go home unsatisfied, it’s not after being made to feel like there’s something wrong with me.
This is actually perfect. Until I fix my little problem, work is all that matters.