Chapter 3
CHAPTER THREE
Ishould have kept my ass at home.
I knew it the moment Andre Malik Jones walked into Royal House looking like dark chocolate, quiet money, and every mistake I had ever wanted to make twice.
For nearly an hour, I had been doing well.
Better than well, honestly.
My scalp was still a little tender from fresh braids, my toes freshly painted white. Crown Weekend had required appointments, and I had respected the assignment.
I stepped into The Nocturne’s lobby in royal-purple silk with my braids down my back, gold at my ears, diamonds at my wrist, and Delina La Rosée warming against my skin. Camille took one look at me and called my dress an act of hostility, which meant I had chosen correctly.
The dress skimmed my body, left my back bare nearly to my waist, and made my skin look rich beneath the lights.
The bracelet was Saint Aurelia, one of our newest prototypes, still months away from production.
Graduated emerald-cut diamonds wrapped my wrist in an almost continuous line, each stone set east-west, with three pear-shaped diamonds at the center.
The bracelet was work.
The perfume was between me, God, and whatever foolish part of me still cared what Andre might think when he saw me.
Camille noticed, of course.
“You smell expensive too,” she said, leaning toward my neck in the back of the Cadillac AWU had sent to take us from The Nocturne to Royal House.
“I am deeply committed to Crown Weekend.”
“To Crown Weekend?”
“Yes.”
She stared at me.
I stared back.
“Okay, girl.”
“Please look out the window.”
Her laugh followed me all the way downtown.
Royal House was already crowded when we entered, and for a while, I let Crown Weekend be the part I had missed.
Old classmates. Faculty members. Women I remembered from student orgs, business workshops, late-night study sessions, and parties where everybody swore they were only stopping by for an hour.
They were founders now, executives, attorneys, doctors, stylists, consultants. Women with money, taste, opinions, and stories that deserved more than whatever luxury houses had decided Black aspiration was supposed to look like.
The Saint Aurelia part of me woke up easily.
I noticed who reached for my wrist first. Who asked whether the bracelet was vintage.
Who clocked the emerald cuts from three feet away and leaned closer when I said the piece was ours.
I took names, made mental notes, promised private previews, and told one woman she had exactly the right hand for a ring we had not released yet.
Niko Harris caught my wrist near the bar. “You cannot show me diamonds I cannot buy.”
“That reaction is exactly why I’m wearing it.”
“When can I buy it?”
“Soon. And when you can, I expect you to remember how badly you wanted it tonight.”
She laughed and made me promise to text her when it released.
I was still smiling when Camille returned with two glasses of champagne and enough information to ruin several lives.
“I have seen three people who owe me money, one marriage that will not survive the weekend, and a man who still thinks an undergraduate party trick is a personality.”
I took the champagne. “Only three people owe you money?”
“It’s early.”
Then her attention shifted over my shoulder.
My body knew before she said a word.
“I still want to fight Milan.”
I closed my eyes briefly. “Why would you tell me that before I even turned around?”
“Because friendship requires preparation.”
I turned.
Milan Carr stood near the middle of the room in a fitted black dress with one hand resting on Dre’s arm like she had paid property taxes on it.
Of course.
Eight years, several tax brackets, and whatever personal growth I had collected since graduation disappeared long enough for me to think, Why is this bitch touching him?
Then I almost laughed at myself.
Almost.
“I see some things have survived the test of time,” I murmured.
Camille sipped her champagne. “I hate consistency.”
“Stop.”
“I haven’t done anything.”
“Your face has.”
Milan leaned closer and stroked his arm, and I had to take a sip of champagne before my thoughts got too honest. The first thought was foolish. The second was violent. The third involved yanking something synthetic out of her big ass head and taking that man to the nearest hard surface.
So, clearly, healing was a process.
Camille said something about a development deal or a woman in our class marrying a man with bad veneers. I heard almost none of it. She needed to keep the topic on real estate if she wanted to stay safe, because addressing why my eyes kept shooting across the room was dangerous for both of us.
Then Dre shifted, and for the first time, I saw all of him.
Jesus.
Whatever I had prepared for during the last four days had been insufficient.
The charcoal suit fit him like it had been made by somebody who knew exactly what kind of body it had to honor.
The fabric moved softly when he did, clean through the shoulders, easy at the waist, trousers tailored over thighs I remembered with an accuracy that felt unfair.
His white shirt was open at the throat, revealing a diamond chain that caught the light every time he moved.
A diamond flashed at his ear. Another winked from the pinky ring on his right hand when he lifted his glass.
NFL players really did have the best diamonds.
My professional mind noticed the quality.
The rest of me noticed the man.
Dre’s beard was fuller than it had ever been in college, trimmed close enough to show the strong line of his jaw.
His hair was cut low, waves subtle beneath the light.
Deep-brown skin, smooth and rich against the white of his shirt.
He had gotten broader, thicker through the chest and shoulders, still strong, still him, but grown into a body that did not need to prove every ounce of power it carried.
I took another drink because my mouth had gone dry.
“You all right?” Camille murmured.
“Why wouldn’t I be?”
She wisely chose not to answer.
Dre shifted his weight, and my eyes dropped before I could stop them. Most of him rested over his right leg. Subtle. Brief. Probably nothing anybody else in the room would notice.
But I noticed.
My gaze touched his left knee, then returned to his face before concern could steal too much space from the fact that the man looked good enough to ruin my evening and improve it at the same time.
Then Dre turned.
His eyes landed on me.
And every nervous thought I had entertained since Sunday lost its job.