Chapter 2
I walked into the private lounge that catered to men who thought business was a sport and women were perks. Men like Maddox. I removed my sunglasses and paused at the hostess stand to give her my name.
“Mr. Maddox is waiting for you. Right this way.”
She escorted me to the private dining room, where his cologne greeted me before his hand.
“Navie Dixon,” he sang, enjoying my name on his tongue.
I didn’t smile, but I extended my hand to set a boundary. Men were takers by nature, and they’d already taken enough.
“Thank you for meeting with me.”
He shook my hand, holding it while his thumb grazed my knuckles like this was the start of something romantic.
“I’ve been following The Green Ribbon Project. I love that you focus on women, children, and art. It feels like a lost cause, but you see the value in creativity.”
Of course, he had. The public reports were polished enough to catch the eye of someone like him. Rich people’s favorite way to pretend they cared about the underprivileged was giving donations. Maddox was no different, reclaiming his seat across from me.
“We’re looking for a nonprofit to partner with long-term. Something that aligns with our social impact goals and yours checks all the boxes. I think we would make a really good team.”
While Maddox elaborated on all the ways I’d benefit from a partnership, I angled my phone perfectly. The view was discreet enough to see the transfer loading on my burner app. Struggling to control himself, Maddox explored my black blazer dress with his eyes.
“There seems to be a misunderstanding. I’m not looking for a partner.”
He chuckled, admiring my fight. “Just because you’re not looking doesn’t mean we’re not what you need.”
“That’s your perception.”
“Strong and uncompromising. That’s rare,” he said, eyes flicking down to my lips and back. “I’m trying to decide if I should invest or take you to dinner.”
I smirked enough to make him think I’d entertain the idea. “That depends. Can you get me in a room with Abdul Hampton?”
“I’m surprised his name came up,” Maddox admitted, not wanting to talk about another man as if he stood a chance himself. “Abdul is not an easy man to impress. Very selective and private.”
“Exactly why I need to meet with him.”
Maddox studied me as if I were speaking a foreign language. “You’d turn me down for Abdul?”
“I’m not turning you down. I’m offering you a chance to be useful.”
He laughed again, this time with a touch of disbelief. It was clear Maddox wasn’t used to being handled or toyed with, especially by a woman.
“You really think you can sit at Hampton’s table?” he asked.
“I know I can, and you do too.”
Maddox leaned back, still looking at me like I was a riddle he couldn’t wait to solve.
“I can make a call, but I can’t promise anything.”
“A smart man would introduce us at the Langstons’ gala. All I need is a thirty-minute conversation.” I said, standing to gather my things.
Maddox stood too, one hand gently brushing my lower back because he’d been dying to touch me since I arrived.
“And what about us? Is dinner still on the table?”
“If you get me Abdul, I’ll let you pick the restaurant.”
He grinned, walking me out, with his shoulders pushed back like he’d just negotiated something special. I wasn’t so thrilled, but the money I’d get from the deal was worth it.
Meeting Abdul wasn’t my sole mission for attending the gala.
The event would be crawling with rich pockets for me to stick my hand in, like Russell Langston Jr., because his charity of choice was women who weren’t his wife.
RJ donated millions to that cause. Otherwise, he’d be the apple of his parents’ eye, but his younger brother, Jaleb Langston, had that spot sewn up—an Ivy League graduate who married his college sweetheart.
He was more disciplined than his brother because there wasn’t an ounce of dirt I found that said otherwise.
I walked into the building, heading straight for the back, where the shelves were stocked with bottles, syringes, and medical supplies.
“Hey, Donovan.”
“Sup, Navie.”
“Got something for me?” I asked, resting my elbows on the counter.
Donovan handed over a folder and a small bottle of pills. I’d only need one, but it was always better to have a backup. Flipping it over, I skimmed the profile sheets before tucking it inside my purse.
“It’s some heavy hitters on this list. You sure you don’t need backup?” Donovan asked.
“I’m good,” I replied, sliding the money across the counter.
“Aight. Be careful.”
“Always.”
“I spoke to Sloane the other day. She asked about you.”
Donovan mentioning my mother didn’t create a warm, fuzzy feeling with beautiful memories attached—only rage and disappointment. He was a friend of hers who eventually became a friend of mine. Of course, Donovan spoke to her, but it didn’t mean I had to.
“I’ll be in touch. Thanks again,” I smiled, disregarding his comment.
My feet hit the pavement, and the savory scent of food curled through the air.
Reminding me that I hadn’t eaten, my stomach decided we were stopping.
The diner wasn’t fancy, but the hostess was friendly and recommended the burger with their special sauce.
Buying what she was selling, I picked a booth in the back, away from the hustle of customers.
The service was efficient, quickly serving my meal. I twirled a fry between my fingers while scanning the lines of wealthy names with something to lose.
“Damn, you look too good to be sitting here alone,” A male voice cut in.
Men thought they were God’s gift to women, and sitting here alone was a cry for help. To some, he might’ve been. Tall, broad-shouldered, wearing an oversized chain that screamed Look at me . He was fine and likely got his way more often than not, leaning against my table like he belonged there.
“I like being alone,” I said flatly.
“You haven’t had the company of a nigga like me.” He laughed, telling me everything I needed to know. “C’mon, Babygirl. Let me buy you a drink.”
“I can buy my own drinks. Company and men are overrated.”
He chuckled, carrying an irritated edge now. “Damn, that’s how you do a man trynna’ be nice?”
I exhaled, willing myself to ignore him, but he didn’t move. If anything, he settled in more, like he was waiting for me to change my mind.
“What will it take to put a smile on that pretty face?”
My finger curled to draw him in closer. Most didn’t know how slow the human brain was, making humans predictable. He was so busy imagining my lips doing ungodly things, he didn’t feel my hand taking his wallet.
“If it’s meant to be, you’ll see me again. Then we can discuss that, but I’d like to get back to work for now.”
His ego was bruised, but he tried to save face.
“I’ll definitely be seeing you around, Babygirl.”
Tossing cash from his wallet on the table, I slid out of the booth.
He backed up enough to take in the full view as I left.
Finally home in the sanctity of my apartment, I showered and grabbed my laptop to finish scouting.
I still had money from my last job, but I couldn’t risk it when Rayven’s future depended on me.
Then I reached the name Treason Westbrook.
The internet had a lot to say about the young political rising star.
Two-time National Debate Champion. High school valedictorian.
He also co-founded a tech-based PAC aimed at bridging the digital divide in Black communities and featured in Forbes 30 Under 30.
Treason had to be bringing in big money with a resume like that.
Not to mention, he was the protégé of Jaleb Langston.
I glanced at the time and quickly opened another tab.
If these damn tickets sold out, I’d die, and none of my research would matter.
My fingers paused, hovering over the mouse pad, when the page refreshed.
Sold out. Goddamn it.
I clicked again, praying it was a glitch.
The exhibit was on display for a limited time, paying homage to African American legends.
I didn’t know where my love of history came from, but I tried again and met the same message.
Slamming my laptop closed, a knot tightened in my stomach.
Then, I grabbed the remote and turned on Shadows and Motives to lessen the blow.