Page 14 of Can't Get Enough

“Monday sounds great,” Ralph finally says, his smile a little stiff. “I’m gonna go… enjoy the party.”

“Great idea.” Maverick’s smile is a dismissal and the glance he flicks away from Ralph and back to his glass, a send-off.

“Looks like office hours are open,” Flirty Bartender says, glancing just beyond Maverick’s shoulder. “He pulled the rock from the dam. You’re gonna be flooded now.”

I follow the line of the bartender’s gaze. There are no fewer than five guests in some state of… hover. Like they’re gauging Maverick’s mood. Waiting for some unspoken signal that it’s okay to approach. But he’s not giving any indication that he wants to do anything besides drain his drink and sit here unbothered.

I sip the last of my second Golden Cadillac and stand, turning to him with a polite smile pasted on my face. “It was really nice meeting you, Mr.—”

“Maverick,” he cuts in with a frown. “You’re leaving? I wanted to hear more about the fund. It sounds like something I might want to be part of.”

When he said that earlier, I thoughthow nice. Now, knowing who he is, and how much money could potentially flow to the fund from a man this wealthy, this powerful, my heart treble beats. But he justturned away someone who wanted in his pocket, or into his mind, which based on how bright I’ve heard he is, amounts to the same thing. I don’t want to impose at a social event.

“It can hold,” I say, offering a quick smile. “I’ll call your office.”

Not only is he a potential LP and my host, but he is Zere’s man. I’m slightly mortified by the attraction I didn’t try to hide before I knew who he was. Not cool at all. But then… I may have gotten my signals mixed, but it felt likehewanted to keep talking—like we were vibing. Like the attraction was not one-way, and that would be evenlesscool. I hope Zere’s man is not a bitch-ass cheater.

“You’re based in LA?” he asks. “New York?”

“Atlanta.”

I flick a cursory glance his way, not lingering on the compelling features and the magnetic aura that, even though he is sidelined at the bar, somehow make him feel like the center of the party. Like just by moving, he’s shifted the axis of everything. Now that I understand it, I’m attuned to the eyes on us. To the sense of anticipation coming off the guests who have taken enough steps, gotten close enough, that as soon as I leave, they can pounce.

“Could I get your number so I can call?” he asks. “To discuss the fund, I mean.”

It makes perfect sense that I would give a prospective partner my information so we could follow up. Of course, I should, but somehow it feels like there is something else behind his request, even though his expression remains blank as a beige wall.

I’m still debating with myself, probably needlessly, when Zere and Chapel sidle up to the bar, sliding into the sliver of space between my stool and Maverick’s.

“Sorry about that, babe,” Zere says, plucking Maverick’s glass from his hand and taking a sip. “I wanted to catch Harry before he left. Make sure he met Chapel.”

“No problem,” Maverick says. “I mingled like you told me to and found your manager, Chapel.”

Zere’s gaze lands on me as if she’s only now realizing I’m here. “Oh, Hen. I see you met my Maverick.”

The “my” in that sentence is totally unnecessary if she’s subtly warning me off.

Girl, I don’t want your man.

I mean… he’s fine as hell, but I don’t mess with taken dudes, no matter how fine and successful and funny and… despite him being all of that, that’s never how I roll.

“Yup,” I say, smiling at her with a clear gaze and showing I have nothing to hide. “It was nice meeting you. Well, I’d better—”

The phone buzzing in my pocket cuts that thought off at the knees. I grab it, dread dropping inside me like an anchor when Aunt Geneva’s contact flashes on the screen.

“’Scuse me. I need to take this,” I tell them, turning slightly away. “Hey, Aunt G. What’s up?”

“I’m so sorry to bother you,” she says, strain apparent in her voice.

“You’re not bothering me.” I take another step away from the group. “What’s up?”

“You know I usually do my Bible study on Wednesdays.”

I hold back a sigh and check my exasperation. Aunt Geneva would choose the scenic route to her own closet. It takes her forever to get to the point.

“I know, Aunt G,” I say, struggling to hold on to my patience. “What’s going on?”

“Well, they had a prayer service tonight for Sister Marian. Her baby girl Candace is in the hospital and they—”

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