Page 7 of Can't Get Enough

“Well, then they weren’t looking hard enough because that is exactly who took home the prize.” I give her a gentle shoulder bump. “Now everybody wants a piece of you.”

Athletic wear, soft drinks, perfume—as Chapel’s manager, I field requests every day from some new brand wanting in on her unexpected meteoric rise.

“‘Would you bury gold?’” Chapel asks softly when we reach the front door, pausing before we enter. “That’s what you said to the makeup artist on set who tried to cover up my vitiligo.”

“She was clueless.” I suck my teeth. “Shewasburying the gold, trying to hide what makes you most uniquely beautiful.”

Chapel stares at me, blinking all fast like she might cry, but instead she reaches up and throws her arms around my neck. I almost stumble with the force of her weight, even though she is no bigger than a minute.

“What the…” I laugh and return her squeeze. “You need to warn a sister before you launch yourself like that.”

“Just… thank you,” Chapel mumbles into my shoulder. “I wouldn’t be here if you hadn’t believed in me like you did.”

“Like Ido,” I say, looking down at her pretty face with soft washes of pale pink a striking contrast over her dark brown skin. “We just getting started, boo. Now let’s show these folks how we get down.”

Despite the phone burning a hole in my pocket, I set out to have a good time, make some connections, and for one night forget the dilemma of Mama’s condition. I let out a low whistle when we enter the house. It’s a magnificent waterfront property with soaring ceilings and an abundance of natural light. The open floor plan flows seamlessly to a gorgeous tranquil pool. Limestone floors and stark white walls are touched with spots of color from sculptures, paintings, and oversized plants. It is somehow opulentandwarm.

“I done seen some impressive shit,” Chapel says, her eyes roaming over the glass-and-chrome decor of the house, warmed with occasional touches of driftwood on the walls and tables. “But this that life. I mean I knew Zere’s man was rich as hell, but this? Another level.”

The sunken living room is decorated with what Ithinkis custom-made Rick Owens furniture. The floor-to-ceiling windows offer a panoramic view of the bay.

“They say he reached billionaire status when he sold that video game,” I say.

“It’s a betting app,” Chapel corrects. “Called True Playahs. And yeah, I heard that, too.”

“They’ve been together for a while, right?” I frown, trying to remember any details the press managed to leak about Zere and her much-more-reserved mogul boyfriend.

“Coming up on three years, I think. When we talked on set,” Chapel says, lowering her voice as we wade into the stream of white-clad partygoers, “she seemed to think he’d be popping the question soon.”

“Oh, for real?” I grab a glass of some white drink in keeping with the theme from a server passing by—coconut something, piña colada—don’t care as long as it contains alcohol.

“Have you seen him?” Chapel asks.

“Maybe? I don’trememberseeing him before and that’s a shame since on principle I should know every Black billionaire on sight. Not that many of them.”

“Well, he’s not as public as Zere. Not in pictures much except around this time of year when they throw this party, and even then seems like the pictures folks post are of everyone except him. But he’s fine, andthisrich?” She gestures to our luxurious surroundings. “Zere better not fumble that bag.”

“I don’t care how rich he is,sheis the bag.Hebetter not fumbleher.” I pause with the glass hovering at my lips and give her a wicked look over the rim. “But how fine we talking?”

“Fine enough.” Chapel affects a shiver. “I saw him on set once. There’s just something about him. Power? Charisma? It goes deeper than looks. Whatever it is, our girl Zere is lucky it’s hers.”

At that moment, the lucky woman in question approaches, wearing a white halter top and a tiny skirt that shows her almost waifish figure to full advantage. A pleased smile creases Zere’s hazel eyes at the corners the tiniest bit. The contrast of her flawless golden skin and coppery hair creates the striking coloring the camera loves so much, a legacy of her Ethiopian mother and Irish father.

“You’re here,” Zere says, her light floral scent as entrancing as her sweet voice. “I’m so glad.”

“We wouldn’t have missed it.” I return her air-kisses at each cheek. “This is incredible, lady.”

When I first met Zere on the set ofLewks, I only had the things I’d heard and read to go on—a famous model in her late thirties stayingrelevant through a competition reality show. Over the course of the season, though, I realized there was more to her than the headlines and the parties and the billionaire boyfriend. For one, she’s a hustler, and that I always respect. So when Chapel wonLewksand Zere approached us about developing a show starring Chapel, we were all ears and all in. When she suggested I serve as an executive producer for the show—something I’ve wanted to get into for years—I liked her even more.

“Girl!” Zere blows out a laughing breath. “Planning this party almost took me out, but it’s worth it.”

“You have a beautiful home,” I tell her, allowing my gaze to wander over the luxuriously appointed space. “I mean… wow.”

“Thank you. Of all Mav’s properties, this one is my favorite.” Zere scans the stunning open area, and wistfulness creeps into her voice. “I’d live here year-round if I could, but Mav can’t seem to stay in one place that long, and he actually prefers his house in Malibu.”

Something shadows her expression, but before I can interpret the look, she smooths it back into the perfect serenity I’ve come to expect.

“You’ll meet him later.” She loops her arms through our elbows and directs us toward the huge open space where a wall would be in a lesser house, leading to the party outside in full swing. “Let’s go get you a real drink.”

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