Page 13 of Can't Get Enough

“Chapel pointed you out to me.” He grins. “You were busy leading the electric slide.”

“Chapel, my client?” I stare at him as though the answer to a riddle might be printed on his face. “How do you know Chapel?”

“She and Zere worked together onLewks.”

My brows snap in and then up. “So you’re—”

“Maverick.”

Ohhhh. Our billionaire host.

“And Zere is your—”

“Girlfriend.” He presses his lips together. “Yeah, my, uh, girlfriend.”

I’ve spent the last five minutes in a low-grade heat for the man practically engaged to my new producing partner.

Rewind.

“I didn’t realize.” I smooth my voice out to something even and more formal. “So this is your party.”

“That’s what they tell me.” He glances around the backyard packed with glitter and glamour and celebrities en masse.

“It’s great. Thanks for having me,” I say, replacing the borderline flirtatious tone from before with politeness. “It’s nice to finally meet you, Mr.—”

“Call me Maverick.” His dark brows dip into a frown. “You were telling me about the Aspire Fund. I’d still like to hear more about it.”

“Oh, that.” I lift the glass to my lips, dismayed to find the orange peel is all that’s left of my Golden Cadillac. I could really use another.

“How was that?” Flirty Bartender asks right on cue.

Look at God. He may not come when you want Him, but He always comes on time.

“It was great.” I raise the glass. “I’ll have another.”

“Coming right up.” He shifts his gaze to Maverick. “Mr. Bell? The usual? Maker’s Mark?”

“My man,” Maverick drawls. “You remembered.”

“Same drink every year,” Flirty says. “Already looking forward to the next party.”

Maverick’s expression clouds for an instant.

“I’m nothing if not predictable.” He accepts the drink Flirty Bartender slides to him.

Predictable my ass. I don’t believe that for a minute. If this is Maverick Bell, then this man just joined the tiny exclusive club of Black billionaires with the sale of his sports betting app. You don’t build a whole platform around risk and luck without absorbing some of it into who you are.

“So with your fund,” he says, turning back to me.

“Mav.” A tall man interrupts, taking the stool beside him. “Wondered where you’d gotten to.”

“Ralph,” Maverick says, his eyes and voice cooling a few degrees. “Glad you could make it.”

“Great party as usual,” Ralph replies. “While I have you here, I wanted to pick your brain about—”

“Call the office Monday and we can talk then.” Maverick knocks back some of his Maker’s, setting the glass down with a thud and not looking at Ralph, but studying the bar. “Enjoy the party. Yeah?”

The man opens his mouth like he has more to say, but Maverick lifts his eyes to meet Ralph’s and whatever he wanted to offer seems to dry up on his thin lips.

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