Page 2 of Beautiful Broken Love

Declan Bishop was thirty-three years old, was shooting guard for the Atlanta Ravens, and had a Doberman named Zeke that he loved showing off on his Instagram. His favorite color was orange. He’dformerly played for two other teams, but his jersey number remained the same. Seventeen.

There was a sheet of paper attached about rumors of him dating a model named Giselle Grace. A lot of people said they were in a committed relationship, while other people thought they had an open relationship. Neither had been confirmed or denied by them.

I wasn’t sure why that mattered, but Tish highlighted it as if it were an important detail. Knowing her, she was just trying to be funny.

Sunlight filtered into my office and bounced off the glass surfaces as I nestled into the chair behind my desk. My eyes wandered from the steaming cup of tea to the picture frame next to my computer.

A black-and-white photo of a familiar couple smiled at me. The woman wore an ivory A-line dress, her hair braided into a halo, while the man wore an all-black tux, even down to the tie. My chest tightened, while my throat thickened with emotion.

Me and my husband Lewis. We’d eloped in Hawaii. I found the courage to smile back at the photo, which was progress, seeing as it’d been seven months since he died.

I reached for my chest, digging beneath my collar until I felt the dragonfly pendant attached to my necklace. The metal and colored gems were warm, the wings pressing into the pads of my fingers.

Lew had given it to me on our second anniversary. He had said dragonflies brought love and promising changes. I thought how he had it all wrong, because our change wasn’t promising. It wasdamaging.

Sniffling, I tucked the pendant back into place, blinked my tears away, then picked up my tea to take a much-needed sip.

This meeting with Declan was important, and I couldn’t let my emotions screw it up.

TWO

DAVINA

I hardly ever got nervous before meetings, and normally I knocked them out of the park.

Signing a deal to be featured as a Target Black-owned brand? No problem.

Signing a contract to be on display at a women’s expo? Not a single worry.

Having a launch party with Ulta? No biggie.

But for some odd reason, meeting with a professional athlete felt different. Declan was the first famous Black man to give our products a chance. If I screwed this up, it would set back many of my plans—and therein lay the problem.

I was a planner who lived life by routine, which meant this meetinghadto go well. I had to keep Declan in my back pocket and make sure he was happy that day, because if I didn’t, I would feel like a complete failure.

Hmm. Maybe that was my ego talking.

I waited at my desk, chewing on a thumbnail while going over my notes. It took only a few minutes for Tish to send me a text with the wordsHE’S HERE!

My heart skipped a beat, but I played it cool by taking a sip of tea and then walking around my desk to wait.

Less than a minute later, there was a knock at my door.

With the door halfway open, that knock was more of a courtesy from my best friend. Tish walked in first, dressed to impress in a black pantsuit, with her hair brushed into a sleek puff. She wore gold jewelry with her outfit because “gold is for queens” (her words, not mine), and her gold eye shadow made her umber skin pop.

She grinned at me like she was going to burst into a fit of giggles. I had to look away from her before I started laughing. That was one of the silly problems about us being friends. We laughed at the dumbest shit and always at the worst times.

I cleared my throat as a short, bald man with warm ivory skin entered my office, and trailing behind him was a man the polar opposite of him.

Tall, with satiny brown skin, prominent cheekbones, and a sharp jawline, it was none other than Declan Bishop. His coarse black hair was short and lined up, the natural waves like ocean currents in the night. A light trace of stubble was peppered along his jaw and chin like he’d shaved a day or two ago.

He wore a crisp linen shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows and three buttons at the collar undone. A gold chain hung around his neck, a crucifix pendant dangling from it, and square diamond earrings pierced both ears.

The NBA player swept his downturned eyes around my office, and as if he were impressed with his surroundings, he smirked and provided a slight nod.

There he was. In the flesh. Star shooting guard for the Atlanta Ravens and a man wortha lotof money. The pictures online did not do him justice.

His brown eyes landed on mine and locked with intention. I couldn’t help noticing they were a deep, rich brown, but the sunlightpouring through the windows revealed the slightest hint of cognac within his irises.

---