Page 23 of Kentrell

He was… breathtaking.

Sharp cheekbones, smooth skin, perfect lineup. The kind of beauty that made you want to ask what prayers his mama whispered over his crib.

And the scent? God.

Salt & Stone’s Black Rose and Oud. With a trace of Tom Ford’s Oud Wood. Warm. Earthy. Expensive.

A man who smelled like intention.

“Mr. Caldwell, right?” I asked, offering my hand. My voice stayed calm, but my heart?Wrecked.

He took it.

Firm grip.

Soft skin.

A jolt surged up my arm, straight to my chest.

“Kentrell,” he said.

Still holding my hand. Still looking at me like he had all night.

And I blinked—trying to steady myself.

Trying to stay professional.

But his name lingered on my lips.

Kentrell.

“I don’t operate on a first-name basis with my clients,” I replied smoothly, making sure he understood the boundary I was drawing in permanent ink.

He nodded.

Then leaned in. Closer.

My breath caught in my chest like a startled bird, and I held it.

“So, I take it you’ve cleared some space for me on your schedule tomorrow?”

I opened my mouth to object—tochallengethe assumption—but nothing came out.

I hadn’t committed to Malcolm’s proposal. I hadn’t agreed to anything.

And yet... Mr. Caldwell was already claiming space.

God,what had I just stepped into?

“You look good, ma.”

He finally released my hand, but the heat he left behind stayed rooted in my skin. His smirk—those dimples—only added fuel to the fire now spreading across my cheeks.

“I bet you gon’ look even better tomorrow.”

And with that, he turned and walked away.

Just...walked away. Like he hadn’t just lit my whole nervous system on fire.

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