Page 66 of Kentrell

“Then stop calling me that.”

“Stop calling you what?”

He cut his eyes toward me, smooth as ever. “Mr. Caldwell.That ain’t what I told you to call me.”

I raised a brow, but didn’t flinch. “We’re not in Hartman Towers.”

“Exactly. Which means you can cut the act. I ain’t your client out here, ma.”

His voice was low, but the weight behind it was heavy.

I swallowed, looking out his window for a second.

Say it,I told myself.Just say it.

“...Kentrell,” I said, quiet, testing the name like it might burn my tongue.

He glanced at me again, just enough for me to catch the spark in his eyes.

“See? That wasn’t so hard.”

I tried not to smile. “It felt... illegal.”

He chuckled again, one hand on the wheel, the other draped lazy over the gearshift.

“Nah. But what I got planned for you might be.”

That shut me right up. Heat crept up my neck, and I had to look out my window, this time, to hide my face.

We rode in silence for a minute, the city rolling past, headed towardStone + Marrow—one of those quiet, upscale spotsthat didn’t have a trendy grass wall for promos. Just a valet and a waitlist.

"You ready?" Kentrell's voice sliced through my dazed window-gazing. I turned to his handsome, chocolate-brown face, swallowed hard, and nodded. "Don’t get quiet on me now, Zoe. Ain't no turning back." His words prickled at my nerves as he climbed out of the truck and circled around to open my door.

"Thank you." I reached for his hand, but before I could fully process, he lifted me out of the vehicle instead. I gasped, then quickly giggled to mask the flicker of embarrassment at my own silliness. That fleeting amusement was soon replaced by the comforting warmth of his presence, mingling with the subtle, addictive scent of his cologne. I had no doubt that by the time I reached home tonight, that scent would be woven into every thread of my clothes—and somehow, into me as well.

Kentrell owned every stride he took. With his hand clasped in mine, the force of his presence radiated through me. I was captivated by his magnetic allure. Though it was the valet’s duty to park the car, the man merely stepped forward in silence, lowered his gaze, and accepted the keys. It felt only natural to surrender the lead to Kentrell—and even strangers appeared to surrender willingly to Kentrell’s aura, their energy aligning effortlessly. The moment we crossed the threshold into the restaurant, several eyes turned toward us.

Stone + Marrowwas dim, plush, and probably cost more per plate than my last bonus. But somehow, Kentrell got us seated in a private booth near the back without dropping a name or a card. The host just nodded and led us through velvet shadows like this was routine.

I slipped into my seat with grace I didn’t feel, crossing my legs under the table and smoothing my skirt. Kentrell sat across from me, all calm and stretch—his broad frame looking like it belonged in the dark wood and leather of this place.

The waiter came and went quickly. Wine was poured. Small talk skipped. The moment we were alone, the pressure thickened.

I took a sip of wine to steady myself.

“You always eat like this?” I asked, trying to play it light.

He leaned back in the booth, eyes cutting low over the rim of his glass. “Only when I need privacy.”

“For what?”

He gave me that slow, cocky smile I was starting to hate that I liked. “We gon’ get there.”

That should’ve been my warning.

I took another sip.

“Zoe,” he said, voice lower, “I feel like you tryna walk it back.”

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