Page 30 of Devanté
“There’s no need for that. I’m fine with us keeping our business relationship but anything else is closed and done.”
“No, it’s not.” The rough demand in his voice pushed a thick wave of…something through me. It was sticky, sweet, and warm. My tongue darted out to the corner of my lips in an attempt to catch it. “Like I said, we’re going to talk about it. Not here. Not now. But soon.” He leaned back in the chair and held my eyes with his.
Brown on Black.
The earth versus the galaxy. How was I supposed to win that battle?
“What is it that you want from me today, Devanté? I have a ton of other things on my schedule and I’d like to move this along.” I smoothed on a smile that never reached my eyes.
“What direction do you plan to take the Shaw campaign in?” He asked. He wore confidence around his shoulders like a royal mantle.
“Well, now that I know you’re the spokesperson…”
“Tentatively.”
“I have no doubts that by the time you leave my office you will be the spokesperson,” I smiled. “As I was saying. Now that I know you’re involved, I have plans but none of them are concrete until I meet with the creative design team at Shaw. I’d also need to meet with you to figure out what your vision is. Here at Watson, we don’t like to take our ideas and run with them. We’re all about turning your original ideas into works of art that draw in sales and eyes.”
Now I was comfortable. I was in my element and I could pull down the wind and make the waters rise with my fingertips if I so chose.
Devanté passed a hand over the bottom half of his face and studied me for a while. Silence wove around us, tightening every second. “Seems like you know your shit, Blake.”
“You can call me Miss Remington. Thanks.”
“Yeah…okay, Blake,” he scoffed allowing the full weight of his arrogance to settle between us.
“Will there be a problem with you respecting my wishes? I can always find someone else to handle this campaign.” I tipped back in my chair and watched him from behind my glasses.
He held up his hands, palm out then said, “You got it, Miss Remington. Will I get your contact information in the event I have any more questions or concerns?” He wet his thick lips with his tongue and my thighs pressed together involuntarily.
I’d worked with plenty of male models before and usually, they were all the same. Quiet, aloof, short on words, and gorgeous. Not Devanté though.
He was vocal and had no problem speaking his mind. He was always that way but time had made him a bigger, more potent version of himself. He had time to ferment and now he was one hundred proof.
“I’ll make sure you have Noa’s contact information. She knows how to get in contact with me.” I stood to my feet and walked over to my office door, gripping the handle for dear life.
Devanté stood too. In two long-legged strides, he was in front of me. His cologne touching me and caressing my face like a whisper. His dark eyes clung to my face then traveled unabashedly down the length of my body riding my curves, touching my hips, even brushing against my ankles.
My heart pumped in my chest faster and faster. Beating its anxious wings against the rungs of ribs in my chest. I thought after all the years I’d avoided him I’d constructed some sort of barrier against the way he made my body feel. I thought eight years fortified me against the lovestruck girl I was in college, pining away after her best friend.
I was wrong.
Those feelings came back with a vengeance. They ransacked my sanity and crushed the concrete guard I’d spent years constructing around myself.
“I don’t want Noa’s contact information, Miss Remington. I want yours.” He didn’t touch me once but I swore I knew what his fingers on my skin felt like anyway. How could one man have that much power? It was ridiculous. I needed to get a damn grip.
“There’s no need for you to have my contact information.”
“I’m not leaving until I get it. So, either we’re about to be co-workers for the rest of the day, or you can give me what I want.” He leaned his tall body against the wall and looked down at me. His thick lashes casting shadows on his high cheekbones.
Why the fuck was he so beautiful?
“Give you what you want?” I laughed out the words and folded my arms. “You’re so used to getting that, aren’t you, Devanté?”
“I am. So, let’s keep the party going.”
“Ugh. No.” I rolled my eyes and he cracked a grin that pulled at the corners of my mouth like a snake charmer.
“Give me your work cell number then,” he reasoned.
