Page 40 of Can't Get Enough

“Just doing some research.”

But between Bolt and the financial adviser who digs up every known fact about any prospective investment, I’ve gathered all I need to know about Aspire. This trip wasn’t necessary. I glance over my shoulder back into the ballroom, and a flash of bright pink catches my eye.

Inside, Hendrix stands at the center of a group of people. For a second, her gaze collides with mine and she doesn’t look away. Neither do I. It’s like a showdown, but after a few seconds, she slides her eyes away like she can’t be bothered to participate anymore.

“Research, huh?” Bolt huffs a breath, skepticism in the look he angles at me. “The fund or her?”

I meet my assistant’s eyes squarely. “What?”

“I’ve worked with you long enough to recognize disruptions in your pattern.” He gives an almost indiscernible tilt of his head in Hendrix’s direction. “She’s a disruption.”

“Fuck outta here. You’re reading too much into this.”

“We were meeting when she texted you.” He adjusts his ever-present bow tie, tonight one with red polka dots. “You were, dare I say, borderline giddy.”

“No, you don’t dare say if you want to keep your job,” I threaten with mock severity.

“And immediately after that text you mentioned coming to Atlanta soon.”

“Quite the detective, aren’t—”

“Two things seem to truly pique your interest lately,” Bolt goes on, ignoring the exasperated look I’m pinning him with. “Buying the Vipers and this small venture capital fund that wouldn’t typically register as a blip on your radar. Why are we here when there are a dozen opportunities that actually would merit your personal attention? What are you doing?”

I frown and swing him a querying glance. “What do you mean, what am I doing?”

“She’s producing a show with Zere.” In the light of the balcony lamps, Bolt manages to look simultaneously curious and knowing. “Do you not see that as a problem?”

I force myself not to look over my shoulder and find Hendrix again in that dazzling pink. “Business is business. Zere knows I’m looking to invest in Hendrix’s fund.”

“She has no idea how you look at her, though.”

“I don’t look…” I shake my head and blow out a breath, impatient not with him, but with myself. “I barely know the woman.”

“True, which is why I think we’re here.”

I can’t win in this conversation, and the last thing I want to do is examine whether Bolt’s assessment has any merit.

“Sorry to interrupt,” a young woman says, appearing beside me. “Excuse me, Mr. Bell.”

She’s average height and has golden-brown locs gathered into an elegant chignon. She’s slim thick and when she speaks, every word is perfectly articulated but seems tolean, each syllable taking its time in her Southern drawl. Polished with an edge is how I’d describe her.

“And you are?” Bolt asks, lifting one imperious brow.

“Ms. Barry’s assistant.” She tilts her head in a way that suggests she believes it’s none of his business. “I’m Skipper.”

“That’s your adult name?” Bolt asks, rude even for him.

“That’s your adult bow tie?” She bristles. “And, yes, Skipper is my government name.”

“Didn’t we speak on the phone about arrangements for this event?” Bolt demands, eyes narrowed.

“Oh, let me see.” Skipper touches her chin. “Rude, bougie, unpleasant—yeah, that conversation is coming back to me. I believe I hung up on you.”

“You were incompetent, I recall,” Bolt says. “Sent the wrong address for the event.”

“No, as I tried explaining, but you wouldn’t listen, there was a changeof venue,” she corrects, her smile at him a rictus of contempt as she turns her attention very pointedly back to me. “As I was saying,Mr. Bell.”

She pauses to sniff dismissively in Bolt’s direction. The more annoyed she becomes with Bolt, the deeper her drawl becomes.

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