Page 71 of Lavish
“It’s time you stop hiding in the shadows,” Mama said before I arrived, her tone clipped, assessing. “Your last name isn’t just for decoration. Show them you can be a King.”
I almost fell onto the bar, I was buzzing with so much nervous energy. The bartender gave me a curious look. “What’ll it be?”
“Something strong.”
The bartender raised a brow. Was that the wrong thing to say? A voice said, “Give her a Manhattan.”
I turned to my right, and there was an older Black woman watching me.
She was striking. Not just beautiful, but arranged—like she had chosen each element of herself with intention.
I hadn’t noticed her before, which bothered me. I always noticed people. I could remember the face of a contractor I’d passed once in a hallway when I was eight.
She looked to be in her fifties. Her posture was impeccable—shoulders relaxed but back straight, legs crossed just so, her fingers cradling a glass of red wine like it had always belonged there. Her dress was deep red satin. Not burgundy. Not maroon. Red.
Her jewelry matched—real stones, real gold. Expensive, but not flashy. No labels, but everything about her screamed money.
She smiled back. Not warm. Not cold. Just amused.
“Let me guess—you’d rather be anywhere but here?”
My throat felt tight. “Is it that obvious?”
“Parties like these are a drag. Just big dick investors showing off their money and the women scrambling for it.”
I blinked. That was…blunt.
She reached her hand out. “I’m Jenese.”
I shook it. Firm grip. Polished nails. Diamond ring, right hand. No wedding band.
“Serena.”
The bartender came back with the drink, leaving us alone once again.
“I think you might the most interesting thing here, Serena.” Jenese smiled again, tilting her glass toward me. “Do you have time to chat, or should I let you go about your business?”
I looked over my shoulder. I didn’t even see the investor Mama wanted me to talk to. And maybe talking to this woman would help me loosen up.
“Sure. I have time.”
I didn’t realize I was standing in the grand lobby of the home till someone bumped into my shoulder.
The inside of the building was a big, lively space with people chatting quietly, glasses clinking, and bursts of laughter. Crystal chandeliers dripped light onto the polished marble and gilded bits.
I strolled up to the bar. A few people glanced my way, their eyes skimming over me, curiosity piqued but fleeting. That was the trick—blend in just enough to be forgettable, yet carry yourself like you owned the place.
Jenese always said,“Blend in until you don’t.”
Smiling slightly, I leaned against the bar. “Manhattan, neat.”
I scanned the room, my gaze lingering on clusters of people, their conversations animated yet contained. I didn’t see him yet.
But I didn’t need toseehim. I knew the rhythm now. I knew what to listen for. What to say. What to withhold.
The first couple of lessons had felt like power. Control. Like I was finally being let in on secrets no one in my family thought I could handle.
I didn’t realize they were hooks.
