Page 28 of Devanté
CHAPTER EIGHT
My head throbbed at the temples from tossing and turning every time I heard Devin and his friends laughing and clapping their hands. No doubt they were filming and drinking. None of them gave a damn that I was upstairs trying to get rest because I had to get up at five in the morning, get in a workout, and make sure I had my files in order for the day. Work began long before I set foot in Watson.
I sat at my desk with a travel mug of coffee in my hand. It was my favorite mug. It was a pretty blue with silver sparkles and it read Queen of Everything in black letters. A crown sat slanted on the Q in sparkling silver.
I took a long, much-needed sip of hot coffee with vanilla almond milk creamer and monk fruit to sweeten it. I shut my eyes and savored the understated sweet flavor on my tongue. My eyes popped open when I heard the familiar chime of my calendar alerting me that my schedule for the day was ready to view.
When I clicked on the calendar, I nodded and mmm’ed along with each color-coded time block. When I got to one o’clock, I choked on my coffee. There, in bold black letters was a name I never thought I’d see on my fucking schedule.
1:00 PM meeting with Devanté Morgan (Shaw Luxury Cases possible spokesperson)
I tried my hardest to change that damn meeting into something else. Anything else besides Devanté Morgan.
Now, he was in my office looking so good it pissed me off. I couldn’t avoid his face over the past eight years but seeing him like this. In person. It was different. It made my skin buzz.
Seeing how he’d bulked up and filled out. Seeing his moonless-sky skin and galaxy dark eyes in person again was enough to make me dizzy. I’d never let on though. Fuck that. He hurt me. Betrayed me.
I refused to be caught off guard by the way his shirt stretched taut over perfectly constructed onyx muscles. Or the way his skin glowed, or the sharp angles of his jaw and chin. I couldn’t say he looked like a model because he was one. He wasthemodel. His name was mentioned in the same breath as Tyson Beckford and Boris Kodjoe.
That’s precisely why I refused to act like he affected me in any way. He knew damn well he was fine and evidently, he learned how to use it to get whatever the hell he wanted. Not over here.
“What’s up, Blake?” His voice came out like silk and cashmere. Clearly, he’d been steeped in luxury for the past eight years.
“Hello, Mr. Morgan.” I made sure to pull my shoulders back and keep my spine straight. My corporate smile was in place and I had my full mask on. I was ready to play.
“Damn, okay. I guess I deserve the Mr. Morgan treatment.” He shifted in the chair then rested his ankle on his knee. The deep gray slacks he wore molded to his firm long legs.
The same too-much feeling came rushing back. It was the feeling I always got around Devanté. The feeling that I shouldn’t be looking at him the way I was. The feeling that I wasn’t enough to even lust after this sculpted block of stone sitting across from me in my office.
Seeing him again made me feel like a peasant and I hadn’t felt like that since I changed schools and went to USC. Fuck that. I’d fought too hard and too long to build my self-confidence.
I cried myself to sleep for so many dark and starless nights wondering why my best friend betrayed me. Wondering why it felt like he sold his soul for a piece of fame. It took months for me to get back to myself. It took years for me to believe all the things I told myself daily.
I was strong.
I was a queen.
I was a boss.
I was worth being loved as a friend and as a woman.
I wasenough.
I spoke seeds into my own heart to reap the flowers blooming from my soul. I listened to Jill Scott and Erykah Badu. I blasted Beyonce’s self-titled album and learned all the words to Lemonade. I soaked my tired bones in rose petal baths and oiled my skin until it glowed. I sloughed my scars away with salt from the earth and I fucking refused to let Devanté waltz in my office and undo all the fortifying I’d done over the past eight years.
But…the way he looked at me…
“I heard you wanted to meet with me specifically regarding the direction of your campaign with Shaw Luxury Cases. What exactly can I help you with, sir?”
“Blake cut the shit,” he groaned.
“Excuse me?” I looked at him unflinching. His eyes were the same. Dark and endless. There was something different though. Something hard with a sharp edge. If I wasn’t careful, it would slice me in two. I didn’t know if that was good or bad.
“Stop with the cordialities. We’re past that.”
“We’re not. You scheduled a meeting with me for business purposes and we’re here. That’s the only thing we’re here for so let’s talk business, Mr. Morgan.”
“Okay,” he smirked, clasping his long fingers in his lap. I hated the way he owned the entire space. Every inch of my office felt like it belonged to him. I smoothed my hair and locked on to his gaze. I’d learned when I first began at Watson that you had to maintain excellent eye contact to pull the client in and make them trust you. It also served to keep things on topic. People had a tough time deviating from the subject when you held their gaze. “Then I insist you call me Devanté. I rarely let people call me Mr. Morgan.”
