Page 31 of Devanté
“No. Stop being so damn stubborn.”
“That’s all you. I just want a contact point.”
“I’m giving you Noa’s information.”
“That’s not what I meant, and you know it. Now who’s being stubborn?” More smirking and more showing off his protractor perfect jawline.
“You don’t need to contact me directly. I don’t work for Shaw.”
“But I want to contact you directly.”
I let out a frustrated growl and dropped my hands to my side. Devanté eyed the action with amusement sparkling in his eyes. I tried not to get lost wandering around in those galaxy pools because I knew I’d turn down a nostalgic path and find myself giving him my number when I knew better. It would only lead to him trying to get his way.
“No. You’re not getting my number. I don’t want yours either. We’ll talk during our meetings which will be facilitated by our assistants.”
“Did you turn this into a TLC song?” He asked, quirking up a thick black brow.
“A what?” A short laugh followed my words.
Devanté stood straight up, dwarfing me even in the six-inch Bottega Veneta heels I had on. “No, I don’t want your number. No, I don’t wanna give you mine and…”
I cut off his singing with my own. “No, I don’t wanna meet you nowhere. No. Don’t want none of your time.” I couldn’t help joining in.No Scrubswas my jam. I curled my fingers into my palm to stop the involuntary snapping they wanted to do.
Devanté chuckled in a deep smooth tone that made my thighs react…again. “So, would that make me the scrub or…”
“You’re definitely the scrub,” I said without hesitation.
“I’ll be that. I have my own ride though. Own crib. No kids. No woman.” His intense eyes lingered on me and I sighed softly in response. I rested my hand on the door handle, ready to let him leave so my heart rate could get back to normal.
“So, you’re an independent scrub. Still, you get no love over here.”
“Nah…that’s not true. I still get love over here. You can erase a lot in eight years but the way you light up when we’re alone? There’s no getting rid of that, Miss Remington.” He moved over to the door and rested his hand on top of mine. His long strong fingers curved over mine. Heat exploded on the surface of my skin. Fireworks popped against the silence and I wondered if he could tell he sent a shock straight to my system.
“It was nice seeing you again,” he said, dipping down unnecessarily low. I had no choice but to inhale him. No choice but to be swaddled by his richness and warmth. “I look forward to doing business with you.”
“Me too.” I tried to make my smile as professional and vanilla as possible but I couldn’t help the burning beneath my skin.
Silence tumbled by us, wedging between our too close bodies. “I meant everything I said that night.” I didn’t need to know what night he was talking about. It was the night I couldn’t stop thinking about for eight years. It was the night my heart split inside my chest leaking insecurities and hurt feelings. I tried to forget Devanté’s declaration of love through the closed apartment door but I never did.
It haunted me at night stitching itself into my dreams until they became tapestries of what-ifs.
“Goodbye, Devanté,” I said quietly, making sure not to let my foundation be rocked by this man. No man was worth making me shift my foundation. Not even fine ass Devanté Morgan.
“Goodbye.” He turned the knob with my hand beneath his and a million tiny nerves skittered up my arms leaving behind goosebumps. “No, I don’t want no scrub. A scrub is a guy that can’t get no love from me,” he sang as he left my office. A laugh pushed through my pursed lips.
I shook my head at him and watched as his broad, brick-laid shoulders swayed down the hall. The apples of my cheeks were on fire…among other things that I tried my hardest to ignore. I was certain that beneath my deep umber skin, a blush was taking over, swallowing me whole.
Thank god for my melanin or else everyone would see what Devanté did to me. Even after eight damn years.
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