Page 13 of Platinum Love: A BWWM Romance

Hunter, what needs will your business satisfy?

Hunter, who are the key players in your business?

Hunter, who are your ideal customers?

What happened to Jo?

“You know what, I’m good on today.” I drop my iPad into my purse. “You have more than enough information to get started.”

“No, I have more questions. I don’t think you’ve gone deep enough with this idea.” His face twists with annoyance. I’m petty and feel good about him showing some sort of feelings other than indifference.

“I gave you what I got,” I toss back.

“Hunter, your father is not going to invest one million dollars in an event planning business. Those come a dime a dozen, especially in Austin. What’s your plan B?” He leans back in his chair.

“That’s my plan A and plan B.” I glance away. Ben runs a hand through his hair, and my fingers tingle to do the same.

Low key, my feelings are hurt. I thought we’d crossed that weird void which made it awkward to gauge him. I’d flirt, he’d dodge. He’d flirt, at least that’s what I thought it was, then he’d become the ultimate professional.

But his eyes give him away. They roll like liquid lava, and my body responds, every time. I would have kicked Lewis’ ass to the curb months ago had Ben just said the word. He didn’t, so I relished in flirting and hopefully spiking his blood pressure with my killer outfits and blatant come-ons.

Kissing on the dance floor felt natural, damn near perfect, and my body is still tingling from his kiss. The thought of his mouth traveling other places crosses my mind, and my kitty is purring for naught.

I give Ben a sideways glance, as the clicking of his keys echoes through the bar. He’s curled over his computer oblivious. His dirty blond hair still ruffled from my hands racking through it in the heat of the moment. I fume at his ignorance of my internal showdown. How did we get back to this awkward dance again?

Did he not feel it?

His dismissal is worse than the dick pic from Lewis meant for that skank B. I want Ben to be as furious as me. I want to feel something other than rejection.

“I’m curious. Do you not date black girls?” I roll my neck, crossing my arms over my chest. I can’t stop my urge to push back.

His head snaps up, jaws tight. “What does who I date have to do with your business plan?”

“Because you just tongued me down on the dance floor and now you’re cold as ice.”

“Look, Hunter—”

“What happened to Jo?” I sit up. My pride has taken enough of a beating for a day. Hell, a week. “Let me get out of here.” I stand, draining the last of my drink. “Call me if you have any questions.”

“Hunter, wait.”

I stalk out not turning to hear him out. I’m done with men. I walk out of S&J and jump in my car, glad I parked on the curb outside the front door. I hear Ben calling my name, but I’m done with tired-ass men.

But that’s my bad.

It’s time I do me. I pull off and see him through the rearview mirror. I pop my shades over my eyes. I need a night with the guys because I refuse to lose my inheritance and I refuse to catch feelings for a guy who clearly ain’t worried about me.

I hope he enjoyed kissing me, because it will be the last time I’ll let my guard down. I flick on the radio to drown out my thoughts.

I stop at a traffic light about to run through my usual I Am Hunter Preston speech. A speech I created in junior high when people first started realizing who my father was and I went from a cool kid on my own accord to the rich girl. And not just rich, but rich and black.

My speech puts my feelings in check and lets my ego smooth over the places where rejection hides beneath my tough exterior. I pretend my skin is tough as a tortoise shell. But it’s not. Ben’s rejection hurts more than Lewis’ betrayal.

Why is that?

Maybe it’s because showing Daddy I can create this business will mean for once I’m not a spoiled little platinum princess. That I can stand on my own two feet. That I carry his name but I’m not him. That I’m my own person.

The light turns green. I grip the steering wheel tight and gun it. My foot is heavy on the accelerator as my Maserati cuts through traffic with precision.

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