Page 9 of Kandi's Crush: A BWWM Sweet Billionaire Romance

I blinked away the sting of tears gathering in the corners of my eyes. The prospect of spending the rest of my life pleasing my mother was a bitter pill to swallow.

My mother’s micromanagement didn’t stop with my job. It extended to all aspects of my life. She cajoled, advised, and hovered in all key decisions, from fashion choices to boyfriends, forcing her input into my life. Other girls would have rebelled at the first sign of their mother encroaching their personal space. I allowed it because I knew that to fight my mother was a zero-sum proposition. Life was much easier when I did what she wanted.

Last week’s fix-up was a prime example of my mother invading my personal space. I’d hauled myself out of bed at the butt-crack of dawn for a Celeste-approved date. He’d suggested we meet at a cute, little coffee shop near the Smoothie King Center. Convinced that my companion had picked the little coffee shop because it would appeal to me, I had felt a little more optimistic about the date.

I’d taken a seat in a chair and looked over the menu. A rush of humid air had burst into the tiny coffee shop each time the door swung open. My heart had raced, hoping he would wander through the door only to be let down when he didn’t. I’d prepared myself to dine alone, when fifteen minutes after our designated meetup time, he’d sent a text message to let me know he was running late.

The door had opened, and my heart skipped a beat. At six-foot-five with a body chiseled from decades of athletic prowess, Pierre Butler was a sight to behold. My heart rate had sped up when I’d taken in his smooth cocoa-colored skin and high cheekbones. Pierre didn’t belong on a basketball court. He belonged on a fashion runway.

The man had been fine.

The man had also been twenty-two minutes late.

He’d walked over to our table with a confident swagger. He’d approached me with a look of approval as he scanned me from head-to-toe. We’d exchanged pleasantries and placed our orders with the server, who’d all but bowed when he recognized Pierre.

My mother had been giddy, uncontained excitement and hope oozing from her voice as she relayed the details of the date she’d arranged for me. Pierre’s own mother thought the world of her beautiful, perfect son, and they were both pushing for romantic courtship.

By the end of the coffee date, I’d known I wasn’t interested in Pierre.

I hadn’t worried about hurting his feelings because I knew it went both ways. He’d appeared bored within minutes of our introduction. His eyes had darted from person to person as though he’d hoped to find someone more interesting.

In a relationship with Pierre, my job would have been to look pretty and smile when appropriate. He had asked nothing about me, preferring to spend my valuable time waxing poetic about his future NBA career. His hopes and dreams were a disjointed and disorganized jumble of words. I’d saved myself by pretending I had an important errand to run for my grandparents.

My mother knows nothing about me if she thinks Pierre Butler is the ideal man for me.

Pushing the coffee date out of my thoughts, I swept the dust pile into a dustpan and emptied it into the kitchen trash bag. Chadwick had completed his call and was sitting at the kitchen island.

I tried to hide the tears forming in the corner of my eyes. If I’d continued to think about the date with Pierre, I would definitely cry. I needed to take my mind off my overbearing mother and my dismal love life. My lips trembled as I squeaked out my next question.

“Chadwick, what’s your plan for the evening?”

“I’ll probably go to a restaurant and eat at the bar. Maybe get a steak.”

“Are you going out on the prowl? Going to bring back fresh meat?” I cringed the moment the question left my lips. The question was inappropriate and a little too familiar. Chadwick wasn’t my friend—he was my client.

“I don’t know. Maybe,” he said. He shrugged, appearing unaffected by my question.

“Well, don’t break any hearts.”

Chadwick

“Day five . . . I expected a trail of women filing in and out of here,” Kandace said, squinting and tilting her head sideways.

“No. That part of my life is over. There’s food in the refrigerator and vodka in the freezer. I’m more than adequately prepared to entertain myself.”

Kandace raised an eyebrow, casting a dubious response at the announcement. The statement is true. Somewhat. Aside from the lack of judgment with the girl in the red dress, I’ve been on the straight and narrow since I returned to New Orleans.

“I think you’re losing your touch. Are you losing your touch, St. Clair? Be honest.”

“Why don’t you go into the bedroom with me? I can give you a firsthand experience of my touch.” My heart thumped so loudly, I thought it would escape my chest. I was teasing, but I had become comfortable with the idea of the two of us alone in my bedroom.

“I see what you did there. You’re funny. Hilarious, actually.” She rolled her eyes to the heavens. “You couldn’t wait to think with your dick.”

“You say the word ‘dick’ like my cock is repulsive. I’m proud of it. It’s a thing of beauty . . . Thick, long, with a slight curve. Don’t believe me? I can show you.”

A sly grin spread across my lips as my eyes shone with glee, and I moved my hand to the waistband of my shorts. Her eyes widened as though she was afraid of what I would do next. She raised her eyes to the ceiling and fixed them on the pendant lights that hung over the island. She extended her hand and sliced through the air.

“I’ll pass.”

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