Total pages in book: 149
Estimated words: 142866 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 714(@200wpm)___ 571(@250wpm)___ 476(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 142866 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 714(@200wpm)___ 571(@250wpm)___ 476(@300wpm)
I start up the stairs and roll my eyes. “He was all up in my grill Saturday night. No rush to get back to him. Always somebody trying to get in my pockets.”
He was the exact opposite of Hendrix, who seemed almost reluctant to pursue the idea of me investing in her venture capital fund. A smile quirks my lips at the memory of her leading the electric slide, head thrown back, laughter floating over the crowd. A stark contrast to how upset she was not even an hour later after the call with her mother.
This isn’t the first time I’ve thought of her since the party. She’s vibrant and smart and bold and… soft. There’s a softness to her that’s easy to overlook because of all that strength. I can’t get that bright smile and smooth brown skin out of my mind. Keep hearing her voice singing that hymn as she tried to soothe her mom.
It’s much too soon to consider asking her out. That’s ridiculous. I’m just ending a long-term relationship. And she’s Zere’s production partner. I’m not ready for another relationship right now, much less one that would be that complicated and wrong on so many levels.
Still I don’t stop myself from uttering the next words as I climb the stairs toward my bedroom.
“Hey, Bolt, find out all you can about the Aspire Fund out of Atlanta.”
CHAPTER 8
HENDRIX
I’ve got Zere on Zoom,” Skipper calls from the outer office. “Okay to pipe her in?”
“Sure.” I tweak the last sentence in my email to one of the Aspire Fund’s limited partners. “I’m ready.”
The large plasma screen mounted on the wall to my right lights up with Zere’s face. I know her well enough by now that the stunning smile doesn’t completely disguise the new sadness in her eyes.
“Morning, partner,” she says, tucking one long copper strand of hair behind her ear. “Have you recovered from Saturday night?”
“You could say that.” I swing my chair around to face the screen and stretch my back dramatically. “But this forty-year-old booty don’t twerk like it used to. I think I dislocated something popping on that last set.”
She laughs and I’m glad to see it chases away some of the sadness even if only for a moment. “Girl, same.”
“You’re forty?” I ask, lifting my brows.
“My next birthday.” She slides her gaze away. “It’s gonna be a tough one.”
“Forty’s not bad. Actually I’m having the time of my life. My career is on fire. I know myself better than I ever have. In my twenties, I was just running. Always in the streets and for what? In my thirties, I started asking big questions and looking for answers. Now I know exactly who I am and what I want. And I can finally afford myself.”
We both laugh, but the humor dwindles on her face quickly. “What about kids? A husband? Do you start to worry that maybe you won’t ever have those things?”
“One of them I don’t want,” I reply. “Childless by choice over here.”
“You really don’t want kids?” The shock on her face doesn’t surprise me. I’m used to it. Why is it so hard to believe there are women in the world who don’t want to act as host for a human who may never fully appreciate their sacrifices, drains their hard-earned money, and forces them to make the difficult choices that men, even as fathers, never seem to face?
“I really don’t.” I shrug. “Kids aren’t for everyone. Society tells us that, and there are a lot of abused, neglected, unloved kids in the world because women caved to antiquated gendered expectations. I like my life.”
“And what about companionship? A husband?”
“I have the best friends in the world for companionship and I get dick whenever I want it.”
She sputters a laugh and shakes her head. “I’ve had plenty of dick. I want a baby.”
“Then have one.”
“You make it sound easy.”
I don’t insult her by saying these days it can be, that she could adopt on her own. Surrogacy. All kinds of ways to become a mom. I know what I want and respect her enough to believe she knows what she wants, too.
“Look, my best friends both have kids and wouldn’t trade them for the world.” I swing back and forth in my chair and tip back. “I see why it works for them, but I also see very clearly why it wouldn’t work for me. Besides, I love being the rich auntie who gets to go home to my nice, quiet expensive apartment after spoiling their kids.”
“I come from a big family and have been the rich auntie for a long time,” she says with a wry smile. “I thought maybe that would be enough, but the closer I got to forty, the more I realized that for me, a family is essential.”