Can't Get Enough (Skyland, #3)(124)

“Not at all.” She pauses and then speaks in a rush. “Thanks again, by the way, for encouraging me to give Bolt a shot. When they get back from Tokyo, he’s coming to Atlanta for our date.”

“Niiiiiiiice. Happy for you.”

“Happy for you,” she counters playfully. “You and Mav are like dialed up to ten. You could barely keep your hands off each other. It was awkward.”

I bust out laughing and shake my head. “The way you found the audacity to say that to me when you literally fucked Bolt at a basketball game.”

“Will I never live that down?”

“Do you think I should let you?”

“Not actually, no,” she says, laughing.

Another call flashes up and I lean forward to peer at the screen on my desk. “Oh, it’s Kashawn. Gotta go.”

I end one call to pick up the other.

“Shawn, hey. What’s up?”

“You watching TV?

“Trying not to.” I walk toward the living room. “Why? What should I be watching?”

“Someone leaked the names of the businessmen funding CFE.”

“What?” I turn on the television. “Where?”

She tells me which station is reporting and I flip there as fast as I can.

The reporter is reading off a bunch of names I don’t recognize, but many of the companies they lead or are associated with I do.

“One very interesting note,” the reporter says, lifting her brows as she stares into the camera. “Andrew Carverson, owner of the Vegas Vipers, is reported to be one of the big donors. Tech mogul Maverick Bell is in the final phases of buying the Vipers.”

A photo of Maverick holding me on the courthouse steps appears on-screen. My heart is a kick drum in my chest and my breath suspends while I wait for these pieces to fit together.

“Speculation about his romantic relationship with one of the Aspire Fund defendants, Hendrix Barry, began when he was seen here with her.”

“Shit,” I mutter, forgetting Kashawn is even on the phone until she speaks.

“What’s up with Mav and Carverson?” she demands. “Did Mav know about this? Buying that team basically puts money in this man’s pockets. Why would he—”

“I don’t know, Shawn,” I say, squeezing the bridge of my nose. “This is the first I’ve heard of it, too. I’ll get to the bottom of it, but that deal is important to Mav. He’s been planning it for years, owning this team.”

“More important than you?” Kashawn asks. “Because Mav’s about to give one of the men trying to shut us down a shit ton of cash.”

I close my eyes and pull the phone away from my ear, pressing it to my chest for a moment. “I’ll find out what’s going on.”

“Get back to me as soon as you can.”

After we disconnect, I dial Maverick right away. It’s six o’clock in the evening here, so really early there, but I need to talk to him immediately. It goes to voicemail, and I growl my frustration while I wait to leave a message.

“Mav, what the hell is going on with you and this Vipers team owner?” I ask, hearing the snap in my voice. It sounds like anger, but it’s confusion. Hurt. “Did you know about his involvement with Citizens for Equality? Kashawn is asking me and I feel like…”

A fool.

I feel like a fool for not knowing about Maverick’s proximity to one of the men who has made it his twisted mission to tear down my organization. To tear down Black women. Maverick is days away from this sale going through, and I know he’s been working toward this for so long, not just for him, but for his father. Going through with it, though, funds my opposition.

Would he choose me over his greatest ambition? His crowning achievement?

In my experience with men, especially powerful men, no.

In my experience with this powerful man… I wish I could say for sure. I steel my voice and brace my heart and finally force out the words.

“Just call me when you get this.”





CHAPTER 50





MAVERICK


There’s an elephant kicking my door down.

If this is Bolt waking me up, his ass is fired.

I mean it this time.

I sit up straight in the hotel suite bedroom to complete darkness, the light blocked by the drawn shades.

“Come in,” I shout, pressing my palms into my eyes. “Shit.”

“I would,” Bolt yells back, “but it’s locked.”

I toss the covers aside and drag my tired body out of bed to yank open the door. He’s standing there holding a cup of coffee like I’m not three seconds away from kicking his ass.

“I distinctly remember saying late last night”—I turn back into the bedroom, leaving him to follow—“emphasis on ‘late’ because we’d been in meetings all day and half the night—that I needed to sleep past eight this morning. Local time, please?”

“It’s seven thirty,” Bolt replies dispassionately. “And you need to check your phone.”

I stride… or try to find my stride… back into the bedroom and grab my phone from the nightstand drawer.

“What’s up? What’d I miss?” I ask around a yawn as Bolt presses the button on the wall to retract the shades covering the giant windows.