Can't Get Enough (Skyland, #3)(41)
“Leave the show?” she screams, gum popping halting altogether. “I built that show. Folks are tuning in to see me, not them gully ex-stripper hos.”
I don’t point out that she got her start on the pole because who cares. She was once a diamond in one of Atlanta’s elite strip clubs. She grew up hard, and audiences want to find any grime that’s left under her newfound glitter.
“I’ve reduced your on-air time with the cast members you specified,” I tell her, trying to keep us on course. “And the producers have agreed to integrate your new sex toy business into the show.”
“Oh, yes! I’ll make sure the team has Issa Vibe ready to go in time for filming the new season so we can time our launch with episode one. That was a great suggestion, by the way.”
“I’m glad. The producers love bringing in that storyline so it’s win-win.”
“And did you like my gift?” she asks, a salacious note slinking into her voice.
“The vibrator?” I come close to a guffaw. “I haven’t tried it yet, but I’ll let you know.”
“We call it the Roll Back because it’s gonna make your eyes roll back in your head.”
“Could we focus on business for another second? I know it’s a foreign concept, but some clients don’t share this much sexual information with their managers.”
“That don’t sound fun at all,” she bemoans on their behalf. “We not like them.”
God, I wish we were.
I manage to redirect the conversation long enough to get her agreement on the terms as I’ve negotiated them. I don’t have a law degree, but I have my doctorate in relentless bitch. I know what my clients want and deserve and won’t stop until they get as much as possible. The lawyer I keep on retainer gets into the legal details and makes sure we’re crossing and dotting and not leaving cash on the table.
Three phone calls and two video conferences later, I welcome the shifting light of sunset in my office. Finally this day is over, and I can go home. I’m packing up for the night when my resolve not to see if Maverick replied weakens. I reach into the top drawer of my desk for my cell phone. Probably half a dozen messages have come in since I started my meeting marathon.
No messages or missed calls from Aunt Geneva, to my relief. Some memes and GIFs on my thread with Soledad and Yasmen, which makes me smile. A text from Nelly to Kashawn and me about an “out-of-the-box” founder she wants to discuss tomorrow. There’s even a message from a one-minute man I had the misfortune of smashing last month. I was tempted to notify Guinness we had a new world record for fastest to come with complete disregard for his partner’s pleasure, but I figured they’re flooded with women claiming that daily.
Delete. Block. Never again.
Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice… well that ain’t happening.
There’s even a message from Imani.
Imani: I know I’m a lot, but I love you and appreciate all the hustling you do for me, Hennessy. I have three tickets to the Waves game in San Diego next Wednesday. It’s the Western Conference playoffs! I have an event I can’t get out of, so they’re all yours if you want them.
I already know Soledad and Yasmen won’t be able to fly off to Cali in the middle of the week with their commitments. They’d be my first choice as plus-ones for this event, but I have a lot of good second ones.
Me: Would love to get out of the city for a night. Send deets to Skipper.
Finally, I come to a new message from the almost-billionaire I’m avoiding.
Maverick: You have a good one, too.
I don’t think his “have a good one” means the same as mine. Mine is a dismissal, a way to shut things down. When Maverick says have a good one, I think he really hopes I do.
CHAPTER 15
MAVERICK
We may not be on home court, but this feels like home.
No matter what arena we’re in, there’s nothing like watching a nail-biter with my father. Even though he’s no longer an assistant coach, he’s still on edge every time the Vipers play. He won’t relax before the buzzer.
“What’s Paulson thinking?” Pop grits out, standing so close to the plexiglass of the luxury suite box his breath fogs it up. “He needs to switch forty-three. He can’t guard August West, and that boy’s gonna drain threes all night if we let him get hot.”
It’s great seeing my father reinvigorated in a way he hasn’t been since we lost my mother. Losing her was the earthquake that shook and destroyed his foundation. At first he didn’t even try to dig himself out from under the rubble. With the possibility of me owning the team he’s devoted so much of his life to, it seems like he’s finally starting to reemerge.
Improbably, the Vipers are in the Western Conference playoffs, thanks mainly to the president of basketball operations, who came to my father on the low seeking advice the last few years. He followed Pop’s recommendations on a new head coach, how to take advantage of a few high-draft picks and trades in the offseason. The results? Vegas Vipers versus the San Diego Waves in a franchise-defining series.
I’m definitely tuned into the game, but I have a broader agenda tonight. Being here in this box is a strategic show of intention and strength to Andy Carverson, the current majority owner of the Vipers and part of the good ol’ boy network that blocked my father’s aspirations at every turn. I’m here to remind him that soon I’ll be calling the shots as the new majority owner. That I—the kid who used to collect dirty towels and pass around Gatorade and do whatever grunt work they found for me—am going to buy the team that has been in his family for decades right from under him.