“No?”
“No, but let me entertain you, I guess you got someone in mind?”
She pulled up a photo. I’d seen the singer on a couple of red carpets. She was a pretty, polished woman. She looked like she was born for cameras. The exact opposite of the type of woman I wanted.
“Nisha Marie is perfect,” Marsha said. “She’s young, has a clean image, and already has her own fanbase with her music. It would look organic.”
I stared at the photo, then back at Marsha. “You’ve known me for five years. You really think I’m about to fake date some stranger for a check?”
I laughed because I wasn’t that desperate, and I didn’t have time to waste on faking it.
“It’s not about the check—”
“It’s always about the check with y’all. But nah. I’m not doing that.” I started walking again. “If I’m with somebody, it’s because I want to be with them. Not because it looks good in a headline.”
“DaVinci—”
“Marsha, I hear you. I know what you’re trying to do. But that’s not me. Never has been.” I glanced back at her. “I’ll handle Cassie. I’ll handle the press. But I’m not putting on a show for sponsors. I do that shit all season. I ain’t doing it with my personal life.”
She sighed, closing her tablet. “You’re stubborn as hell, you know that?”
“Yeah. You tell me often.”
She shook her head, but she was smiling. “Fine. But when this blows up, and you need damage control, don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
“Noted. But I pay you to do damage control. And you’re the best at it, so just handle it because I haven’t done shit to Cassie or any other woman for that matter. Let them talk.”
I meant that. Every word.
Stetson raised me to treat women with respect. Period. No exceptions. No gray areas. He’d sat me down when I was young, told me straight up.“You got a sister. You got a mama. You treat every woman like somebody’s daughter, somebody’s sister. Because they are.”That shit stuck with me. Even when I got to the league and saw how some of these niggas moved, I kept my hands clean. I never took what didn’t belong to me. Never played games with women who thought proximity to money meant access to my life. The groupies that stayed close, the ones who showed up at every hotel, every club, every appearance, barely got my attention. Not because I was better than anybody, but because I knew what that road led to. Drama. Allegations. Headlines that could end careers.
There were no videos of me. No bitter exes with stories to sell. No allegations that could be backed up because I never gave anybody ammunition. I moved smart. I moved clean. And I kept my circle tight enough that when shit did go sideways—like it did with Cassie—there was no question about who was at fault.
Marsha knew that. She’d been around long enough to see how I operated. That’s why she was frustrated: she couldn’t manufacture a scandal, even if she tried.
“Fine.”
By the time I hit the tunnel, I had my phone in hand. Notifications stacked. Texts from my boys congratulating me, from my sister, and a couple of reporters. And one from Langston.
Langston wasn’t even supposed to be clocking her tonight. He was on another client’s travel detail, running point at some club. But sure enough, my screen lit up with a photo taken from across a club. I looked closely and spotted her. My Angel. Halo. Hair down her back, short dress on, smile stretched wide as she leaned over the bar.
Under it was a text from Langston.
Langston:I guess I’m on the clock. Double the fee!
I stopped walking. That same buzz from the game shot through me even stronger this time.
Me:I’ll triple it nigga! Watch my baby and make sure she gets home safe.
I’d been doing my best not to watch her or check her social media. Telling myself to chill. To let her live. But the truth was, I couldn’t help it. Not when I saw her face. Not when I knew how it felt going days without seeing her at all.
That’s when Langston called.
“What’s good, Lang?”
“She’s good for now. I might have to drop this nigga though. Some lame ass dude has been hovering all night.”
My grip tightened on the phone. “Listen, that nigga lay a hand on her. Hell, he disrespects her in any way, drop his ass, and I’ll quadruple the fee.”
