Amara Kevins
OVER A DECADE LATER…
“I was the one who made him look good.”
This night was different than other nights I spent with Ares. This night was a celebration for him, and I was glad to be a part of it and glad I was able to bring his vision to life.
TheLA skylineglowed beneath a midnight-blue sky, rose-scented candles flickering across the rooftop restaurant I had transformed for him. R&B floated over the crowd, champagne flowed like rain, and every camera in the room was turned toward one man.
On a nearby screen, a headline rolled in bold gold letters with deep red trimming like blood:
“Ares Delacroix-Jackson: Forbes’ First Black Billionaire from Compton.”
Social media was on fire. Paparazzi swarmed outside. Industry execs whispered. Rivals watched from their phones. Haters calculated his downfall, even though he was too far upthe ladder. Everyone wanted to know how a label owner who only signed women was outpacing every man in the game.
I spotted Ares. My client. My…something more,and it had been a year.
He sat back on a red velvet couch, dressed in a custom black-on-black Prada suit, gold jewelry layered perfectly. He didn’t look nervous or overdone like half the room. He looked unbothered, confident, and calm in a way that demanded attention. To Ares, Forbes headlines and boardrooms were boring, but he was all about his image, so he didn’t mind being seen.
Ares was French and Black, but his African American side dominated. Tall, smooth light brown skin, natural wavey fade, thick eye brows, and full ass lips that I loved to suck on.
Let them watch my man, I thought.
My eyes kept finding him before I even realized it.
And eventually, he found mine.
I froze mid-step, adjusting a rose arrangement that didn’t need fixing. When his gaze locked on me, my stomach fluttered. His smirk was deliberate, like he knew exactly what he was doing to me.
“Come here,” he mouthed.
I hesitated, smoothing my white pencil skirt before walking over. My Chanel heels clicked against the stone, and I tucked a strand of hair behind my ear out of nervousness.
“You should be working, not staring at me,” he teased.
“Iamworking,” I said with a smile, trying to sound steady.
“No,” he whispered, eyes flicking over me. “You’re looking too good for these people. That’s too much for a nigga like me.”
Heat rushed to my cheeks as I laughed. “Stop it, Ares.”
He slipped intoFrench, knowing I didn’t understand a word. “Tu n’as aucune idée de ce que je pourrais te faire si on était seuls, hein?”
(You have no idea what I could do to you if we were alone, huh?)
My brows pulled together. “You always do that. Talk like I’m supposed to know what you’re saying.”
His smile curved, low and knowing.
“Maybe I like knowing things you don’t. Keeps you curious.”
I shook my head, but my cheeks warmed even more. He leaned back, studying me with that unreadable gaze.
“You did good tonight,” he said finally. “Everything about this screams luxury. Like I like it.”
I tilted my head. “You mean just likeyou.”
He grinned, dimples flashing. “Same thing.”
