“What he say?”
“That he had a development and needed an interior designer. Then he dropped his card and a rose on the table.”
“A rose?” she repeated. “Oh, he doing too much.”
“He paid for the whole table too.”
“Hell nah,” she said. “Why he flexin’?”
I twisted the cap off my water and took a sip.
“He didn’t even acknowledge Marcus at first,” I added. “Just talked to me.”
“See, that’s the part I like. Love me a bold nigga.”
“I don’t.”
“You should work for him.”
I shook my head even though she couldn’t see me.
“No. I know his type.”
“What that mean?”
“That means he’ll throw me on a team with a bunch of designers who don’t care, expect me to carry the project, then disappear once it’s done.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I do.”
“Or,” she said, dragging the word out, “you just don’t want to work with his fine ass because you know he’ll talk his way into those panties.”
I laughed. “Not hardly. I’m just good.”
“Mmhm.”
“I am.”
“Okay.”
I could hear her smiling through the phone. “Go look at his big sister’s post.”
“What?”
“His sister Vanessa. She just posted something about him. It’s going crazy.”
I walked toward the living room, grabbing my phone from the counter.
“What’s her name?”
“OfficialVBaby.”
I typed it in while she stayed on the line.
Her page came up quick.
Verified. Heavy following. The post was right at the top.
