Page 25 of The Don's Virgin Obsession
“Look at him, actin’ like he ain’t fuck Alana,” Laila said as we watched Vaughn from our booth, debating about the real estate crashing in Los Angeles.
“She said he spit in her mouth and she liked it.” I shook my head and bit my pizza.
“Of course she liked it. But I heard through the grapevine he spit in all girls’ mouths and call them fine shit,” Laila added.
I continued to shake my head. “Disgusting.”
Laila laughed. “Stop acting like you won’t let him do it to you.”
I turned up my nose. “Never. Now pass me that ranch and peppers. How do you give me dry wings?”
She laughed.
As I sat there eating, I listened to his tone, watched his demeanor, and saw that he knew what he was talking about. Hewas professional, yet cocky, and I could tell the woman he was debating with wasn’t feeling it.
It was time for them to close out, and the host asked what his last words were.
“I just think developers, especially African Americans, should put their money where their mouth is and help build our communities instead of taking from our people.”
The crowd clapped, the panel ended, so it was back to networking.
It was three hours into the event with one more hour left, but we kept pushing. As I was talking to a potential client, I saw Vaughn walking up. When he approached me, he stood a couple of feet away from us while I finished up.
“Thank you for considering me, and I will be in touch next week,” I told the woman.
When she walked away, Vaughn stepped into my space, tall and confident. He was wearing his company shirt. It was in a forest green polo shirt, black, slightly fitted jeans, and Prada sneakers. I sized him up. It was hard not to.
“Good afternoon. Is this considered business hours?” he asked with a slight grin.
“Yes, it is… How may I help you?” I wasn’t attitudy. I kept my tone straightforward.
“I apologize for invading your space while you were at dinner, but I’ve seen your work inLiving Goodmagazine, and it’s top tier. I can see your vision is never rushed. I’m impressed and want to work with you on a project.” The way he nodded showed me that he was serious. Not too many people knew I was featured in a magazine, either.
“Thank you. I appreciate you knowing my work before approaching me. Most people don’t. But I’m not interested in being boxed in with other designers. I don’t want to be put on a team with others that don’t work,” I told him truthfully.
“Who said that was going to happen?” he raised his eyebrow.
“No disrespect, but I’ve heard about the way you conduct your projects. I’m not interested in that.”
“I’m looking to hire you, your team only. Three projects, 70 units in South Central for Black families. You name the price.”
I glared at him, trying to find a reason to turn this down, but his offer sounded too damn good. Doing this would be a good look for me.
“Set up a meeting,” I told him.
“I’m on your time. You set it up. You still got my card, right?” He smirked.
“You know I left it behind because I’m not interested in anything but work.”
He walked closer to me, enough for me to smell his cologne.
His voice dropped. “You think I wanna fuck you?”
“I didn’t say that. I’m just letting you know.”
He snickered, pulled out a card, and slid it into my back pocket.
“Just set that meeting when you’re ready. I promise I’m not on anything other than business.”
