Total pages in book: 149
Estimated words: 142866 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 714(@200wpm)___ 571(@250wpm)___ 476(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 142866 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 714(@200wpm)___ 571(@250wpm)___ 476(@300wpm)
“Research, huh?” Bolt huffs a breath, skepticism in the look he angles at me. “The fund or her?”
I meet my assistant’s eyes squarely. “What?”
“I’ve worked with you long enough to recognize disruptions in your pattern.” He gives an almost indiscernible tilt of his head in Hendrix’s direction. “She’s a disruption.”
“Fuck outta here. You’re reading too much into this.”
“We were meeting when she texted you.” He adjusts his ever-present bow tie, tonight one with red polka dots. “You were, dare I say, borderline giddy.”
“No, you don’t dare say if you want to keep your job,” I threaten with mock severity.
“And immediately after that text you mentioned coming to Atlanta soon.”
“Quite the detective, aren’t—”
“Two things seem to truly pique your interest lately,” Bolt goes on, ignoring the exasperated look I’m pinning him with. “Buying the Vipers and this small venture capital fund that wouldn’t typically register as a blip on your radar. Why are we here when there are a dozen opportunities that actually would merit your personal attention? What are you doing?”
I frown and swing him a querying glance. “What do you mean, what am I doing?”
“She’s producing a show with Zere.” In the light of the balcony lamps, Bolt manages to look simultaneously curious and knowing. “Do you not see that as a problem?”
I force myself not to look over my shoulder and find Hendrix again in that dazzling pink. “Business is business. Zere knows I’m looking to invest in Hendrix’s fund.”
“She has no idea how you look at her, though.”
“I don’t look…” I shake my head and blow out a breath, impatient not with him, but with myself. “I barely know the woman.”
“True, which is why I think we’re here.”
I can’t win in this conversation, and the last thing I want to do is examine whether Bolt’s assessment has any merit.
“Sorry to interrupt,” a young woman says, appearing beside me. “Excuse me, Mr. Bell.”
She’s average height and has golden-brown locs gathered into an elegant chignon. She’s slim thick and when she speaks, every word is perfectly articulated but seems to lean, each syllable taking its time in her Southern drawl. Polished with an edge is how I’d describe her.
“And you are?” Bolt asks, lifting one imperious brow.
“Ms. Barry’s assistant.” She tilts her head in a way that suggests she believes it’s none of his business. “I’m Skipper.”
“That’s your adult name?” Bolt asks, rude even for him.
“That’s your adult bow tie?” She bristles. “And, yes, Skipper is my government name.”
“Didn’t we speak on the phone about arrangements for this event?” Bolt demands, eyes narrowed.
“Oh, let me see.” Skipper touches her chin. “Rude, bougie, unpleasant—yeah, that conversation is coming back to me. I believe I hung up on you.”
“You were incompetent, I recall,” Bolt says. “Sent the wrong address for the event.”
“No, as I tried explaining, but you wouldn’t listen, there was a change of venue,” she corrects, her smile at him a rictus of contempt as she turns her attention very pointedly back to me. “As I was saying, Mr. Bell.”
She pauses to sniff dismissively in Bolt’s direction. The more annoyed she becomes with Bolt, the deeper her drawl becomes.
“I’m Hendrix’s executive assistant. I wanted to make sure you have everything you need.”
“I think I’m good,” I say, making my voice extra pleasant to atone for Bolt’s rudeness. “We’ll be leaving in a few minutes.”
“Oh, then I’m glad I caught you before you left,” Hendrix says from the door leading back into the ballroom.
It’s our first time being face-to-face since Miami, and my senses are instantly on alert.
“I was just making sure Mr. Bell didn’t need anything,” Skipper says, leveling a disdainful glance on Bolt. “Since it seems he may have inadequate personal support.”
“I’m inadequate?” Bolt practically spits, taking a step closer to Skipper. “You strike me as the kind of woman who gets the word of the day in her email, but can only handle one a week without confusing maturation and masturbation.”
“Funny you mention masturbation,” Skipper fires back, taking a step closer to Bolt, standing a few inches above him and leaving little space between them. “Since you strike me as a man who has no other options.”
“Skipper!” Hendrix’s horrified gaze bounces from her assistant to mine. She looks as mystified as I am by the escalating tension between our staff.
“Oh, it’s fine, Ms. Barry,” Bolt says. “I would expect no more from a woman whose namesake is a character from Gilligan’s Island.”
“It was Barbie’s sister, dickhead,” Skipper snaps, before turning to Hendrix. “Sorry. You know I don’t do well with lower life-forms.”
And she storms off.
Hendrix and I both look to Bolt who, for some inexplicable reason, starts after her, calling over his shoulder, “I’ll be back in ten.”
I stare after his departing figure, shoulders held tight and his gait stiff and yet… eager?
“Bolt’s never behaved that way,” I say, almost apologetically.