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)
“Investments.” I take a sip of my drink. “I’m kind of in business and investments, too.”
“Really?” He quirks a brow. “How so?
“Well, I’m a talent manager. One of my clients is here tonight, but in addition to running my management firm, a few of my sorors and I started a venture capital fund focused on Black women–led businesses.”
“That’s fantastic.” His gaze sharpens with interest. “What’s the fund called?”
“It’s the Aspire Fund. We’re about six years into our first funding cycle and we’re raising our second fund now.”
“Going well?”
“Oh, very.”
“Impressive. What made you want to get involved with that?”
I circle the rim of my glass with one almond-shaped nail, following the motion instead of meeting his eyes.
“My mother. She’s a small business owner. She bakes cakes. Really, cupcakes, brownies, pastries—anything sweet and special, she does it.” I draw a sharp breath. “Well, she used to.”
Before he can dig into the past tense, I rush on.
“But it was always a struggle. It was never what it could have been. Maybe that was because she always put us before anything for herself—my dad and me. But it was also because there was never enough money to really do what she wanted to do. If she’d had a leg up like, resources and support, maybe we’d be buying her desserts at the grocery store today. She was that good.”
“That’s really cool.”
“Thank you. We also award grants to women starting businesses who may not be as far along in the process as our founders seeking larger investment. Not much, but it helps. We split our energy between the grants and the founders for venture capital.”
“You still need LPs?”
I blink, a little startled by the question. I’m often pitching and selling and persuading, but big investors don’t like to be schmoozed. I never do that at parties. I’m not used to someone just asking if we’re seeking limited partners.
“That wasn’t, like… a hint,” I tell him. “I wasn’t angling for you to get involved or anything.”
“I didn’t think you were.” He shrugs. “I get pitched a lot of stuff. Pretty much constantly, so I know when someone’s trying to get into my wallet, Hendrix.”
“I guess you…” My brain quickly computes a vital piece of information. “How do you know my name?”
“Chapel pointed you out to me.” He grins. “You were busy leading the electric slide.”
“Chapel, my client?” I stare at him as though the answer to a riddle might be printed on his face. “How do you know Chapel?”
“She and Zere worked together on Lewks.”
My brows snap in and then up. “So you’re—”
“Maverick.”
Ohhhh. Our billionaire host.
“And Zere is your—”
“Girlfriend.” He presses his lips together. “Yeah, my, uh, girlfriend.”
I’ve spent the last five minutes in a low-grade heat for the man practically engaged to my new producing partner.
Rewind.
“I didn’t realize.” I smooth my voice out to something even and more formal. “So this is your party.”
“That’s what they tell me.” He glances around the backyard packed with glitter and glamour and celebrities en masse.
“It’s great. Thanks for having me,” I say, replacing the borderline flirtatious tone from before with politeness. “It’s nice to finally meet you, Mr.—”
“Call me Maverick.” His dark brows dip into a frown. “You were telling me about the Aspire Fund. I’d still like to hear more about it.”
“Oh, that.” I lift the glass to my lips, dismayed to find the orange peel is all that’s left of my Golden Cadillac. I could really use another.
“How was that?” Flirty Bartender asks right on cue.
Look at God. He may not come when you want Him, but He always comes on time.
“It was great.” I raise the glass. “I’ll have another.”
“Coming right up.” He shifts his gaze to Maverick. “Mr. Bell? The usual? Maker’s Mark?”
“My man,” Maverick drawls. “You remembered.”
“Same drink every year,” Flirty says. “Already looking forward to the next party.”
Maverick’s expression clouds for an instant.
“I’m nothing if not predictable.” He accepts the drink Flirty Bartender slides to him.
Predictable my ass. I don’t believe that for a minute. If this is Maverick Bell, then this man just joined the tiny exclusive club of Black billionaires with the sale of his sports betting app. You don’t build a whole platform around risk and luck without absorbing some of it into who you are.
“So with your fund,” he says, turning back to me.
“Mav.” A tall man interrupts, taking the stool beside him. “Wondered where you’d gotten to.”
“Ralph,” Maverick says, his eyes and voice cooling a few degrees. “Glad you could make it.”
“Great party as usual,” Ralph replies. “While I have you here, I wanted to pick your brain about—”
“Call the office Monday and we can talk then.” Maverick knocks back some of his Maker’s, setting the glass down with a thud and not looking at Ralph, but studying the bar. “Enjoy the party. Yeah?”
The man opens his mouth like he has more to say, but Maverick lifts his eyes to meet Ralph’s and whatever he wanted to offer seems to dry up on his thin lips.