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His chuckle warms my heart. For the last week, Devon and I have talked every day. Some days, multiple times a day. He’s become a man of his word. He’s letting me get to know him, the real him. Two nights ago, we went on what we both realized was our first official, no secrets date. We both lowered our wall and talked one on one about anything and everything. We stayed at the restaurant until close, then took a scenic drive along the coast, and continued the conversation. His background is even more fascinating than his present. He’s stuck his hands in a little bit of everything. As he jokes, he knows just enough to be dangerous. Truer words have never been spoken.
I’m still taking it slow. I allowed him a peck on my cheek that night but have been dreaming about so much more. “Good for you.” He gives me the support I need. The support he always provides. “They were holding back your greatness. Are you ready to soar?” Devon always sees me in the best of light. He makes me feel like I can do anything. I think back to David’s words, the four pillars necessary to succeed and realize Devon has worked his way into the fourth box alongside my sister. “Today’s the day. I can feel it.”
I laugh at his enthusiasm. Every day when we chat, he tells me the same line. He still believes the Magic is going to reach out.As each day passes, the chances of it happening dwindle. “Even if it doesn’t come about, I already feel like a winner. I’ve quit, and I’ve gotten to talk with you.”
“I feel the same.” Devon tilts his head and stares directly into his phone, the screen capturing every inch of his handsome face. Earlier this week, he cut his hair for the part, and I miss his locs. His new look highlights his handsome face in a new way. A short choir boy afro. Another version of him that’s just as striking. “When can I see you again?”
It’s a simple question, but it kicks off a wave of emotions. Every time we chat, I want to hop in the car and drive to Pomona and see him. It’s only twenty miles from Crestline, but in the land of L.A., it can take up to an hour to traverse. My every instinct wants to run toward him, just as it did before. But something holds me back. The pain of his deceit has faded with time, yet a small part of me refuses to let go. An unrealistic concern that what we’re building this time isn’t solid enough to stand the test of time.
“Technically, I’m unemployed,” I joke.
“Let’s celebrate tonight.” He’s not joking. “No pressure. Do you want to come to my place?” Devon is a sensitive soul. He’s attempting to read my face as I ponder his question. He’s giving me what I’ve asked from him. Time, space, and access to his life.
I catch the scent of the caramel latte before I spot it. It appears on the edge of the counter, next to my laptop. “Mrs. Whitehead said this was your favorite.”
I recognize the strong baritone voice immediately. It puts me on edge. I twist on the seat, my eyes merely confirming what I already know. David Blaine, the owner of the Magic, stands two feet in front of me. “Is this seat taken?”
He tips his coffee at the empty seat next to me. I nod my consent and speak into my phone. “Devon, I’m going to have tocall you back. David is here at the café.” I click off the line even as I hear Devon speaking.
“Long way to go for a coffee fix.” I twist my knees in his direction as he slides onto the chair, his gaze taking in my laptop, design notebook, and tablet.
“Had to come down to see where you create your magic, pun totally intended.” He takes a long sip of his iced coffee and lets my mind race with what a visit from him might mean. “I wanted to meet with you and discuss the pitch.”
“You’ve decided?” He nods but doesn’t give away a thing.
“Made it the day of the presentations.” He pauses, and I try to hide my disappointment. In the pitch language, it stated they wouldn’t notify the losing companies until the winning company had signed the contract. If he decided on day one, it can only mean he’s used the rest of the week to agree to the contract. This is just a courtesy visit.
“Congratulations, sir. I really appreciate you making the trip out here to let me know I didn’t win. An email would have been fine.”
His chuckle is warm. He’s a kind man. Too bad I won’t get to work with him. “My operation’s lead is freaking out. So is my head of marketing,” he starts, and I’m not sure where he’s going. “First time either of them fought me on a decision. I’ve known each since day one of the company, which made me take a second look at my decision.” He taps his coffee cup to mine like a celebratory clash of champagne glasses. “Didn’t change my mind, but I did tweak the terms. Congratulations, Zara! You’ve won the contract.”
I hop to my feet, not sure I’ve heard right. “Wait. What? You’ve chosen me?”
David slips his Italian loafers to the café floor, standing to mirror my movement.
My heart races. This can’t be happening. “Me? And your ops and marketing didn’t want me? They weren’t even at the pitch.”
His chuckle returns. “All the pitches were recorded. I wouldn’t say they didn’t want you—they did—but they had serious concerns about how it could work. And at the end of the day, I did see their points. But not enough to change my mind.”
“And you chose me? Despite their objections?”
“Yes, I chose you. But you still need to agree. We have certain stipulations.”
My heart pounds in my chest, and I feel my feet floating off the ground. “Whatever you need.”
David reaches to the inside pocket of his sports jacket and removes an envelope. “The details are all in there. I’ll have my assistant set up a meeting in my office for Monday. Bring your attorney and whoever else you may need. But the highlights are ops and marketing had serious concerns about giving such an important contract to a one-woman operation. We would like you to subcontract the production and inventory management to Pym Designs for the first two years. They’re one of the top production firms in the industry with decades of experience. They finished second at the pitch because they lack the vision you possess.” David’s gaze bores into mine, attempting to read my reaction.
“You’ll be in charge. For all intents and purposes, they work for you, not me.” My hands rise to my chest, and I mouth the words,my own team. “If you don’t want them, you get to choose a different firm. If my ops team is comfortable, this is your decision.”
I’m stunned and speechless. My detailed plan had me working twenty-four hours a day to spin up production capabilities. This is a short cut I never considered. I was prepared to do everything on my own. It’s nice to know I don’t have to.
David must misread the concern on my face. Lines form across his forehead. “I know it’ll present some liquidity challenges, bringing on so many people at once while spinning up a brand-new company. I’ve been there.” His gaze softens, an empathic look that validates my instinct—he’s a man of compassion. “We’ll front load the contract, a signing bonus, and twenty percent payment of the first-year contract on Day one. A favorable line of credit at the bank I use. It’ll give you enough liquidity and flexibility to figure out the rest.”
“David, that’s a lot. I’ve never heard of any businessman offering something like this.”
“You’ll soon discover, I’m not like other businessmen. It’s my company, and I follow my instincts. And my instincts are screaming at me right now.” He places another chip on the scale, making my decision easier and easier. “I’ve had the team write into the contract a provision for you to transition from Pym over time. It’s set for a two-year transition with you taking over production one hundred percent by the end of year two.”
I know I shouldn’t press my luck, but I must know. I won’t dive into a new relationship with secrets. “Why? Why me?”
