Page 119 of The Don’s Virgin Obsession

“Damn,” Laila whispered beside me. “This looks serious.”

“It probably is.”

We sat down toward the middle while Denise passed out folders and bottled waters.

About two minutes later, the room got quiet on its own when Vaughn walked in.

He had changed into black tailored slacks, a lack button-up, and his chain was tucked in now. No shades.

Healthy.

I noticed how much the room shifted when he entered it. Conversations stopped automatically. People sat straighter. Even older businessmen looked up, waiting for him to speak.

He walked to the head of the table and looked around slowly before speaking.

“Everybody good?”

A few people answered.

“Nah,” he said. “I need better energy than that. We’re building luxury over here, not Section 8.”

That made the room laugh instantly.

I smiled to myself.

He started the meeting without notes.

That impressed me.

Everything rolled off his tongue naturally. Budget projections, move-in goals, marketing timelines, and property expansion ideas. He moved through the conversation sharp as hell, correcting people without embarrassing them and making decisions fast.

“Ain’t no more delays,” he told one contractor firmly. “If materials are late again, I’m replacing the whole crew.”

“Yes, sir.”

He looked toward marketing next.

“I want Crown Heights looking untouchable online before opening day. We’re selling aspiration before keys even touch hands.”

Everybody was writing fast, trying to keep up with him.

I sat there quietly admiring him.

Not just because he looked good.

He looked alive again.

At one point, his eyes found mine across the table and held for a second too long before he continued talking like nothing happened.

That little moment alone almost made me blush.

“Bennett Interiors,” he finally said, looking toward me directly now, “still ahead of schedule?”

I cleared my throat quickly. “Of course.”

He smirked. “That’s why y’all here.”

Laila kicked my foot under the table immediately.