Page 19 of Mr. Blackwood

“The sign says they are,” she countered, pointing to the sign on the door.

I smiled at her as the doors immediately opened the moment we stopped in front of them.

“Welcome to 5Church Midtown, Mr. Blackwood. Your table is waiting. If you will just follow me,” the petite young lady, whose hair was dyed jet black and royal purple, stated. She wore her hair pulled back in a bun, but the highlights gleamed underneath the lights.

When we arrived at the rooftop bar, which was called Virtue Rooftop, we were seated at a small table in front of a fire pit.

“Did you pay to have this restaurant closed down for our date, Jabari?”

“I did. Do you have a problem with that?”

“I don’t. I will say that you didn’t need to go through all of that for me, but thank you.”

“You don’t have to thank me for giving you what you deserve.”

“You think I deserve closed restaurants and private dinners?”

“And so much more.”

She smiled and tilted her head as though she were trying to get a read on me. “What makes you think I deserve those things?”

“You work hard. You believe in others and are instrumental in helping people get jobs, stories told, and dreams made. Why wouldn’t you deserve it?”

“Plenty of people do those same things.”

“And they’re not you. You’re the woman I’m interested in. That take-no-bullshit attitude, ready to call anyone out at a moment’s notice, and your aura draws me in, Camilla.”

“You’re pretty alluring yourself, Jabari.”

We placed our dinner and cocktail orders and made small talk. By the time our meal arrived, she was more relaxed than before thanks to the cocktails she had been sipping on.

“What made you decide to start a magazine?”

“The newspaper I was working for failed, and I was at a crossroads. It was always something in my heart, but that door closing was the one thing I needed to push me in this direction. When I was a child, I loved the beautiful glossy pictures in magazines, loved seeing my mother on the covers, and I loved sitting in a corner listening to her be interviewed.”

“Were you intrigued with the answers?”

“No. Just the way the journalist posed the questions, how their mind churned her answers and allowed them to generate more questions. It seemed as if their voracious appetite for knowledge was never satiated.”

“Why CEOs?”

“My father. He was always too busy for us, and I wondered what drove him. I couldn’t get the answers from him, so I decided to interview CEOs, hoping they would give a peek inside their brains and their lives. I wanted to believe it might satiate my curiosity about my father.”

“Did it?”

“Not yet. What made you go into the business you’re in?”

I suspected, with the way she changed the subject and the solemn look on her face, that she’d had enough of talking about her parents. I wondered what the issues between them were, but I wasn’t prepared to talk about mine, so I didn’t push.

“Why not? If it makes money, it makes sense. I love making decisions, controlling the narrative, and helping people accomplish their dreams.”

“Which business are you most passionate about of all your businesses?”

“I love them equally. There’s not one I’m more passionate about.”

“Why didn’t I know that you owned the office building I’m working out of?”

“That particular building is under another company I own: Premier Realty Group.”