“But the people who know me know that’s not true. I work for everything I have . . . and now I’m ready to work for the Black community, whose voices are being ignored.” He leans toward me, his voice somehow getting quieter, yet more powerful at the same time. “We got off to a bad start and that’s on me, but I need you to know that I’m in this. I’m not doing this for attention or because I didn’t get the contract I wanted or whatever other bullshit reason people are coming up with. This matters to me and I work for what’s important to me.”

Even though he’s rude and I hate him, I still respect him. This stance isn’t gaining him many fans. And as a person who has a deep desire to be liked, I think it’s commendable to do something you believe in, consequences be damned.

Also, as much as I hate myself for thinking about it, I can’t help the way every time he looks at me with that dark intensity that my imagination drifts away and I picture him saying those words about me . . . me being what matters to him. To feel like the most important thing to anyone. Something I haven’t felt since I last held my dad’s hand.

I shake away the memories. “Great. Because I think this can be the perfect solution for you and the Mustangs organization. My job is to make everyone happy here.”

“Good luck with that. I’ll try this, but I don’t care about making everyone happy. I want change and progress, and I won’t stop kneeling or blacking out my logo until I see it.”

Well, crap.

One step forward, two steps back.

Story of my life.

“Well, I would never ask you to stop.” I lean across the table, meeting him in the middle before lowering my voice. “And I do love a good challenge.”

He sucks in a hiss of breath and his eyes widen a fraction. Then, without warning, he leans back and starts to laugh. A laugh so raspy and deep, it’s as if he hasn’t done it in years and I can hear the rust falling away. And fuck me now if it’s not the hottest thing I’ve heard in a long, long time. Maybe ever.

“Looks like I’ve finally met my match.” He takes the tablet back and I watch as his fingers dance across the screen before he pushes it back to me. “Tomorrow at noon. I put the address in for you. I’ll see you then.”

“Tomorrow.” The amount of work I have to do in less than twenty-four hours causes a weird sense of calm and determination to come over me. “Hope you’ll be ready.”