VIP Lounge – Little Caesars Arena, Detroit, 2025
Marshall should’ve known Rihanna had an agenda. She never just invited him somewhere. There was always a reason. And now, sitting in a quiet VIP lounge above the packed charity event, he knew exactly what that reason was.
“I want you to meet someone,” she said, smirking over her drink.
Marshall exhaled sharply. “No.”
“You don’t even know who it is.”
“Still no.”
Rihanna rolled her eyes. “She’s from Detroit.”
“So?”
“She’s smart. Funny. Covered in tattoos—”
“Why do you always act like that’s a selling point?”
“Because I know you,” she shot back.
Marshall shook his head. “Still not happening.”
“She runs charities,” Rihanna added.
That made him pause.
“She’s been leading organizations for disabled kids,” she continued. “Funds therapy, builds programs, puts in real work. No clout-chasing, no fake industry bullshit. Just real.”
Marshall tapped his fingers against his knee. That was the kind of thing he respected.
Still, he wasn’t making this easy for her. “And why do I need to meet her?”
“Because you never meet anyone new,” Rihanna said simply.
“I meet people.”
“That aren’t your security or engineers?”
Silence.
Rihanna smirked. “Exactly.”
Marshall groaned, rubbing his face. “I don’t do setups, Rih.”
She stood, adjusting her dress. “You do when I set them up.”
He muttered under his breath, shaking his head. “This is a setup.”
“Obviously.” She grinned. “And you’re gonna thank me later.”
Marshall sighed, already regretting this. He knew she wasn’t letting it go.