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For too many years Paxton had gone after the very married, very wealthy socialite like a rat chasing cheese. Sometimes he had stooped to a new low that had her questioning his sanity. But through it all Kamaya had known the two were a disaster waiting to happen. She was just glad she would be far from the mix when they exploded.
Stripping out of her clothes she moved from her bedroom into the bathroom. She reached for the faucet and turned on the water. She needed a shower. And she needed it ice cold.
* * *
It was close to two in the morning when Wesley locked the doors to the club and headed to his house on Camp Street. The custom home was centered in a prime location near Audubon Park. Wesley had been drawn to the home’s warm and charming simplicity. He’d first seen it when the market was down, homes lingering for months in the For Sale directory. He had considered it a blessing when he discovered the house was still on the market when he’d finally had the money to buy it outright.
Inside, he paused as he took in the herringbone brick floors and the wide planked pine that ran through the foyer and living room. During the daylight hours there was lots of natural light and everything about the space felt welcoming. The decor was extremely sparse; a futon and some pillows sat off to the side in the living room and there were a small table and two chairs in the kitchen. In the master bedroom, a king-sized mattress and box spring sat on the floor. It wasn’t much, but it was his and his chest swelled with pride each time he stepped through the door.
For a brief moment Wesley thought about making dinner, but he found the prospect of having to cook something daunting. Standing in front of the refrigerator he marveled that, for the first time in a long time, there was absolutely no leftovers inside. Deciding he wasn’t that hungry, he grabbed a Budweiser and the last of a bag of Cheetos from the counter and headed up to his bedroom.
He was excited about the future and he knew he was just hours from another turning point that would take him toward his goals. He’d been working hard to insure that The Wet Bar set the standard for those that would come after. He planned on owning as many of them as he could.
Lying across his bed he knew that he wouldn’t be able to keep what he did from his parents for much longer. But if all went according to plan, by the time they discovered the truth it wouldn’t make a difference. He’d be running an empire, making them proud of his success and accomplishments. Wesley had big dreams.
He suddenly realized how quiet his home was. Nothing creaked or leaked or gave him any reason to pause. It was disconcerting, and for the first time in a long time he felt very alone. He blew a soft sigh as he swallowed the last cheesy snack and then sat up to toss the crumpled wrapper into the trash. After chugging back the last of his bottled beer he threw his body back across the mattress.
For a brief moment he pondered the women he could invite to come spend some time with him. The list of late-night booty calls he could make at that hour was probably lengthy, but that kind of company really wasn’t what he wanted. As he thought about his future he knew he didn’t want to do casual with any woman. That time in his life had come and gone. He wanted more and he would only have the best. He prayed that God knew his needs and would bless him abundantly.
Rising, he moved himself from his bedroom into the shower. He came out of his clothes along the way, leaving a trail behind him. Stepping into the enclosure, he dashed his head beneath the hot water and allowed the spray to pelt his back. The heated moisture was soothing as it massaged him gently. He thought again about the women who were in his life. Or, more honestly, the women who weren’t.
Wesley couldn’t remember the last time he’d gone on a second or a third date. But he’d had more than his fair share of first and last dates. He was used to women throwing themselves at him. More times than he cared to count, women who had seen him perform or who knew what he used to do saw him as little more than a slab of beef, good for a late night between the sheets.
Brenda-Joy Taylor had been the closest thing to a serious relationship that he’d ever had. She’d been a church-going girl and someone his mother had liked. They had grown up together, and both their families had assumed the two would end up married with kids.
But Brenda-Joy hadn’t wanted the same life he had yearned for. She’d been happy with average and regular and hadn’t aspired to do anything extraordinary. The day she’d told him his dreams were too big had been the beginning of the end for them. He dreamed too big and she didn’t dream at all.
The last he’d heard, Brenda-Joy had married Quadell Baker. Quadell was an aspiring rapper, unemployed and sometimes known to stand on street corners, asking for handouts to help support her and their five kids. Apparently Quadell didn’t do much dreaming, either. But Wesley aspired to greatness and he couldn’t fathom a life of anything less.
* * *
The exterior of The Wet Bar was basic, at best; nothing about it raised any red flags. Despite its proximity to Bourbon Street and the French Quarter, there was nothing about the building or parking lot that drew anyone’s attention as to what might be happening behind its doors. It was exactly what Kamaya wanted; the neon lights and abrasive signs that had been there just months ago were long gone. The women who would frequent the club weren’t interested in everyone knowing their business. Discretion was key and Kamaya had insisted on everything that would make the clientele comfortable.
She nodded approvingly as she sat in the club’s parking lot waiting for Paxton to arrive. The two hadn’t spoken since he’d delivered the news that he was tying the knot. If canceling had been an option, she would have, knowing that at some point her friend would want to talk about his marriage plans and she wasn’t interested in having that conversation with him.
She still couldn’t fathom what all the fuss was about. In her humble opinion marriage was an antiquated concept pushed by bible-thumping radicals, the Hallmark greeting-card industry, bridal bloggers and her parents. Intelligent, educated women didn’t need a ring and a license to legitimize their most intimate relationships. They could build empires, mother babies and still enjoy the love of a good man. Oprah was doing it with Stedman, Coco Chanel had enjoyed the Duke of Westminster, Sheryl Crow had her lengthy list of talented, wealthy, successful male companions. Even Simone de Beauvoir and the existentialist philosopher Sartre had made love work without marriage. Marriage worked for some but Kamaya couldn’t ever see herself doing it.
Her thoughts shifted as she watched a car pull into an empty parking space right at the door. This one caught her attention and held it because the vehicle was neither flashy nor pretentious. It was a drastic contrast to the other vehicles sitting in the lot. She’d been watching as one dancer after another in some high-priced, high-end vehicle, wearing low-slung jeans or sweats and looking like they’d just graduated from a semester of thugs-are-us paraded into the club. They’d been hard bodied and buff and some very entertaining eye candy.
But this car and its owner were in a class all to themselves. The hooptie had seen better days, rust and Bondo holding it together. After shutting down the engine the driver continued to sit, seeming to look for something that had fallen between the seats. As he finally stepped out of the vehicle and locked the car door with the key, she eyed him curiously.
The tailored suit he wore looked like silk. The classic styling fit him to perfection, and unlike his car, his clothes looked expensive. The suit was a charcoal gray and he’d paired it with a white dress shirt, a somber gray and black print necktie and black dress shoes that were polished to a high gloss. He looked very corporate and very boring. Had she dressed him, he would have worn a hint of color, maybe a lavender shirt, something that hinted at a semblance of personality. Assuming he had a personality.
For a brief moment he looked toward her car, but she knew he couldn’t see inside the darkly tinted windows. Which was a good thing, because as his curious gaze skated in her direction, Kamaya felt a wave of heat course through her body and tinge her cheeks a deep shade of red.
Whoever he was, he was quite good-looking. Exceptionally good-looking! His complexion was a deep, warm vat of smooth, melted chocolate. His chiseled features were a testament to good genes, and even with the barest hint of a smile pulling at his full lips there was no missing the deep wells that dimpled his cheeks. He had facial hair, his beard and mustache meticulously edged and trimmed. He was better than good-looking and Kamaya was suddenly wanting to know more about the tall, dark and handsome stranger.
Just as he turned, moving through the front door of the building, Paxton pulled into the space beside her, his toothy grin wide, his blond locks stylishly unkempt. He stole a glance toward his wristwatch as he jumped from his car.
“Hey!” he exclaimed as he pulled her car door open. “Sorry. I had to get Laney situated before I could leave. Good morning!”
Kamaya gave him one of her infamous looks, her eyes narrowed ever so slightly, her jaw tight, her teeth clenched. There was no missing that she had no intentions of talking about his problems or his girlfriend. “We’re still early,” she said matter-of-factly. “Who are we meeting again?” She headed toward the building’s front door, Paxton hurrying after her.
“His name is Walters. Wesley Walters. As well as this night club, he has optioned the next ten franchises based on our guaranteeing support and backing as defined in our initial contract. With a few exceptions.”
“What few exceptions?”
“Nothing major. He’d like some concessions and control with how the business will evolve as a whole. It’s not much more than what we’ve already talked about.”
“And the things we haven’t talked about?”
“They’re things he’s willing to back with a cash investment, if necessary.”
“You mean, if he wants them badly enough.”
Paxton nodded. “Yes.”
Kamaya paused, her hand on the doorknob. She cut her eyes in Paxton’s direction. “And you agreed to those things?”
“I agreed to discuss it with the both of you in order to come to a mutually beneficial agreement. The contracts I had drawn up detail what I think is in our best interest under the circumstances. He may ask for more. I don’t know.”
“How do you know this man again?”
“We met in graduate school. He’s an upstanding guy. He’s going to do big things with or without us.”
Kamaya eyed Paxton a split second longer before finally giving him a quick nod, then she turned and moved into the club’s inner sanctum.
Chapter 3 (#ub240bbdb-f0d0-51ea-8d7d-26f118c4ad08)
Wesley was standing in the center of the elevated stage pointing at the lights overhead. Lighting was key to every performance and he wasn’t happy with the current luminosity. He was certain a change in the bulbs would solve the issue and he wanted to make it happen before the corporate franchisor showed up. The contractor was adjusting the last unit when Wesley spied Kamaya and Paxton entering the space.
His eyes widened as the stunning young woman moved in his direction. She was long and lean, with legs that seemed to go on for days. She wore black suede boots that stopped thigh high and a black leather skirt that stopped at her knees and zipped up the front. The zipper was open just high enough to allow a hint of thigh to show. Her sweater was black and long sleeved with a scooped neckline that showed off a hint of cleavage. With her hair loose, falling to her shoulders in soft, wavy curls and the barest hint of makeup on her face, she was gorgeous.
The fluidity of her movements was stealth-like, her eyes darted back and forth like a cheetah assessing prey. She’d gauged the space, the staff and him in one easy sweep around the room. From the expression on her face he sensed that she wasn’t unhappy; just the barest hint of a smile pulled at her mouth and teased the gleam in her eyes. Everything about the woman was commanding, drawing the attention of every man in the room.
Stepping off the platform Wesley extended his hand in greeting. “Hello! I’m Wesley Walters.”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Walters. I’m Kamaya Boudreaux,” she said, as she noted the warmth of his hand, the slightly calloused palm and the firmness of his grip. He met the look she was giving him with one of his own, his eyes skating across her face, and as their gazes connected heat erupted from deep in her abdomen. She took a step back, her eyes shifting far from his as her partner stepped up to greet the man.
Paxton shook Wesley’s hand, the two men bumping shoulders in a gesture of familiarity. “It’s good to see you again, Wes!”
“Paxton, how’ve you been?”
“I’m very good. And we’re very excited to be working with you.”
Wesley nodded, shooting Kamaya another look. “So, Ms. Boudreaux, how long have you owned...”
“I don’t,” she said, interrupting the question she felt coming. “We just represent the owner’s interests. We work for The Michelle Initiative,” she said, the little white lie spilling easily past her lips as her stare gestured toward Paxton.
“Oh, my apologies. I misunderstood.” Wesley nodded. “Well, why don’t we take this conversation to my office,” he said.
“Why don’t you give us a tour and update us with the status of your renovations,” Kamaya ordered. Her tone was brusque and all business. She turned and moved toward the bar area, her gaze still dancing from pillar to post.
The two men cut their eyes at each other. Paxton shrugged “I report to her,” he muttered under his breath.
Wesley nodded in understanding as he turned to follow the beautiful woman. “Structurally, we’re done with the renovations. There are some minor issues with the tile in the women’s restrooms that need to be addressed and I’m assured that they’ll be resolved before end of business today. We are on schedule for our last inspection tomorrow and I anticipate we’ll have our certificate of occupancy immediately after.
“Tables and chairs will be delivered later this week and the bar will be in place this weekend. The sound system and kitchen are all up and ready, and the interior designer will be here on Monday to add the final decorative touches to all of our guest spaces. We have a team of sixteen dancers who are ready to go at a moment’s notice and our waitstaff will have three days of orientation training early next week. We are on schedule to open doors next month to a by-invitation-only crowd, and I’m confident that we will open to much success.” He took a breath and then he continued.
“All the plans are detailed with respect to the decor and staffing if you’d like to review them. I’ve also printed out the budget and my preliminary forecasts. The numbers are good. They’re even better than what I projected in my initial business plan.”
Kamaya gave him a slight nod of her head. “It sounds like you have everything under control, Mr. Walters.”
“Please, call me Wesley or Wes. Mr. Walters is my father.”
Kamaya smiled. His thick Southern accent was deep and rich, only lacking the soundtrack to make his words as sultry as country crooner Chris Young’s love songs.
The two were suddenly interrupted as Bryan Lackey moved between them. “Hey there, sorry to interrupt,” he said, his grin canyon wide, “but the guys are ready when you are, boss man.”
Wesley smiled. “Kamaya Boudreaux, Bryan Lackey. Bryan, Ms. Boudreaux is a member of the franchise team. She’s here checking that we’re ready to go next month.”
Bryan nodded. “It’s a pleasure. And I think we’re definitely good to go. I’d love to show you our best.”
“Bryan is our lead choreographer as well as my club manager.”
Kamaya cut her eyes back and forth between the two men. “Then I’d love to see your best,” she said, crossing her arms over her chest.
Bryan looked to Wesley for his approval, and then, with a nod of his head, he moved toward the stage, gesturing for the dance team to follow.
“Would you like a seat?” Wesley asked. “I can have a chair brought out from my office for you.”
Kamaya shook her head as she shifted her weight from one hip to the other. “That’s not necessary. But I appreciate the offer.”
Wesley stared at her for a brief moment and then he gestured, pointing an index finger toward the stage.
Music suddenly echoed from every corner of the room. The acoustics were great, clearly demonstrating that some serious attention had been given to the sound system. Kamaya nodded her approval as she suddenly felt her whole body begin to sway with the beat. She didn’t know the song but it had a lush, sexy vibe and she knew a female audience would instantly be engaged. And then the dance team strutted onto the stage.
Kamaya felt her heart skip a beat and then two. She took a step forward as if moving closer would give her a better view when she had the best line of sight in the house, nothing obscuring the stage. The next ten minutes, with three song changes, left Kamaya sweating, perspiration puddling in her creases and crevices as if someone had turned on an inner water faucet and left the water running.
There were twelve men on stage, each one a sight to behold. They all had bodies that were solid steel beneath baby smooth skin, six-pack abs and male model looks. They were a rainbow of hues from the darkest chocolate to the warmest vanilla. They were Black, Caucasian, Latino, Asian and a multitude of mixed races that had them looking like a United Nation’s contingent.
When they were all standing in matching blue and green Speedos, hips and legs moving in near perfect sync as they gyrated to the deep, ravishing beat of the Black Eyed Peas’ “Boom Boom Pow,” an actual smile appeared on Kamaya’s face.
Paxton leaned over her shoulder and whispered in her ear. “Down, girl!”
“Boy, bye!” Kamaya chuckled. She shot Wesley a look, the man still staring at her. “Very impressive. You should all be very proud.”
Wesley grinned. “Thank you. We are. Would you like to see an individual routine? Any of the guys would be willing to perform.”
“That’s not necessary,” she said, shaking herself out of the reverie she’d fallen into. “I would like to know how you plan to keep things from becoming too raunchy, in order to establish an upscale image. We do want to maintain a semblance of decorum.”
“None of the dancers will ever expose himself. They will go down to an approved G-string and some penis socks on the main stage, but definitely no full nudity. The costumes are top-notch, well made and artistically engineered. We also have procedures in place for any women who might get out of hand and want to get a little too touchy-feely.”
Kamaya nodded her approval.
Wesley gestured for her to follow as he led them past the stage into the employees-only area. The men were all gathered, waiting to hear from him how well they’d done and if they’d made the powers in charge happy. As she passed, she paused for a split second, giving them all a thumbs-up and a wink. He tossed his friends a look but his attention was focused on Kamaya. He ushered her past the dressing area down a short hallway to another area of the building. Past the closed door was a row of tastefully decorated rooms, each with an oversized recliner, a settee, a coffee table and a pole.
“This was here with the original business,” Wesley said. “There’s another more private entrance at the opposite end of the hallway where we came in. It’s now our VIP area for private dances for women wanting something more up close and personal. Women who are willing to pay for that discretion.”
“We are not promoting prostitution!” Kamaya exclaimed, her incredulous expression moving him to smile. “There will be no happy ending rooms for you and your staff! That’s not happening!”
He shook his head. “No, we are definitely not promoting prostitution and every dancer knows that they will be automatically dismissed if they ever engage in any kind of sexual activity on club premises in exchange for payment. Although what they do after they’re off the clock is not our business and we can’t control it. But there are women willing to pay well for some one-on-one attention. It’s usually that uptight business executive who has to maintain an image even when she’s here, but relishes an opportunity to get buck wild when no one is looking. You know the type. Women much like yourself.”
Paxton laughed out loud at the comment. Kamaya gave him and Wesley a narrowed gaze.
Wesley smiled. “I apologize. That was out of order, but I was only teasing. Trying to lighten the mood.”
There was a hint of amusement in Kamaya’s eyes as her gaze danced with his. She blinked it away, shifting back to serious. “Do not get us shut down by the police’s vice department because your men can’t keep their dicks in their pants. And I mean it. If that ever happens, you may come up short in more ways than one. We are building a brand and an image, and I will not see that tarnished. I don’t think you have a clue what’s at stake.”
Wesley’s stance tensed, his shoulders pulling back as he seemed to grow taller where he stood. He took a step forward, meeting her toe to toe. He stared down into her eyes. “Don’t get it twisted, Ms. Boudreaux, I am fully invested in the success of The Wet Bar. Now, I understand that the franchisor dictates the framework, the basics, but past that, I’m in charge. I’m managing and growing this business. I hire. I fire. I’ll figure out what works and what doesn’t. And I’ll dictate how to market and promote every one of my locations. I’m wagering everything I have on making this model work for every franchise that comes after this one. Since I know that you and your bosses want to see me succeed, it will be a win–win situation for all. The happy ending rooms for our female clientele will stay.”
The moment was suddenly tense, the air fraught with energy. The two stood, staring each other in the eye, falling headfirst into the look the other was giving. Each could have easily gotten lost in the other’s gaze. Kamaya suddenly realized that she was panting slightly, the air thick and warm between them. She took a step back, wishing for a cool breeze to blow her out of the reverie she’d somehow managed to trip into. She decided to change the subject, ignoring his last comment.
“We’re putting a significant amount of money into your marketing program over the next six weeks to support your grand opening. I reviewed your advertising campaign and it’s been approved but...” She paused as she gestured for Paxton to pass her a manila folder from his briefcase. “It’s my understanding that you may have worked with a dancer we think should be invited to help motivate the customers and help bring in a crowd. I’m told he was extremely popular and had quite a following. His stage name was Deuce or Deuces, but we haven’t been able to find out anything else about him.”
“Deuce?” Wesley’s face suddenly went blank, his expression unreadable.
She nodded. “He had quite a reputation,” she said, as she flipped through a number of newspaper articles. “But we haven’t been able to find any photos or videos. Seems like he peaked prior to everything being captured on the internet, but the women are still talking about him. If he’s dancing, maybe hire him to be a featured guest performer. If not, maybe he can MC or something. Either way, we think it’ll be good for business.”
“Maybe one of the other guys knows who he is?” Paxton interjected.
“Who?” Bryan questioned, having entered the room behind them. He looked from one to the other. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to interrupt but the contractor needs you to take a look at the tile in the ladies’ room.” He tossed Wesley a nod. “So, who is it you want to know about?”
“A dancer by the name of Deuce,” Paxton said. “Unfortunately, we don’t have his government name.”
“Deuce?” A slow smile pulled at the man’s thin lips. “I know Deuce. I know him really well. In fact, he’s a very good friend...”
“Well then,” Wesley interrupted. “We know who he is. I’ll reach out and see if I can’t get him to perform.”
“We need an answer by Wednesday,” Kamaya noted. “There are ads that will need to be revised before they go to press. So if you need me to speak with him, I can.”
He shook his head. “I can handle it, but if he’s not interested I’m not going to push.”
“Oh, I’m sure he’ll be interested.” Bryan grinned.
Wesley shot his friend a look, the gesture flying over Kamaya’s head.
“Then I think we’re finished here,” she said, doing an about-face. She stole a quick glance down at her wristwatch. “I have another meeting to get to. Paxton, if you’ll please get any paperwork Wesley has for us, I’d appreciate it. I’d like to review those numbers he put together.”
