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“I figured.”
“But it’s not like that. Julie is the kind of woman you make your number one chick. We’ve talked about finally getting together if both of us were single when we turned thirty. That’s only a few years away. Who knows—this may bring us together.”
A sexy woman in a skimpy red dress walked past. Raymond and Jacobe both went slack jawed and watched her walk by with more than a little interest. Raymond, ever bold, reached out and took her hand, then pulled her against his side. The woman giggled, wrapping her arms around Raymond’s neck.
Dante chuckled and shook his head. “You’re ready to settle down, huh?”
Raymond wiggled his brows. “I said a few years off. Come on—look up Julie. She’s opened some other spots on the East Coast. We can at least meet with her and then decide.”
Dante’s cell phone vibrated in his pocket. He pulled it out to find a picture of his father, in his best blue pinstripe suit sitting behind his desk at W. M. Records, on the screen. “I’ll think about meeting her. Excuse me, fellas.” He stood and punched the button to answer the call.
Dante put the phone to his ear. “Dad, hold on a minute.”
He walked away from the main area of the party and into the suite’s master bedroom, which was, thankfully, empty. “You still there?”
“Sounds like one hell of a party.” Otis Wilson’s deep baritone, which was the hallmark of his career, came through the phone.
“You know I like to celebrate the end of a tour in style.”
Otis laughed. “I don’t blame you. Man, if you could have seen the parties we had back in the day.”
“I heard the stories. You guys partied too hard for me.”
“That’s the truth,” Otis said, his voice laced with nostalgia. “What are you doing after you leave Vegas?”
Dante fought not to sigh. He’d told his dad during the entire concert tour what he planned to do. “I’m going to Malibu to look into opening my club.”
“You’re still on that? Come on, Dante—why are you wasting your time?”
“It’s not wasting time. I’ve spent seventeen years doing what the market told me to do. Now I want to pursue my own things.”
“Dante, you can dabble in that classical–hip-hop fusion mess on the side, but the money is in mainstream music. I just left a meeting with Antwan, and he’s interested in doing a joint album with you.” Antwan was the biggest name in hip-hop, and the fact that he was unhappy with his label was no secret. Ever since that news had gone public, Otis had let Dante know he would try to recruit Antwan to W. M. Records. Hard.
“Having Raymond on your concert tour gave you a boost with the younger generation. If you do an album with Antwan, then follow it with your own R&B, you’ll sell even more.”
The same song Otis had sung since Dante announced his tour. Otis always followed the money, which normally meant following the mainstream trends.
“I’ve sold enough that I trust being able to try something new. I’ll consider a collaboration with Antwan after the club is up and going.”
“You put out that crappy music and your name will be nothing. We can’t afford the hit. Not after what your sister pulled last year.”
Dante pinched the bridge of his nose. His sister had a strong pop music career, but, for some reason, she’d tried to go hard-core hip-hop the previous year. The only thing hard about her album was how hard it hit the bottom of the charts.
“What Star tried and what I’m trying are not the same.”
“Dante, I need you to do the album with Antwan.” The urgency of Otis’s tone was unexpected.
Dante frowned. “What’s going on?”
“The thing with your sister was just the icing on the cake. We’ve got artists that are considering not resigning, and sales are down. We need Antwan to breathe new life into W. M. Records and another set of hit albums to rebuild confidence with our current artists.”
“How bad are sales?”
“I didn’t want to get into this, but we’ve gone down about five percent the past two years. I wouldn’t worry, we’ve had down years before, but if we lose some artists and can’t sign a big name, then we may be talking double-digit losses. They haven’t crucified us in the business news yet. But another year with profit losses, and they will.”
“Damn,” Dante grunted and ran a hand over his forehead. He sat back on the bed while his dad’s revelation took root in his brain. The Wilson legacy, and the success of W. M. Records, was what he’d lived for and built his career on. If they had multiple years of losses, even small ones, pretty soon the speculators would begin to spread rumors that things weren’t going well at W. M. Records. Artists would jump ship. Sales would dwindle. Best case, they’d take several years to rebuild. Worst case, they would fold or have to consider a merger with another label just to stay afloat.
“Go ahead and open the club,” Otis said. “You mentioned that Raymond wants to put his name on it. Fine, that’ll help. But before you turn it into some hippie hangout, think about doing the album with Antwan, and maybe booking some of our commercial artists there instead.”
Dante hated the idea of his dream becoming something else, but he also hated the idea of his family’s legacy suffering. “I’ll think about it.”
“Good.”
They talked for a few more minutes. Afterward, Dante tossed his phone on the bed. The fate of W. M. Records and the good argument Otis had for Dante to continue making the music that sold swirled in his brain. He’d never considered that what happened to Star could happen to him, but with the state of affairs at W. M. Records, it was a real concern. As much as he wanted to try his hand at new, different music, he honestly loved his lifestyle and the perks of being famous. One bad album wouldn’t ruin him, but it could take him from being one of the most celebrated men in the music industry to a laughingstock.
Dante swore and rubbed his temples. Damn. He really didn’t want to think about that.
There was a knock on the door before it opened. The two models he’d watched dance before peaked their heads in. Their grins promised a welcome distraction from his shaky confidence—something he’d never felt before. Smiling, Dante waved the women in. Tomorrow he’d worry about what to do with his music career. Tonight his music was still popular and so was he. Time to get back to relaxing after another successful tour and worry about reality later.
Chapter 2 (#ulink_7196b380-08d9-58ca-8ec5-a4de57e6cab5)
Julie Dominick hung up the phone on her desk and jumped up from the leather chair. Her red high heels tapped on the tile floor as she rushed across the hall to the office of her business partner, Evette Dean. She gave two swift knocks on Evette’s open door before hurrying in.
“You’ll never guess who I just talked to,” Julie said in a rush.
Evette slowly turned away from her wide-screen monitor and raised a brow—her natural response whenever Julie came to her bouncing in excitement. Evette’s light brown hair was twisted in the usual no-nonsense bun at the back of her head, and her polka-dot tan blouse and matching black pencil skirt were flawless, as always. If not for the spark in Evette’s dark eyes, Julie would think she hadn’t garnered her friend’s interest.
“Then you better tell me.”
Julie stood before Evette’s neatly arranged desk. “Raymond just called.”
Evette’s raised brows lowered into a frown. The spark of interest was gone. She waved a hand and turned back to her monitor. “I thought you were talking about someone.”
Julie reached over and placed a hand over Evette’s hands, which were already typing away on the keyboard. “You will never guess what he wanted.”
Evette sighed and turned back to Julie. “What did he want?”
“He’s opening a nightclub, and he wants us to manage the development.”
The interest returned full force. Evette sat forward, her eyes wide. “Are you serious?”
“There are two things I don’t play around with, and that’s business and money.”
“That’s great! When, where, what type of club?”
Julie waved her hands back and forth to stop the flow of questions. “He’s finished the concert tour, and now he’s in Malibu, California. He wants someplace upscale but with a casual vibe where they can host live performances. He’s already bought the location and needs another partner to help oversee the day-to-day operations.”
“When are you going?” Evette’s voice indicated that Julie should be packing instead of talking.
Julie took a deep breath and fell into the leather chair across from Evette’s glass-top desk. “I’m not sure if I’m going.”
Evette’s excitement morphed into confusion. Not surprising. Out of the two of them, Julie was definitely the one who didn’t hesitate when the time came to make bold decisions. “You’re not sure?” Evette asked. “When have you ever not been sure about doing something this big?”
More times than Julie would ever admit. Faking confidence after walking away from Nexon-Jones, a powerhouse in the nightclub and restaurant development world, to start her own firm was proof of that.
Some thought she was crazy for leaving Nexon-Jones, where she was on the fast track to being one of their most promising agents. The decision had been easy after her boss had asked her to get a little more comfortable with a potential client. Julie walked and started Dominant Development. A bold name for a bold move. Go hard or go home.
The bold move worked enough to get Evette to walk away with her, and their combined determination had led to Dominant Development’s name being behind the openings of nightclubs around the southeast with more than a few celebrities tied to them. Having one of R&B’s newest stars as a best friend didn’t hurt either. Raymond had helped her get her first nightclub opened at the start of his career and later had introduced her to his celebrity friends. This was the first time he’d brought up opening a new place with her.
“We need to fix the situation in Miami,” Julie said.
“All the more reason to go,” Evette countered. “If you do this, everyone will forget about the failure of the Miami club.”
Julie winched. “We don’t say failure. We say setback.”
A big setback in the case of their small firm. They had started strong, opening successful nightclubs in Atlanta, Charlotte and Nashville. The name Dominant Development was garnering respect until the Miami nightclub. Crash-and-burn failure was an understatement. The place hadn’t stayed open for six months before fights between rival gangs and rumors of drug trafficking shut it down. Julie had been leery of working with the newly rich rapper who had wanted the club, but the guy was at the top of the charts at the time, and she’d fallen back on her go all in or go home rule. Regardless of how well her other nightclubs were doing, the disaster that was the Miami club is what people were talking about now.
“Setback, failure, call it what you want. We need another big opening,” Evette said.
“Yes, but we also just landed two new clients, and those projects are going to take a lot of effort. We are on the verge of needing one more agent.”
Evette raised her pointer and middle fingers. “Two.”
“Fine, we need two more people to handle the workload. It’s not a good time for me to hop on a plane and fly across the country to open a new nightclub.”
Evette took a deep breath, which meant she was trying hard to think about Julie’s arguments instead of just blowing her off. “I hear what you’re saying, but I think this is the perfect time. If you open a nightclub associated with Raymond, and it’s successful, it will wash away the mess that was Miami and get us in the playing field on the West Coast. The jerks at Nexon-Jones will lose their minds. Isn’t this why you started this place?”
No truer words were spoken. After leaving Nexon-Jones, Raymond had introduced her to rapper Antwan Harmon, who went by just Antwan. Her attraction to Antwan was immediate; she’d fallen for his swagger and intensity, and was even a little thrilled by his street appeal. When he’d stopped talking with Nexon-Jones about opening a club in Atlanta and trusted her to open the place instead, she’d fallen in love. She’d stolen a major client from her former employer and found the man she’d spend the rest of her life with. The former thought had worked out, the latter not so much. Opening night, she’d found out she was just one of many women in love with Antwan.
Her heartbreak was coupled with the knowledge that her former boss started spreading the word that she’d only landed Antwan’s account because she was sleeping with him. She’d also heard that some blamed her for making the decision about the Miami club because of her “relationship” with the client. Now she made sure to keep a very wide distance between her and any person she worked for.
“I’d feel guilty if I left you alone in the midst of this.”
“Girl, quit being crazy. We’ve already narrowed down the agents we want to interview. I’ll handle bringing on the new agents.”
“I wanted to be involved.”
“Why? You don’t trust my judgment?” Evette asked without any indication that she believed the statement.
“Of course I do,” Julie said with sincerity. She trusted Evette more than anyone. “If this pans out, I’ll be out there for several months, at least until the club is opened.”
“You can come back once or twice a month if it gets really crazy back here. Let go of some of that control freak, and go get us more business. Besides, isn’t the point of having a famous friend is so he can help you out?”
“Says who?”
“Says me. Let your friendship with Raymond be useful for once.”
Julie chuckled and leaned back in the chair. “I don’t know why you dislike him so much. Raymond has been a great friend. He helped me out when I was turning into a poor, sad basket case. He taught me how to—”
“Guard your heart,” Evette finished with a hand wave. “I know. You and those crazy dating rules.”
“They aren’t crazy. I got caught up in that relationship with Antwan and thought there was more to us than there was. You remember how pathetic I was. If it weren’t for Raymond schooling me on the way men think, I would’ve fallen for more pitiful lines and believed I was in a relationship with a guy when I was actually a booty call.”
“Raymond’s so-called education—” Evette made air quotes with her fingers “—has given you a convenient excuse to keep men at arm’s length.”
“I date.” Julie shrugged. “Guys love me. Unfortunately, they love me for all the wrong reasons.”
The few celebrity men she met were just as conceited and into playing games as Antwan. She preferred dating men outside the entertainment industry. Sadly, the few she had dated either played the same games or thought she was a good route to meeting famous people.
“Guys love trying to break through the wall you’ve surrounded yourself with. You’re a challenge.”
“Which is ten times better than being an easy conquest.”
“I still think Raymond’s education is just a way for him to keep you single.”
This time Julie waved away Evette’s words. “We’re just friends, Evette. For the hundredth time, Raymond only gives advice on men when I ask for it, and he’s spot-on every time. He’s not keeping me single—the lack of available men is keeping me single.”
Evette grunted. “I can’t argue with that. Anyway, back to my original point. If Raymond wants you to oversee opening his nightclub—regardless of how busy we are here—I think you should go. At least see what his plans are and make sure it’s worth our time.”
“There’s one more little thing.”
“What’s that?”
Julie studied her perfectly polished nails. “He’s opening the place with Dante Wilson.” Her voice was blasé when she knew this news would shatter any sense of calm Evette had.
Evette slapped her desk with both hands, her eyes as wide as saucers. “Dante Wilson?” Julie nodded. “The Dante Wilson? Mr. I Can Sing, Dance and Play a Dozen Instruments Dante Wilson? Dante Wilson of W. M. Records, whose parents, grandparents and great-grandparents were music legends?”
Julie chuckled. “The one and same.”
Evette pointed at Julie. “You’re getting on that plane, today, and you’re checking out this lead. Why didn’t you say that first?”
“Because I didn’t want it to sway your decision. This is huge, but if you had any hesitation about handling the two new accounts, hiring new staff and our current projects while I was on the West Coast, I would have said no.”
Evette took another deep breath. “Julie, I appreciate you thinking of me, seriously, but if you are not in Malibu by the end of the week, I swear I’m going to strangle you.” Her calm tone gave way to excitement by the end of the sentence.
Julie grinned and stood. “No need for violence. I’ll go back to my office and finally click Submit.”
“On what?”
“The purchase of the plane ticket I started buying before coming in here.”
Chapter 3 (#ulink_de9348b6-3ed6-513d-a20c-f7f403e9b54a)
Julie sat in the backseat of the car Raymond had waiting for her at the airport and reviewed the list of reputable contractors in and around Malibu, California. Paying attention to the details instead of taking in the beautiful sights along the Pacific Coast Highway was proving difficult for her. Between the awe-inspiring mountains and sparkling sea, she really wished she was there for pleasure instead of business. But business was the reason she’d left Evette in Atlanta, so she tore her eyes away from the views and scanned contractor websites.
Picking contractors before actually being vetted as Raymond and Dante’s final partner was presumptuous. Raymond basically wanted her to come and talk about possibly working with them. She’d mainly gotten her jobs by acting as if she already had them. The tactic hadn’t failed her yet.
Later, when the car pulled down one of the gated entrances that she assumed blocked the way to the homes of Hollywood’s rich and famous, her stomach churned like the waves against the bluffs she’d admired on the drive up. She was actually about to meet Dante Wilson. Thanks to her friendship with Raymond and her work opening popular nightclubs, she wasn’t easily starstruck. However, she’d listened to and loved Dante’s music for most of her life. From her preteens through her bad breakup with Antwan, the guy always had a song on the radio rotation that seemed to fit the mood of her life.
