A Malibu Kind Of Romance

“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.