Читать книгу: «A Malibu Kind Of Romance»

Chapter 1

Dante Wilson stared at the supermodel twins dancing together at his post-concert party in Vegas and had one thought: he loved his life! What wasn’t there to love? He was one of the world’s bestselling artists, his family ran a music dynasty, he’d finished a sold-out world tour and he was pretty sure he’d be going home with one or both of the twins. He leaned back against the plush leather sofa, took a sip of the champagne in his hand and grinned.

The Vegas strip was a colorful backdrop outside the window of the penthouse suite, which was filled with celebrities, their entourages and musicians—all there to help him celebrate. The guy to Dante’s right, basketball star Jacobe Jenkins, pulled his long designer-jean-clad legs in and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “I know what you’re thinking.”

Dante shifted in his seat. He’d lost his dress shirt earlier while dancing, and wore only a white T-shirt and black slacks. “If you’re assuming my thoughts have something to do with the twins, then you’re right.”

Jacobe chuckled. “I should have bet money on that. You go through more women than any other guy I know. And I’m surrounded by professional basketball players all day.”

“Perks of the job,” Dante said. “But after tonight I’m slowing down with the female distractions. Tonight’s about releasing some steam after the tour before getting back into the studio. Though I love partying, I’m going to have to do less of this for a while.” He waved his hand to indicate the energetic crowd.

“Damn, Dante,” Jacobe said, once again stretching out his legs. “You just got back in the country, and you’re going back to the studio.”

“To stay on top of my game, I can never really take a break. Plus, I’m excited to get back to Malibu and get to work on the music I want to do.”

Jacobe raised a brow. “That classical stuff?”

Dante shook his head. “It’s not classical stuff. It’s a fusion of hip-hop, jazz and rock with classical influence. Wait until you hear it—you’ll dig it.”

Jacobe gave Dante a skeptical look before he turned to watch one of the many beauties at the party walking by. Jacobe’s skepticism didn’t deter Dante’s confidence in his next move. Not much anyway. Dante had built a solid career using the Wilson family legacy and his own talent. He could sing, play several different instruments and dance. After seventeen years doing the music his family and their label wanted him to do, Dante was ready to do his own thing.

Not that he regretted seventeen years of pop stardom. Show business was in his family’s blood—starting with his great-grandfather, who’d performed on the Chitlin’ Circuit in the 1950s, to his grandfather, who’d started his own record label in the 1970s. Then to Dante’s father, who with a smooth baritone singing voice, hit songs and a shrewd business sense, turned that label into one of the country’s most successful. The biggest names in music signed with W. M. Records.

Dante was fiercely proud of his family’s legacy. But pride didn’t diminish a growing frustration with the pressure to keep doing the same type of music that everyone else was doing.

“Are you sure the music you’re doing will be successful?” Jacobe asked.

Dante shrugged. “I can’t say one hundred percent, but I know there’s an audience. The group I’m working with, Strings A Flame, they’ve got a following. If I sign them to W. M. Records and record an album with them, then that’s all it’ll take.”

“You’re pretty confident in your pull,” Jacobe said, turning away from the woman he’d been watching.

“I’ve been around for nearly twenty years. I’m allowed to be confident in my staying power. I know the market isn’t as big—that’s why I’m opening a nightclub. I’ll debut the music there, see how the fans react, then go from there.”

“You’ve got it all planned out.”

“Always,” he said with a confidence that he couldn’t allow to waiver. The only hitch in his perfect plan was his dad. Otis Wilson wanted hip-hop and R&B right now, the more commercial the better. He’d originally brushed off Dante’s plans to sign S.A.F. and hadn’t shown any interest in backing an album. He needed the nightclub to be successful to convince his dad otherwise.

Jacobe looked at Dante. “What do you know about opening a nightclub?”

“Nothing. I’m partnering with Raymond, but we may still need someone to come in and handle the day-to-day.” Dante pointed to Raymond, who was walking over to where he and Jacobe were sitting.

Raymond was an up-and-coming star in the R&B world with two hit albums in the past five years. He had enough popularity to make some people think Raymond’s future in the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame was set, but Dante had seen enough artists crash and burn to know two hit albums didn’t mean a thing. However, the kid was smart and had invested his money in other ventures outside the entertainment industry, including a nightclub called Masquerade in Atlanta that he and another rapper opened a few years ago. It was now the hottest spot in the city. When Raymond mentioned opening a place on the West Coast, Dante immediately brought up his idea. Raymond had agreed after listening to some of the music Dante and S.A.F. had put together.

“Dante,” Raymond said with a grin on his face. He held out his hand and gave Dante a fist bump before doing the same with Jacobe.

“This party is where it’s at,” Raymond said.

“I told you the best way to celebrate the end of a tour is with a party in Vegas,” Dante said as he and Raymond slapped hands again.

The song changed, and the same twin models who’d had Dante’s attention before gyrated to the music. Dante sipped the champagne in his hand and grinned at the women, who both blew kisses his way.

“Most definitely the way to end a tour,” Raymond said, grinning. “Did you tell Jacobe about our plans for the club?”

“I was just telling him about that.”

Raymond nodded and grinned. “It’s going to be hot, right?”

Jacobe lifted his chin in agreement. “Nothing Dante has done thus far has failed. I don’t see why this would. Even though I’m still trying to imagine the music. I keep imagining symphonies with rapping when I think about it.”

“I’ll send you one of our songs. That’ll help,” Dante said, still not bothered. Jacobe was a die-hard classic hip-hop fan, and he had a hard time with any other variation in the genre.

Dante looked at Raymond. “It wouldn’t hurt to find another partner to come in and help oversee the details of the development,” he said. “W. M. Records has a firm it’s used for the other nightclubs the label has invested in, but I don’t want to use them. They’ll go to my dad for his influence, and he’ll turn the place into another carbon copy of an LA club. That’s not what I’m going for.”

Raymond snapped his finger. “I’ve got someone in mind.”

“Really? Who?”

“You ever heard of Julie Dominick?”

Dante ran through the females he may have heard about but came up empty. “Should I know her?”

“She’s the woman that handled the development of Masquerade.”

Dante’s brows rose. “Really?”

“That’s my girl, Julie. She negotiated the deal to land that prime location in Buckhead and kept other investors from snagging it up. She oversaw the entire operation, from acquisition to construction, and did a damn good job.”

Jacobe chuckled. “What, is she paying you to be her public relations person?”

Raymond shook his head. “Nah, I just wanted you to know the type of work she can do. We should consider her.”

“Working her magic in Atlanta isn’t the same as working her magic in California,” Dante said. “I’d rather go with someone who knows the ins and outs on this side of the country.”

“I know Julie—she can do it.” Confidence and affection filled Raymond’s voice.

Dante’s eyes narrowed. “How do you know her? This isn’t some old girlfriend you’re trying to give the hookup to?”

“Nah, not like that. Julie and I are cool. We met in college, and she’s been my homegirl ever since. She got me started in music actually, promoting my music and getting me gigs in and around Atlanta. Now she’s started her own development firm, and I want to help her out.”

“Is that all? No guy I know just helps out a female for no reason.”

Raymond rubbed his jaw and lifted a shoulder. “I wouldn’t mind if Julie and I became more than friends one day.”

“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.