Synithia Williams - A Malibu Kind Of Romance

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.”