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
