“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.
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.
