I was okay just doing it in the classroom. I don’t know about performing in front of people, Candis. What will they think of me? What if they don’t like my music?”
“And what if the world were struck by a nuclear bomb tomorrow? What if after I flew all the way to Paris for a photo shoot I woke up the next day with a zit the size of Texas on my forehead? What if? What if?” She sighed. “Char, you can’t live your life wondering ‘what if.’ You’ve got a God-given gift, it’s only right that you use it and share it with the world.”
“But—”
“But nothing. Just stop worrying for a minute and go with the flow. Obviously the record execs thought enough of you to sign you to a contract and hook you up with Akil. They don’t do that for just anybody.”
Charlene nodded: Candis was right. The thing was, it wasn’t only about talent. There were lots of talented singers out there; take the ones seen on that reality show American Idol. Many of the most talented singers on that show were kicked out before the final rounds. And one of the most consistent things the judges on that show—most of whom were record industry professionals in their own right—said was that it wasn’t just about the voice, it was about the total package. A package Charlene wasn’t so sure she had.
“I know they don’t. And I’m not ungrateful for the opportunity. I’m just not a hundred percent sure about it all.”
“Then it’s a good thing you’re not the one who has to be sure. The record execs think you’re good and want to put your CD out, Akil has to think you’re worth his time. So you just open your mouth and sing.”
Leave it to Candis to be candid and honest with her, almost to the point of hurting her feelings. But if there was one thing Charlene knew it was that her sister had her back. When the girls in the neighborhood—the skinny, pretty ones who came to the house to hang out with Candis—made fun of the chubby younger sister with fat, too-thick braids, Candis had rounded them all up and kicked them out. She was fiercely protective of Charlene, even though Charlene had spent most of her teenage years both envying and hating her older sister.
“You’re right,” she said finally, smiling because she knew on the other end of the phone Candis was probably doing the same. “I’ll just do what I know how to do and pray that what’s meant will be.”
“What’s meant is already happening,” Candis said. “Now you get to work. I’ve got me a hot date tonight that I need to go and get ready for.”
Her words reminded Charlene that Candis was on the other side of the world in Paris. “I’m sorry you’re up so late checking on me. I know how you enjoy your sleep.”
Candis chuckled. “You’ve got that right. But I had to make sure you were all right.”
“I’m fine. Go ahead and get your beauty rest.”
“If you didn’t think to call me I know you haven’t called Mama or Daddy. Give them a call when you get a minute just so they won’t worry.”
“I’m not you. They won’t bother to worry.”
“That’s not true. You’re their daughter just the same.”
Not wanting to go into this years-old battle, Charlene cut it short. “Okay, I’ll call them when I get back from dinner. You go back to sleep.”
“All right. Love you, kiddo.”
“Love you, too, big sis.”
Clicking off the phone, Charlene knew she did love her big sister. For all that seemed different between them they were connected by a sisterly bond. As for her parents, well, that was another story entirely. But, as promised, she would call them later. After all, she was the responsible and mature sister, the one always expected to do the right thing.
She only prayed the right thing was going to dinner with Akil and the rest of the team when what she really wanted to do was teach the superproducer a thing or two about basic hospitality.
Chapter Three
Shula’s Steak House wasn’t exactly what Charlene had envisioned for a dinner to meet the team that would work on her CD. Something a little fancier had been her thought. But this was just as well. The dark wood floors and contemporary dining room she’d been escorted to made her feel a lot more comfortable than a dimly lit place with candles and lots of clinking crystal would have.
Not that Shula’s was slacking any, no, not at all. Located in the Miami Lakes district it had topped the list on the Miami Herald’s Best of South Florida, easily defeating the trendy Prime 112 and Manny’s Steakhouse. All places Charlene had been to in her trips to Florida and a ranking she happened to agree with.
Another surprise to her was that Akil had driven his own car to the restaurant, arriving just a few minutes after her with a tall, slim lady by his side. His bodyguards, two tall, beefy men she’d seen at the house when she was leaving, walked in looking all around the room right behind him. While her reaction to the fact that there was a gorgeous woman with Akil shouldn’t have been mentionable, the momentary envy toward the woman for her small waist and long legs gave her a jolt. This wasn’t new, she reminded herself. The supermodel look was more than popular where she came from and even more so in the music industry. And this woman fit the bill.
She had to be close to six feet with Akil only surpassing her height by about three or four inches. The dress she wore—or more aptly the swatch of material that covered her small, pert breasts and hugged every other inch of her from her shoulders to the upper part of her thighs, was fire-engine red and whispered sex with every step she took. Her skin was fair and coupled with her long dark hair gave her an exotic look.
Self-consciously Charlene brushed her hand over much heavier breasts and down past her thicker waist and meatier thighs. Taking slow, deep breaths, she tried not to acknowledge how much of a cliché this woman really was. She was exactly the type you’d expect to see on the arms of an NBA or NFL player, a rapper or, yes, even a superproducer like Akil.
She was so absorbed in the couple walking toward the table in the private dining room she hadn’t even heard the door behind her open and close or the people who had obviously entered approach.
“Hi, Charlene. It’s great seeing you again.”
She turned at the touch of his hand on her shoulder and stared up happily into the smiling face of Jason Burton, the A&R rep who had first heard her sing in the karaoke bar.
“Hi, Jason. I’m glad to see you,” she said with more enthusiasm than she probably should have. But it was true, she was glad to see him. Glad and hopeful that he’d be a buffer between her and Akil and his arm candy.
“Ace, my man. You made it,” Jason said, standing and gripping Akil’s hand in a shake.
He hadn’t changed much from when she’d seen him earlier this afternoon. Well, his clothes were different. He now wore black pleated slacks and a matching jacket. The gray silk shirt that molded against his muscled chest and abs almost matched the color of her skirt. He looked cool and comfortable, yet still powerful and important. Something about the air around him, the ambience of control, made her shift uncomfortably in her seat.
After the handshake Akil reached for his date, pushing her closer to the chair where
