Total pages in book: 149
Estimated words: 142866 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 714(@200wpm)___ 571(@250wpm)___ 476(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 142866 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 714(@200wpm)___ 571(@250wpm)___ 476(@300wpm)
“I don’t care how rich he is, she is the bag. He better not fumble her.” I pause with the glass hovering at my lips and give her a wicked look over the rim. “But how fine we talking?”
“Fine enough.” Chapel affects a shiver. “I saw him on set once. There’s just something about him. Power? Charisma? It goes deeper than looks. Whatever it is, our girl Zere is lucky it’s hers.”
At that moment, the lucky woman in question approaches, wearing a white halter top and a tiny skirt that shows her almost waifish figure to full advantage. A pleased smile creases Zere’s hazel eyes at the corners the tiniest bit. The contrast of her flawless golden skin and coppery hair creates the striking coloring the camera loves so much, a legacy of her Ethiopian mother and Irish father.
“You’re here,” Zere says, her light floral scent as entrancing as her sweet voice. “I’m so glad.”
“We wouldn’t have missed it.” I return her air-kisses at each cheek. “This is incredible, lady.”
When I first met Zere on the set of Lewks, I only had the things I’d heard and read to go on—a famous model in her late thirties staying relevant through a competition reality show. Over the course of the season, though, I realized there was more to her than the headlines and the parties and the billionaire boyfriend. For one, she’s a hustler, and that I always respect. So when Chapel won Lewks and Zere approached us about developing a show starring Chapel, we were all ears and all in. When she suggested I serve as an executive producer for the show—something I’ve wanted to get into for years—I liked her even more.
“Girl!” Zere blows out a laughing breath. “Planning this party almost took me out, but it’s worth it.”
“You have a beautiful home,” I tell her, allowing my gaze to wander over the luxuriously appointed space. “I mean… wow.”
“Thank you. Of all Mav’s properties, this one is my favorite.” Zere scans the stunning open area, and wistfulness creeps into her voice. “I’d live here year-round if I could, but Mav can’t seem to stay in one place that long, and he actually prefers his house in Malibu.”
Something shadows her expression, but before I can interpret the look, she smooths it back into the perfect serenity I’ve come to expect.
“You’ll meet him later.” She loops her arms through our elbows and directs us toward the huge open space where a wall would be in a lesser house, leading to the party outside in full swing. “Let’s go get you a real drink.”
People crowd around a bar as long and as well-stocked as you’d find in the finest establishments. An infinity pool with floating pavilions is the jeweled centerpiece of the area. The yard rolls out like a verdant green carpet down to the house’s private dock jutting out into the bay. A pier of sorts floats over the water, decorated with overstuffed outdoor furnishings, a firepit, and yet another bar. Motorboats speed toward the deck ferrying more guests, all dressed in white. I recognize some famous faces—actors, rappers, models, high-profile figures from the worlds of business and entertainment. Black, white, brown, and everything in between. This party is renowned for assembling an impressive cross section of influential people. My shoulders move to the loud music and I sip the “real” drink Zere found for me, but I feel myself shifting into grind mode. Yes, it’s a party, but it’s also an opportunity.
And I always make the most of those.
For a few minutes Zere stays with us, introducing us to people I know only from the tabloids. Even the most famous seem to feel at ease here. Maybe it’s the tightness of the security, the carefully curated guest list, or the free-flowing libations. Whatever the reason, everyone is loose and before I know it, my default setting of what you see is what you get kicks in, and within the hour, I’m beside the DJ, directing him on what to play next. The phone rests heavily in my pocket, a reminder of my family’s challenges beyond this bay. The air, sultry and sweet and throbbing with the cadence of revelry, washes over me. If for only a moment, it washes my troubles away.
“You got ‘Jiggy Woogie’?” I ask, already winding my hips and anticipating that dancehall bop to drop.
He glances up and grins at me from the turntable, of which I approve because I’m old school like that. “You ’bout to turn this party out, ain’t you?”
I shrug and flash him a sheepish grin. “It’s what I do.”
CHAPTER 2
MAVERICK
There are few things more impractical than red wine at an all-white party. I shrug off the stained white silk T-shirt and let it drop to the floor.
“You have at least one wardrobe change every year, Mav.”