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Chapter Three
“I’m busy ’bout my coint with a t on the end...”
—Duchess, “A Hard Road”
Manhattan, New York
Dani stared straight ahead as the elevator car ascended the many floors of the Upper West Side skyscraper at a dizzying speed.
Tasha reached over to squeeze her arm. “Don’t be nervous.”
Dani frowned. “I’m not nervous. What makes you think I’m nervous?”
“Oh, I don’t know. The fact that you’re biting your lower lip the way my Aunt Gladys tucks into short ribs?”
Tasha would be the only one who’d noticed the habit, since Dani went out of her way to ensure she always projected a flawless image. If she was anywhere in public, anyplace where there was a chance a camera could focus on her, she made sure she was never caught looking any way other than how she wanted to be seen. Especially these days. She couldn’t eat out, go shopping, or even travel without a hoard of cameras attached to unrelenting paparazzi—hassling her and shouting out for a quote.
When she’d left her favorite nail salon and tried to get in her car, they’d surrounded her, holding her door open to get as many shots as possible. She’d finally yanked it from them, yelling, “Let go of my fucking door!”
The photographer had smirked in triumph. “Why you so aggressive, Duchess? Is that how you treated Samantha?”
Goddammit!
Pushing the memory aside, she released her lip and grabbed the lipstick wand Tasha was holding out for her. Correcting the flaw, she inhaled.
“This is make or break, Tasha. We can’t lose this.”
“We won’t.”
Dani placed a hand on her churning belly. “You don’t know that. The other four companies dropped out. Genesis is our only chance.”
“You’re worried they’re going to do the same?” Tasha asked quietly.
“Of course I am! But they’re a thirty-five-billion-dollar corporation. They should have more important things to do than read celebrity gossip blogs.”
Unlike the other four companies.
Although, to be fair, the story had reached epic proportions, moving beyond gossip blogs to mainstream media. When the video had made Hot Topics onThe View, her mentions had exploded. Out of context—and thanks to Banks’s Spielberg edit—the video wasn’t flattering for Dani. The takeaway was that Duchess was unwilling to help another up-and-coming female artist. Mainstream media was quick to side with the pop star over the rapper. Oversexualized, vulgar black woman versus innocent-looking young white woman?
No contest.
When the first beauty company had canceled their meeting, Dani had shrugged it off, buying their scheduling conflict excuse. When the second company called, she grew a little apprehensive but told herself the story would burn hot then flame out when the next A-list celebrity couple called it quits. By the time companies three and four had called, she’d accepted what she was up against.
Aided by Banks’s craven need for attention, the entertainment industry had found its newest gladiators for the Colosseum. And in the eyes of the beauty trade, Dani wasn’t the winning bet.
Fortunately, people in the music business and her fans knew the truth. As they liked to point out on Instagram and Twitter. Daily.
“It’ll be fine. Everyone wants this deal to work,” Tasha said.
Dani hoped so.
The elevator doors slid open and they stepped into a bright, sleek reception space. The slate gray tile floors and glossy white interior were warmed by bright orange lounge chairs and a colorful oversized area rug.
A young woman stood waiting, cute and professional in a white shirt and basic black skirt, box braids piled into a bun on the top of her head.
“Welcome, Duchess.”
Showtime.
