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But when she lifted her dramatic false lashes, Amal was still standing there—head intact—smugly licking his lips, rubbing his hands together, and waiting for Dani to acquiesce to his demands.
The point was to temper your strength with your femininity but make it gritty. Raw, y’know?
Dani did know. She’d heard some version of that asinine reasoning numerous times over the past ten years. Each time she was asked to twerk while wearing a gold string bikini, pose suggestively and touch herself while half naked, or wrap her body around a pole like a member of an X-rated Cirque du Soleil troupe.
However, the real reason she didn’t want to go down on all fours for this video was because she was tired of having her image dictated by men. She wasn’t ashamed of her sexuality; it was a part of her, and she owned it. But she was also aware that she viewed it differently than the men who controlled her career and dominated the industry did.
Unwilling to simply comply, she wrapped her arms around her waist, cocked her head to the side, and allowed her curls to tumble over her shoulder and rest against the brown skin of her cleavage. Amal’s dark eyes followed where she led, his Adam’s apple bobbing.
God! Why were men allowed to rule the world? Theythoughtthey were powerful, but it didn’t take much to redirect the blood flow from their brains to their dicks. Even now, without uttering a single word, she’d caused beads of sweat to form on Amal’s upper lip as he stared at her. He’d do anything she asked him to do.
And wasn’t that true power?
You keep telling yourself that.
Because they both knew Amal was going to get what he wanted.There was a time and an occasion for confrontation and this wasn’t it. As long as Dani’s future—and success—was tied to the music industry, she had to play the game. And Amal was too famous for her to consider burning that bridge.
Dani thought back to the time just after her grandmother had died. For as long as she could remember, it had been her and Nana; Dani didn’t know her father and barely remembered her mother. Nana had raised her with a loving, firm hand until a stroke had taken her life. Dani had been devastated and terrified. She’d felt like a small tree violently uprooted by tornado-force winds from the only forest she’d ever known. What would happen to her? Where would she go? Family had stepped in, vowing to keep her out of the system. But that claim, pledged out of love and generosity, quickly deteriorated into resentment and obligation.
It was while staying at her fourth home that year—with her mother’s third cousin, Little Jessie, his wife, and their two kids—that she’d seen Eve on BET. The lyrical powerhouse had been imposing, dynamic, and everything fourteen-year-old Dani had yearned to be. She’d been certain that if she could command respect and attention like the rapper, she could finally live her life on her terms.
No more couch surfing with unenthusiastic relatives, having no say in where she landed next.
No more busting her ass doing their menial chores to “earn her keep.”
No more fending off inappropriate quid pro quo sexual advances from distant male kin who should know—and do—better.
Though it hadn’t seemed like it at the time, young Dani had had more autonomy over her situation than grown-ass Dani did now.
Wasn’tthata bitch?
“So, we’re going to do it again and this time you’re going to stop,drop, and roll, right?” Amal crossed his arms over his fashionably ripped T-shirt.
Annoyance heated Dani’s blood but she knew better than to let her irritation show on her face. “Yeah.”
He tilted his chin up and stared at her down the line of his nose in that cocky, arrogant way she hated. “That’s my girl.”
The fuck she was.
Still, even as Dani mouthed the lyrics, rubbed the bills over her body, and made love to the camera, she forced herself to keep her inner eye on the real prize. It wouldn’t be long before her fortunes would be defined byherdecisions, and she wouldn’t need to placate Amal; her manager, Cash; or any other men of their ilk. Three years ago, she’d debuted Mela-Skin, a skin-care line created for and geared specifically toward women of color. Everyone she’d initially approached to invest had rejected her, claiming she was developing an entire product line for a niche market. Roughly seventy million women were a “niche market”? The lack of respect and their inability to “see” her prompted her to do it on her own.
To everyone’s surprise but hers, it was an immediate success. A year ago, a small cosmetics company had approached her about bringing the line into their portfolio. They’d wanted to buy her out completely, leaving her no say in the future of the brand, so she’d declined the offer. But it had gotten her to thinking. Running her business, not becoming a famous rapper, might be the real path to the power and autonomy she sought. And if one company had seen potential in what she’d built, wouldn’t others? Upcoming meetings scheduled with the top four cosmetics and beauty companies in the world suggested the answer was yes.
The music playback ended and the assistant director yelled, “Cut!”
Amal approached her, pink tingeing his golden brown skin.“Now that’s what I’m talkin’ ’bout! That was sexy as fuck! Go on. I’ll see you back here in a bit.”
He motioned to the AD, who added, “Moving on! Setting up the club scene.”
Dani nodded her thanks, her pleasant expression collapsing as she turned away. Trying not to trip over the thick cables and lines running along the concrete floors, she headed to meet her assistant, who handed her a mason jar filled with her favorite iced vanilla coffee.
“Bless you,” Dani said, taking a sip of the sweet nectar.
Tasha’s lip quirked and she adjusted the black square frames on her face. “Figured you’d need it.”
“You figured right. Now, as much as I love how these shoes look,” she said, lifting one foot clad in a red four-inch Sergio Rossi Godiva Steel pump, “I need to get out of them.”
“I got you. In four. Three. Two—” Tasha broke off as a white golf cart driven by a large black man came to a stop in front of them.
