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What insights? Jameson was a white British aristocrat. What would he know about beauty products created for women of color?
Dani interjected. “While Prince Jameson has been very supportive, we lead separate lives. I don’t show up to his classes or any of his royal events and he’s not featuring on my songs or getting involved in Mela-Skin.”
She was proud of the way she’d handled that. Cool, calm, professional. No need to get turnt up and cause things to go left. It wasn’t Barbara’s fault and Dani didn’t blame her. Hopefully, they all got the message, and they could move on, Martha, move on.
Barbara gave Greg a look that had “I told you so” written all over it, before she sat down.
Around the room, executives shifted in their chairs or fiddled with the documents and tablets on the table in front of them.
“But he’ll be at the launch event with you, right?” Greg persisted. “I’m sure he wouldn’t mind a couple of pictures?”
With a sense of dread, Dani sighed. “What do you want?”
“Our focus groups showed that while you are very popular, linking you with the prince sent your approval ratings through the roof. Not just with young people but in all demographics. Consumers are going bonkers over the fairy tale and they’re willing to pay to be a part of it. So”—Greg firmed his lips—“we’re going to need Prince Jameson to be a part of the campaign. In some way.”
Did her mouth drop open? It felt like it was open. Dani was so shook she wasn’t sure she was in control of her body.
This was outrageous! For fuck’s sake, they’d only been dating a little over a month. What made them think Jameson should haveanythingto do with a business she’d built on her own before she’d even known he existed?
“No! Mela-Skin is my company. It has nothing to do with him.”
“But there’s more interest in your brand with him attached.”
“There was tremendous interest in Duchess’s brand before him,” Andrea pointed out. “Not only interest, but actual sales. Our products are bestsellers, profits rise steadily year after year, and we have a great social media presence with a loyal and consistent customer base. That’s why we were here originally, correct?”
Greg shrugged. “True. But things have changed. We can’t unknow this information. It would be a breach of our fiduciary duty to the company.”
“Not to my company. Please, unknow away!”
“The eyes of the world are on you now, which translates to your products. That’s prime international exposure we won’t have to pay for.”
Dani uncrossed her legs, letting her heel hit the floor with a hard, satisfying thud. “First, you—or rather Henry—call me in here and tell me that because of some made-up controversy with Samantha Banks, I need to rehab my image before you’ll invest in my company. Then I do what you ask and you tell me it’s not good enough, that my boyfriend has to be involved!”
Barbara was watching her, compassion and understanding etched on her striking features.
Dani sought to breathe in the cool air of reason. Why was her company, the one she’d started by herself when no one else believed in its potential, suddenly besieged with white people making crucial decisions about its identity, when they had nothing to do with the product? She couldn’t even imagine a scenario where the owner ofa urinal company was brought into a meeting with mostly women and told he needed to incorporate their input into his marketing!
“I thought this was aboutmyimage.Mybrand. You said the eyes of the world are onmenow.”
“It is and they are,” Greg said. “But the prince is a part of that. And Parcellum, via Genesis, plans to take advantage of that association. We’re prepared to invest a considerable amount in you and Mela-Skin, even more than before. We’re going to make your company a household name by this time next year. But only if Prince Jameson is involved.”
She shook her head. “For what I hope will be the last time I need to say this: Jameson is not involved in Mela-Skin.”
Greg’s amiable demeanor receded, and she saw the ruthless businessman beneath.
“Maybe I should be having this conversation with your CEO. I was led to believe that despite being a rapper, you were more than a figurehead for Mela-Skin. That you understood the business.”
The condescension practically rolled off him.
Dani curled her lip. “I do.”
“Then for what I hope will be the last timeIneed to saythis: you need to find a way to get Prince Jameson involved or the deal is off.”
The emotional trinity of resentment, fear, and anger burned like acid reflux in her chest. She’d pushed through the lack of thoughtfulness, excitement, and enthusiasm because people didn’t understand the purpose of what she was proposing. She’d dealt with the racism and misogyny of men not taking her seriously because she didn’t look like their idea of a businessperson. She’d burned the candle at both ends—and sometimes on the sides!—to work on the business without compromising any of her music endeavors. And she’d invested her own money to develop and implement this idea she knew had merit.
All to get here. To sit at this table and sign a contract that would give her the control and freedom she’d been craving since Nana died when she was fourteen. When people she barely knew began deciding where she would live, what she would wear, and how she would act.
Ironically enough, Dani had learned that becoming a famous rapper hadn’t shielded her from being “handled.” She was still told where to live, what to wear, and how to act—only now the economic benefit of controlling her involved way more than monthly assistance checks from the government.
