“Hello, love,” Miki said after the hostess walked her over to my table in the center of the brick patio. She had first stopped to greet Nia Long who was lunching with Gabrielle Union, and Jet magazine editor in chief Mitzi Miller lunching with Steve and Marjorie Harvey. I made a mental note to confirm that they were all included on the list for the launch party.
“Hi, Miki. Smooches,” I said as she leaned down to kiss me on the cheek. She then set her orange Hermès portfolio and large black crocodile Birkin bag on one of the empty chairs at our table and then took off her tapered black blazer and hung it along the back of her chair.
“Whenever I have a chance to come out to Los Angeles, I always salivate for one of their delicious Cobb salads,” she said as she dismissed the hovering hostess who tried to hand her a menu with a wave of one of her French-manicured hands.
“That sounds delish, Miki,” I said, following her lead and handing the hostess my menu as well. Our waiter, a dead ringer for Ashton Kutcher’s younger brother if I ever saw one, came over to fill our water glasses and take our drink orders.
“So, how is my newest reality star doing?” Miki asked as she smiled brightly and squeezed a fresh slice of lemon into her glass.
“I’m good, Miki. Just eager for my show to premiere. I’ve been tweeting and posting comments on Facebook, writing on my Tumblr, and posting photos.”
“Our marketing team is so excited that you’re so into social media. I think last I heard, you had over six hundred and fifty thousand followers on Twitter!”
“I broke a million last night when I posted some of the outtakes from the lingerie shopping trip. Don’t worry, it wasn’t too much to give away the episode, but I posted two shots and asked my fans which outfit I should wear to surprise my boyfriend. And the Extra! TV segment with Mario Lopez last night to tease the show helped also.”
“That’s great. Keep tweeting, posting to Facebook and Tumblr, Pinterest, and any other of the key social media sites. We want to continue to build the grassroots buzz for the show’s launch. I want your new show to be the biggest debut our network has ever had.”
“You know I’m ready to get my hustle on, Miki. Don’t you worry.” The waiter returned with our Cobb salads and set them in front of us.
“I’m a hustler, too, Laila. I didn’t get to be VP of Reality TV at Glam Network at twenty-five without taking some risks and being able to know a star and a hot concept when I see one,” she said confidently in between bites of her salad.
“And that’s why I’m so thrilled to be on your team. We’re going to make history because I came to win. Everybody ain’t about this life. But I am, and nothing is going to stand in my way.”
“I’m glad to hear that, because I have some more news for you. As you may or may not have heard, Glam Network was just acquired by PrimeTime Media Group.”
Oh shit. They were taken over. Was this chick about to tell me she was leaving? I braced myself to call little Ashton back over with a stiff drink as she continued. I knew I couldn’t do this show without her. I reached for my iced tea and took a long draw from the straw to calm my stomach.
“So with Glam Network being acquired by one of the largest media companies in the world, we now have many more platforms and internal partnerships that we can exploit for the launch of your show. Before I jumped on the company jet to leave New York last night, I had a meeting with DeAnna George, the president of publishing at PrimeTime Media and the editor in chief of DivaDish, Nia Bullock, to discuss how we can work together. She’s cool. I’m sure you’ll really like working with her.”
“That’s great, Miki. I like the sound of that and look forward to meeting her.” I exhaled and took a small bite of my salad. I didn’t want to risk one of the lurking paparazzi snapping an unflattering photo of me shoveling food in my mouth or chewing with big chipmunk cheeks for Us Weekly’s “Stars, They’re Just Like Us section.” No way.
“No, this is huge,” Miki said as her face lit up and she became more animated. “Your show is not only going to have the full support of all the relevant magazines and websites, but DivaDish, along with Moët, is going to sponsor your All-Star party and stream it live on their site. Our PR team was also pushing for a magazine cover, but apparently Nia says she has some big exclusive already booked for the next issue. Not sure what could be bigger than the debut of your show, but whatever.”
“I know that’s right,” I said as I pushed my bangs out of my eyes. “What could possibly be bigger than the launch of Whatever Laila Wants? It would have been great to have that cover at the All-Star launch party.”
“Don’t even worry about it,” Miki said as she shook her head and pointed her fork at me. “Seriously, this partnership, the social media stuff you’re doing, the dozen other TV interviews our PR team has set up, and the Black Enterprise cover, will guarantee tune-in for your show and definitely be the biggest launch we’ve ever had.”
“Wow, Miki, I don’t even know what to say. And you know I’m never speechless.” Finally, things were really coming together for me.
“But I need to keep it one hundred with you, too, Laila,” Miki said, her gaze turning steely. “You must deliver on Marcus King. Everyone’s tuning in because they think they are going to be voyeurs into your secret relationship and your glamorous lifestyle. Your fans and viewers expect to get a window into a rarefied world that they don’t have access to, and frankly they want to be judge, jury, and possibly even executioner for this scandalous relationship. You have to prepare yourself for the hate that’s going to come your way. Marcus’s wife, Vanessa King, while not highly visible, is well liked especially because she’s the mother of his child. We tested you both in focus groups. You are going to feel the heat. But that always makes for great TV, and with as much shit as people want to talk about you, they are going to keep tuning in week after week and make you a very rich woman.”
Now it was my turn to give this chick the real steely gaze.
“Let me keep it one hundred with you, too, Miki. You don’t know half the things I’ve had to do to get here, and there’s no way I’m ever going back. I don’t mean to sound like Oprah in The Color Purple, but all my life I’ve had to fight. I’ve had haters since the day I was born, and I’ll have them until the day I die. I’m about getting this money and getting my man. And there’s nothing that’s going to stop me, no matter what the little focus group said.”
“Nice. I like your gangster. And that’s exactly why I named the show Whatever Laila Wants. I’ll ride with you until the end as long as you deliver everything we discussed. This show can be a game changer for both of us, Laila.”
“Whatever you need, Miki. I got you.”
“Cool. Legal is still reviewing the text messages, the tape-recorded conversations, and photos Steven sent over to make sure we have all the legal documentation we need to incorporate them into the show as needed.”
“Sounds good to me,” I said as I smiled and tilted my head so that the paparazzi could get a good shot of me.
Brixton Marshall was the celebrity stylist that Glam Network had hired to pull dresses, shoes, and accessories for tomorrow’s Black Enterprise photo shoot with Miki, as well as for all the All-Star events, including my big launch party at the end of the week. He had just completed his run-through with me, and as I closed the door of my hotel suite behind him and his team, I was relieved to be done with my eighth appointment of the day.
I walked past the two racks of designer dresses in sequins, feathers, leather, and silk in every imaginable color that Brixton had wheeled into the room just hours earlier. I had given him two requirements for all clothing: tight and tiny. Very simple. Luckily, he had brought his seamstress with him, as most of the dresses were too long for my tastes. I wasn’t some old lady, and my sexy-ass thighs that made men from coast to coast salivate were made to be seen and photographed, so we were definitely not selecting any dresses th
at would cover them up. I hit the Pilates studio at least three times a week, and they were ready for their close-ups.
Admittedly it had been fun playing dress up as I slipped in and out of fabulous party dresses from Dolce & Gabbana, Stella McCartney, Marchesa, and Hervé Léger for the first hour and a half, but I was worn out. I would have loved to take a nap before dinner at Crustacean in Beverly Hills with Shelly Jennings, the reporter from Black Enterprise.
It was only Wednesday, but I was already exhausted. I was up at the crack of dawn yawning with the hair and makeup team by seven and in the chauffeured Lincoln Navigator by eight to head to the first appointments. All day there were interviews, appearances, and branding meetings. I felt like my smile was plastered on my face. But a hustler never sleeps. Just ask Kim Kardashian.
I changed into some denim cutoff shorts and a white tank top, and put my long hair up into a ponytail to get comfortable for a few hours. Walking over to the coffee table in the living room, I pulled a bottle of red wine out of the huge gift basket stuffed with fruits, cheese, crackers, and cookies that Black Enterprise had sent to my suite. I poured myself a glass and went out onto the balcony to enjoy the view. As I leaned my hip up against the railing and took a sip of wine, I could see a red Lamborghini pull up to the valet stand. I wondered if it was Chris Rock or Charlie Sheen, both of whom I had scoped out in the dimly lit lobby earlier as they were taking meetings. As I leaned over the rail to get a closer look at who was getting out of the car, I made a mental note to invite him to the party as well. The driver, a very tall black man dressed in jeans and a white-and-black-striped button-down shirt, got out of the car and took off his sunglasses. It was Kareem. Good, at least his ass was on time.
Now, I’m never the type of chick to get shook. Ever. But given that I hadn’t spoken with Marcus in two weeks and Miki’s comments about delivering him for the show, this meeting tonight with Kareem was even more important. We had to get things ironed out tonight. I don’t know what kind of game he thought he was playing, but I wasn’t about to be the one that got burned. We both had too much skin in the game to walk away now.
“Come on in,” I said, opening the door to my suite a few minutes later. Kareem smiled, but I wanted to smack the grin right off his face. He followed me down the hallway into the living room area of the suite, and I was sure he was enjoying the view of my denim shorts barely skimming the bottom of my golden brown cheeks.
Without speaking or asking, he poured himself a drink from the bottle of wine that I had just opened. As Marcus’s cousin and agent, Kareem Davis certainly made the most out of his role, riding on Marcus’s coattails and pretending to be the loyal, hardworking agent all these years. It had served him well.
I held out my empty wineglass to him so that he could pour me a refill as well. Kareem licked his full lips as his hooded gaze traveled up my smooth bare legs, took in the frayed denim strings from my shorts skimming across the tops of my toned thighs, and went up to my juicy breasts straining against the tight fabric of my thin tank top. I knew he could tell I wasn’t wearing a bra and that excited him. Whatever. He knew it went without saying that he could look at this all he wanted, but there ain’t nothing on this menu for him tonight. This brown sugar kitty kat belongs to his boy now.
Before I sat down, I walked over to close the French doors leading into the bedroom. No need to give him any ideas. That definitely wasn’t jumping off tonight.
“Have a seat, Kareem,” I said, motioning to the beige sofa as I walked over to sit opposite him in one of the brown arm chairs, my long toned legs dangling over the side.
“So you wanted this meeting, Laila. What’s so urgent? What’s on your mind?” Kareem asked as he looked down at his oversize chrome Rolex watch with the diamond face and then downed the contents of the wineglass in one gulp. Classless as always.
“You know what’s on my mind. Marcus. Why hasn’t he been returning my messages or made plans to get together?” I snapped.
“Well, in case you haven’t read in every newspaper in the country or every website, his wife—you do remember that he has a wife, right? Well, Mrs. King was attacked, so you’ll have to excuse Marcus if he can’t attend to your every little need right now.”
“Don’t get cute, Kareem. We both know that Marcus is in love with me and wants a divorce. Just like we planned. And while I’ll certainly admit it isn’t the optimal time to leave his wife right at this moment, once he cuts the strings, the world will accept his decision. Vanessa King will fade into the background where she belongs. He’s too big of a star for the world to turn its back on him.”
“Oh really,” Kareem drawled, his voice dripping with sarcasm.
“Marcus’s personal life is his own. Marcus can do what he wants, and you know it’s in both of our best interests for him to leave her.”
“What I know is that you need to calm the hell down and fall back for a minute. Let the rumors of your affair and Vanessa’s attack die down in the press. And we certainly don’t need it coming up this week at All-Star.”
I hated when he said her name, and that’s probably why he said it, just to mess with me. Forget Vanessa King. One way or another, she was going to be out of the picture. I reached for the bottle of wine and poured myself another glass.
“In case you’ve forgotten, I have my show’s premiere party this weekend, and I need Marcus to make an appearance. My fans and my sponsors, DivaDish and Moët, are expecting a big splash.” Making our debut as a couple on the red carpet would make the paparazzi go wild and cement our relationship in the eyes of the public. Sure it would be a little messy, but we could ride it out. As long as we had each other, nothing else mattered.
“Wait a minute,” Kareem said, leaning forward with a raised eyebrow. “Did you just say that DivaDish is sponsoring your premiere party?”
“Yes, I did,” I huffed. “Along with Moët. Why? Is there a problem?”
Kareem collapsed back against the sofa cushions and looked up at the ceiling.
“You’re just so messy, and you don’t even know it. You really are a dumb bird. The editor in chief of DivaDish, Nia Bullock, is Vanessa King’s best friend!”
While that certainly wasn’t news I was aware of or expecting to hear, I was sure that Miki had that relationship under control.
“Look, Glam Network VP Miki Woods is running this thing from start to finish, so there’s no way Nia is going to cross her and lose her damn job. Miki is not going to let Nia mess with her money or her ratings.”
“Are you crazy?” Kareem asked as he laughed derisively and then took another sip of his wine. “No, seriously, are you out of your mind? You must be bat-shit crazy if you think Marcus is coming to your little premiere party. For God’s sake, you psycho, he and his wife, Vanessa, are hosting their annual Midnight Charity Gala after the All-Star game. There’s absolutely no way he can go to your party Friday night and then show up with his wife on his arm the next night in front of media from around the world, the Gladiators’ front office, and our corporate sponsors. That would be career suicide and would make the LeBron James ESPN announcement debacle look like a hiccup. You have to be patient.”
“Patient? I’ve been more than patient with this bullshit. But All-Star weekend is my official coming-out party, and I need my man on my red carpet. This is not a game.”
As Kareem became more frustrated and animated, I kept my voice low and calm. He had much more to lose than I did.
“Kareem, darling, a deal was made,” I said as I shrugged my shoulders. “A very serious and lucrative deal on several fronts, I might add, and I certainly don’t need to tell you that if things don’t work out, the consequences could be quite dire.”
“We’re going to play this my way,” Kareem snapped. “Don’t get ahead of yourself, Laila. I control Marcus. I’m the reason he’s not contacting you right now, and until I say it’s all clear, he won’t.” He poured him
self another glass of wine, finishing off the bottle.
“And don’t think I won’t call Glam Network and get your little show shut down,” he said, regaining his composure and smirking at me. “All I have to do is threaten to sue on Marcus’s behalf, and your reality TV career is over.”
I chuckled. Kareem had made the terrible mistake of threatening to mess with my money—and my man. He thought he was in control, but thanks to my boy Darryl, he was about to learn I held the cards. The tide had turned, and this punk didn’t even know it.
“Well, it would certainly be a shame if my friends and I were to let Marcus find out the truth behind the car accident so many years ago,” I said as I cocked my chin at Kareem, letting him know two could play at that game but only one could win. “I bet he’d be looking at you in an entirely different way if he knew what really happened that night, now wouldn’t he?”
Checkmate, bitch.
Suddenly Kareem sprang up from the couch like a panther, and before I knew it, he had grabbed my arm and jerked me up from the chair. He pulled me roughly up against his body, my toes dangling over the carpet. His eyes were dark with anger as his face came down close to mine, his hot breath flashing in my face as he spoke with a low, dangerous tone I’d never heard before.
“Let me make myself clear, you trick-ass bitch. You better watch your mouth and watch your step. Your pussy ain’t good enough to get you out of the mess you’re headed toward. Trust me, I know.” He laughed crudely and shoved me back down into the chair.
He leaned in over me, his large powerful arms on either side of the chair blocking my escape.
“Although I wouldn’t mind tasting it one more time.”
He leaned in, laughing with lust in his eyes as he began to snake his lips and slithery wet tongue along my neck while moaning. When one of his arms reached to cup my breasts, I forced myself not to recoil and pretended I was enjoying his rough touch as I leaned into his hand.
Games Divas Play (A Diva Mystery Novel) Page 17