A Malibu Kind Of Romance. Synithia Williams

       Chapter 1

      Dante Wilson stared at the supermodel twins dancing together at his post-concert party in Vegas and had one thought: he loved his life! What wasn’t there to love? He was one of the world’s bestselling artists, his family ran a music dynasty, he’d finished a sold-out world tour and he was pretty sure he’d be going home with one or both of the twins. He leaned back against the plush leather sofa, took a sip of the champagne in his hand and grinned.

      The Vegas strip was a colorful backdrop outside the window of the penthouse suite, which was filled with celebrities, their entourages and musicians—all there to help him celebrate. The guy to Dante’s right, basketball star Jacobe Jenkins, pulled his long designer-jean-clad legs in and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “I know what you’re thinking.”

      Dante shifted in his seat. He’d lost his dress shirt earlier while dancing, and wore only a white T-shirt and black slacks. “If you’re assuming my thoughts have something to do with the twins, then you’re right.”

      Jacobe chuckled. “I should have bet money on that. You go through more women than any other guy I know. And I’m surrounded by professional basketball players all day.”

      “Perks of the job,” Dante said. “But after tonight I’m slowing down with the female distractions. Tonight’s about releasing some steam after the tour before getting back into the studio. Though I love partying, I’m going to have to do less of this for a while.” He waved his hand to indicate the energetic crowd.

      “Damn, Dante,” Jacobe said, once again stretching out his legs. “You just got back in the country, and you’re going back to the studio.”

      “To stay on top of my game, I can never really take a break. Plus, I’m excited to get back to Malibu and get to work on the music I want to do.”

      Jacobe raised a brow. “That classical stuff?”

      Dante shook his head. “It’s not classical stuff. It’s a fusion of hip-hop, jazz and rock with classical influence. Wait until you hear it—you’ll dig it.”

      Jacobe gave Dante a skeptical look before he turned to watch one of the many beauties at the party walking by. Jacobe’s skepticism didn’t deter Dante’s confidence in his next move. Not much anyway. Dante had built a solid career using the Wilson family legacy and his own talent. He could sing, play several different instruments and dance. After seventeen years doing the music his family and their label wanted him to do, Dante was ready to do his own thing.

      Not that he regretted seventeen years of pop stardom. Show business was in his family’s blood—starting with his great-grandfather, who’d performed on the Chitlin’ Circuit in the 1950s, to his grandfather, who’d started his own record label in the 1970s. Then to Dante’s father, who with a smooth baritone singing voice, hit songs and a shrewd business sense, turned that label into one of the country’s most successful. The biggest names in music signed with W. M. Records.

      Dante was fiercely proud of his family’s legacy. But pride didn’t diminish a growing frustration with the pressure to keep doing the same type of music that everyone else was doing.

      “Are you sure the music you’re doing will be successful?” Jacobe asked.

      Dante shrugged. “I can’t say one hundred percent, but I know there’s an audience. The group I’m working with, Strings A Flame, they’ve got a following. If I sign them to W. M. Records and record an album with them, then that’s all it’ll take.”

      “You’re pretty confident in your pull,” Jacobe said, turning away from the woman he’d been watching.

      “I’ve been around for nearly twenty years. I’m allowed to be confident in my staying power. I know the market isn’t as big—that’s why I’m opening a nightclub. I’ll debut the music there, see how the fans react, then go from there.”

      “You’ve got it all planned out.”

      “Always,” he said with a confidence that he couldn’t allow to waiver. The only hitch in his perfect plan was his dad. Otis Wilson wanted hip-hop and R&B right now, the more commercial the better. He’d originally brushed off Dante’s plans to sign S.A.F. and hadn’t shown any interest in backing an album. He needed the nightclub to be successful to convince his dad otherwise.

      Jacobe looked at Dante. “What do you know about opening a nightclub?”

      “Nothing. I’m partnering with Raymond, but we may still need someone to come in and handle the day-to-day.” Dante pointed to Raymond, who was walking over to where he and Jacobe were sitting.

      Raymond was an up-and-coming star in the R&B world with two hit albums in the past five years. He had enough popularity to make some people think Raymond’s future in the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame was set, but Dante had seen enough artists crash and burn to know two hit albums didn’t mean a thing. However, the kid was smart and had invested his money in other ventures outside the entertainment industry, including a nightclub called Masquerade in Atlanta that he and another rapper opened a few years ago. It was now the hottest spot in the city. When Raymond mentioned opening a place on the West Coast, Dante immediately brought up his idea. Raymond had agreed after listening to some of the music Dante and S.A.F. had put together.

      “Dante,” Raymond said with a grin on his face. He held out his hand and gave Dante a fist bump before doing the same with Jacobe.

      “This party is where it’s at,” Raymond said.

      “I told you the best way to celebrate the end of a tour is with a party in Vegas,” Dante said as he and Raymond slapped hands again.

      The song changed, and the same twin models who’d had Dante’s attention before gyrated to the music. Dante sipped the champagne in his hand and grinned at the women, who both blew kisses his way.

      “Most definitely the way to end a tour,” Raymond said, grinning. “Did you tell Jacobe about our plans for the club?”

      “I was just telling him about that.”

      Raymond nodded and grinned. “It’s going to be hot, right?”

      Jacobe lifted his chin in agreement. “Nothing Dante has done thus far has failed. I don’t see why this would. Even though I’m still trying to imagine the music. I keep imagining symphonies with rapping when I think about it.”

      “I’ll send you one of our songs. That’ll help,” Dante said, still not bothered. Jacobe was a die-hard classic hip-hop fan, and he had a hard time with any other variation in the genre.

      Dante looked at Raymond. “It wouldn’t hurt to find another partner