King's Passion. Adrianne Byrd
with mild amusement.
The brothers stood on the side of the staircase so that Azizi and the goat could climb up. Right behind her were a dozen dwarfish women, no more than three and a half feet tall, dressed in two-piece black cat costumes with furry ears.
The look on Jeremy’s face was priceless. “What kind of freaks are you hosting tonight?”
“The kind whose credit card is approved when I swipe it,” Eamon laughed while he threaded his way through the thick Saturday-night crowd. He could literally hear the ca-ching of the cash registers as he watched the army of bartenders, waitresses and dancers scurry about.
The success of The Dollhouse defied the odds and baffled all their competitors—not only in Atlanta, but also in Las Vegas and Los Angeles. But the Kings believed, as their father had always taught them, that the fundamentals were what made success: vision, integrity, talent and communication. After that was location, location, location—marketing, marketing, marketing—and cash, cash, cash.
That last part—the money—was particularly hard. When Xavier and Jeremy first approached Eamon about expanding their small adult nightclub and laid out an impressive business plan, he was skeptical. The normal movers and shakers who did what his brothers were suggesting usually came from old money. They argued about it for so long that he finally tossed up his hands and told his brothers that if they could find the money to finance their grand fantasy, then he would go along.
He should have never underestimated Xavier and Jeremy. They could sell condoms to a nun if they set their minds to it. In this scenario, Eamon was the nun.
Unfortunately, their new financier came straight from another branch of the family tree, the branch that Eamon didn’t particularly care for—the Hintons.
Correction. He actually didn’t mind Jonas and Sterling so much. They were solid, hardworking men who didn’t put on airs or walk around like they were better than everyone else. However, his Uncle Roger and his cousin Quentin were his least favorite and for different reasons.
Uncle Roger, billionaire extraordinaire, tended to walk around, thinking that everyone had a price tag on them. There was no deal too dirty and no trickery or underhanded tactic that was beneath him. In fact, the only time that Eamon had ever felt a little sorry for his cousin Quentin was when his uncle bribed him into marrying some business associate’s daughter so he could better position himself on the company’s board. It was no shock that Quentin took the money. After all he’d been cut off financially by his father in a feeble attempt to force him to grow up and support himself. But Q was accustomed to a certain lifestyle, and he was immune to the whole notion of actually working. So after about a year of roaming from one sugar momma to the next, he jumped at his father’s offer.
It came as no surprise that the marriage didn’t last, but Q reclaimed his inheritance. So when Xavier approached him with his business proposal, a deal was struck. The Kings and one Hinton became business partners provided that Quentin Hinton remained a silent partner.
“Hello, Eamon,” a feminine voice floated in between the music.
He stopped and looked down just as a woman’s slim hand slid up his broad chest. When he shifted his gaze to the hand’s owner, he was pleasantly surprised to see Charelle. His lips stretched wider at the short, red number she had on. It showed off her long, lean and toned physique to perfection. “Hello, Charelle.”
“Ah. So you do remember me?” She moved closer and pressed her small curves against him. “You know, six months is a long time not to hear from someone.”
He laughed while his gaze dragged down her body. “If I remember correctly, you were the one who left town.”
Charelle’s cherry-red lips curled higher. “Silly man, you were supposed to chase after me.” Her hands and arms looped around his neck. “Don’t you know when a woman is playing hard to get?”
Behind him, Xavier and Jeremy chuckled. “Actually, I do,” Eamon said, reaching behind his neck and, gently but firmly, pulling her arms down. “And like I told you before, I don’t like playing games.”
Charelle moaned and pushed out her bottom lip. “Then don’t think of it as a game. Think of it like a dance.”
“Oh. A dance, huh?” He playfully rolled his eyes.
“What?” She pushed on one of his bulging biceps and flashed her pearly whites up at him. “You’re a man who owns a strip club. Don’t tell me you that you don’t like dancing.”
Xavier cut in. “Actually, it’s a gentlemen’s club.”
Charelle’s gaze shifted to the brothers. “Sorry. I didn’t know that I was interrupting a family reunion. Hello, boys.”
They quickly said their hellos.
“Then you won’t mind excusing us.” He started to move away.
“So we’ll finish this dance later?” she asked, rocking her hips to entice him with what could be waiting for him when he was through.
It wasn’t enough. “No. I’m sorry,” he said, shaking his head and stepping away. “When I dance, I like to lead.”
Charelle’s face fell while Xavier and Jeremy sucked in a quick breath as if Eamon had delivered a body blow. He should have known better than to do this in front of them. They had a tendency to be juvenile.
“You’re welcome to stay. Just tell the bartender I said that the drinks are on the house tonight.” He stepped around her and then threaded through the crowd when she grabbed him by his trim waist.
“Is that it?”
“Did you need anything else?” he asked benignly.
“Hey, Eamon.” A woman walked behind him and gave his firm butt a good squeeze.
He turned his head in time to see Hayley, one of his waitresses, sashay away. “Hey, I require dinner and a few drinks before I allow a woman to have her way with me.” He laughed.
“I’ll keep that in mind,” Hayley teased and continued to navigate her way through the crowd with her tray of drinks.
Laughing, Eamon turned back toward Charelle whose face was twisted in annoyance.
“Well, no wonder you’ve been M.I.A., you’ve already moved on to the next trick.”
Unfazed and, quite frankly, bored by Charelle’s penchant for drama, Eamon folded his arms. “You do realize that you just called yourself a trick, right?”
“No. I’m calling you a flea-infested, roaming dog.”
“Then you were smart to leave me when you did,” he agreed. No matter what she said, he was not going to indulge her by fighting. What was the point? Hayley meant nothing to him. It was harmless flirtation between good friends and not out of the ordinary for colleagues who worked in their type of establishment. “It was good seeing you again, Charelle.”
Making a clean break this time, Eamon finally maneuvered the rest of the way through the club to his private sanctuary: the office. “Shut the door behind you,” he instructed and then opted for the leather couch instead of the executive chair behind his desk.
“Yes, boss. Right away, boss,” Jeremy joked before closing the door behind him. In doing so, he lowered the volume at least fifty percent from the loud music bumping in the club.
“All right,” Eamon said, stretching back on the couch and kicking up his feet. “Lay it on me. What’s so important that it takes both of you to fly in to talk to me?”
His younger brothers looked at each other again as if waging a silent battle as to which one of them should drop the bomb.
“You guys are really trying my patience,” he warned. “Spill it.”
Xavier sucked in a deep breath. “It’s Quentin.”
Dropping his head back, Eamon groaned.