Page 10 of Brown Sugar

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Page 10 of Brown Sugar

Several people in line shout out their protests, complaining to the guys at the front about the fact that we’ve walked right in.

“Ignore them,” Hal says from over his shoulder. “They’re no one important.”

My brows furrow and jaw clenches into a scowl. The first of what’ll probably be many tonight.

This isn’t my world; this isn’t my crowd.

I’m not the guy who gives a fuck about celebrities and the industry. I’m not the schmoozer that wants to be around the rich and famous.

Never have been. Never will be.

I’m the guy that makes people piss themselves. I’m the one who makes a living off being shot at and cracking skulls if necessary.

The glitz and glamour have never been my thing.

Which means being in a cramped club with celebrities means nothing to me.

As we move toward the VIP section, Hal greets several of these celebs like he’s their best friend. He brags all about his celeb connections and how he could call any one of them for a favor. I’m sick of everything from the stifled air in the club to the music that feels loud enough to bust an eardrum.

Regardless of how much it pays, this job isn’t for me. What the fuck am I doing here?

“Tommy, this is TysontheBison,” Hal says, emphasizing my moniker. “He’s the guy I’ve told you about.”

We’ve reached a table where a man in a velvet suit and tie sits sipping bourbon on the rocks, his pinky finger sticking out. The gold ring on it glints in the icy crystalline lighting of the club. He squints up at me like he’s been eclipsed by the sun.

“That’s a big man. You might finally have a good idea, Hal,” he says. Then he holds out his hand for a handshake. “I see why he’s called a bison.”

My hand’s huge like the rest of me. It engulfs his for a crushing handshake.

“So, like I told you earlier, I’m sure you’ve heard of Tommy Tocha. He’s the biggest music manager and exec in the biz,” Hal explains, sliding onto the leather section. He reaches forthe bottle of bourbon to pour himself a glass. “He managestheKiana. Like I said, hot commodity. High value.”

“Highest of value,” agrees Tommy, giving a nod.

I remain silent, my expression stoic. Where Hal expected me to show interest, I’m glaring at both men like they’re pains in my ass.

And they are.

This was a mistake.

“You… you know who Kiana is… right?” Hal sputters. “Tell me you know, Bison.”

He fumbles with his phone and quickly pulls up YouTube. A video loads on the screen before he shoves the phone toward me.

It’s a music video for Kiana’s single called “Paradise”.

Right away it opens to a tropical beach with the sun setting as the backdrop. A slim, curvy woman clad in a barely-there bikini struts toward the camera, and then, as the music begins, she starts singing and swaying her hips.

There’s no denying she’s attractive. Skin a deep, smooth brown and hair a big cloud of tight curls. Eyes almond-shaped and mysterious. Lips full and natural.

Allof her is natural.

That much is clear from the stripped-down styling to the tropical location.

The girl’s got talent in more ways than one.

The hypnotic sway of her hips takes my mind to dirtier places. I force my gaze from Hal’s phone screen back up to his grinning face.

He wiggles his eyebrows. “Well? Isn’t she something? Every woman wants to be her. Every man wants to bewithher.”


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