Wesley was standing in the center of the elevated stage pointing at the lights overhead. Lighting was key to every performance and he wasn’t happy with the current luminosity. He was certain a change in the bulbs would solve the issue and he wanted to make it happen before the corporate franchisor showed up. The contractor was adjusting the last unit when Wesley spied Kamaya and Paxton entering the space.
His eyes widened as the stunning young woman moved in his direction. She was long and lean, with legs that seemed to go on for days. She wore black suede boots that stopped thigh high and a black leather skirt that stopped at her knees and zipped up the front. The zipper was open just high enough to allow a hint of thigh to show. Her sweater was black and long sleeved with a scooped neckline that showed off a hint of cleavage. With her hair loose, falling to her shoulders in soft, wavy curls and the barest hint of makeup on her face, she was gorgeous.
The fluidity of her movements was stealth-like, her eyes darted back and forth like a cheetah assessing prey. She’d gauged the space, the staff and him in one easy sweep around the room. From the expression on her face he sensed that she wasn’t unhappy; just the barest hint of a smile pulled at her mouth and teased the gleam in her eyes. Everything about the woman was commanding, drawing the attention of every man in the room.
Stepping off the platform Wesley extended his hand in greeting. “Hello! I’m Wesley Walters.”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Walters. I’m Kamaya Boudreaux,” she said, as she noted the warmth of his hand, the slightly calloused palm and the firmness of his grip. He met the look she was giving him with one of his own, his eyes skating across her face, and as their gazes connected heat erupted from deep in her abdomen. She took a step back, her eyes shifting far from his as her partner stepped up to greet the man.
Paxton shook Wesley’s hand, the two men bumping shoulders in a gesture of familiarity. “It’s good to see you again, Wes!”
“Paxton, how’ve you been?”
“I’m very good. And we’re very excited to be working with you.”
Wesley nodded, shooting Kamaya another look. “So, Ms. Boudreaux, how long have you owned...”
“I don’t,” she said, interrupting the question she felt coming. “We just represent the owner’s interests. We work for The Michelle Initiative,” she said, the little white lie spilling easily past her lips as her stare gestured toward Paxton.
“Oh, my apologies. I misunderstood.” Wesley nodded. “Well, why don’t we take this conversation to my office,” he said.
“Why don’t you give us a tour and update us with the status of your renovations,” Kamaya ordered. Her tone was brusque and all business. She turned and moved toward the bar area, her gaze still dancing from pillar to post.
The two men cut their eyes at each other. Paxton shrugged “I report to her,” he muttered under his breath.
Wesley nodded in understanding as he turned to follow the beautiful woman. “Structurally, we’re done with the renovations. There are some minor issues with the tile in the women’s restrooms that need to be addressed and I’m assured that they’ll be resolved before end of business today. We are on schedule for our last inspection tomorrow and I anticipate we’ll have our certificate of occupancy immediately after.
“Tables and chairs will be delivered later this week and the bar will be in place this weekend. The sound system and kitchen are all up and ready, and the interior designer will be here on Monday to add the final decorative touches to all of our guest spaces. We have a team of sixteen dancers who are ready to go at a moment’s notice and our waitstaff will have three days of orientation training early next week. We are on schedule to open doors next month to a by-invitation-only crowd, and I’m confident that we will open to much success.” He took a breath and then he continued.
“All the plans are detailed with respect to the decor and staffing if you’d like to review them. I’ve also printed out the budget and my preliminary forecasts. The numbers are good. They’re even better than what I projected in my initial business plan.”
Kamaya gave him a slight nod of her head. “It sounds like you have everything under control, Mr. Walters.”
“Please, call me Wesley or Wes. Mr. Walters is my father.”
Kamaya smiled. His thick Southern accent was deep and rich, only lacking the soundtrack to make his words as sultry as country crooner Chris Young’s love songs.
The two were suddenly interrupted as Bryan Lackey moved between them. “Hey there, sorry to interrupt,” he said, his grin canyon wide, “but the guys are ready when you are, boss man.”
Wesley smiled. “Kamaya Boudreaux, Bryan Lackey. Bryan, Ms. Boudreaux is a member of the franchise team. She’s here checking that we’re ready to go next month.”
Bryan nodded. “It’s a pleasure. And I think we’re definitely good to go. I’d love to show you our best.”
“Bryan is our lead choreographer as well as my club manager.”
Kamaya cut her eyes back and forth between the two men. “Then I’d love to see your best,” she said, crossing her arms over her chest.
Bryan looked to Wesley for his approval, and then, with a nod of his head, he moved toward the stage, gesturing for the dance team to follow.
“Would you like a seat?” Wesley asked. “I can have a chair brought out from my office for you.”
Kamaya shook her head as she shifted her weight from one hip to the other. “That’s not necessary. But I appreciate the offer.”
Wesley stared at her for a brief moment and then he gestured, pointing an index finger toward the stage.
Music suddenly echoed from every corner of the room. The acoustics were great, clearly demonstrating that some serious attention had been given to the sound system. Kamaya nodded her approval as she suddenly felt her whole body begin to sway with the beat. She didn’t know the song but it had a lush, sexy vibe and she knew a female audience would instantly be engaged. And then the dance team strutted onto the stage.
Kamaya felt her heart skip a beat and then two. She took a step forward as if moving closer would give her a better view when she had the best line of sight in the house, nothing obscuring the stage. The next ten minutes, with three song changes, left Kamaya sweating, perspiration puddling in her creases and crevices as if someone had turned on an inner water faucet and left the water running.
There were twelve men on stage, each one a sight to behold. They all had bodies that were solid steel beneath baby smooth skin, six-pack abs and male model looks. They were a rainbow of hues from the darkest chocolate to the warmest vanilla. They were Black, Caucasian, Latino, Asian and a multitude of mixed races that had them looking like a United Nation’s contingent.
When they were all standing in matching blue and green Speedos, hips and legs moving in near perfect sync as they gyrated to the deep, ravishing beat of the Black Eyed Peas’ “Boom Boom Pow,” an actual smile appeared on Kamaya’s face.
Paxton leaned over her shoulder and whispered in her ear. “Down, girl!”
“Boy, bye!” Kamaya chuckled. She shot Wesley a look, the man still staring at her. “Very impressive. You should all be very proud.”
Wesley grinned. “Thank you. We are. Would you like to see an individual routine? Any of the guys would be willing to perform.”
“That’s not necessary,” she said, shaking herself out of the reverie she’d fallen into. “I would like to know how you plan to keep things from becoming too raunchy, in order to establish an upscale image. We do want to maintain a semblance of decorum.”
“None of the dancers will ever expose himself. They will go down to an approved G-string and some penis socks on the main stage, but definitely no full nudity. The costumes are