“Len tells me you’re trying to close the door.”
He nodded. “Our capacity is borderline. I can’t have the fire marshal on my ass.”
“Just let Len pass through twenty more people.”
“Twenty people? Are you kidding me? Thanks to that group you just brought in, I’m likely over capacity now.”
“Allow my guests entrance when they arrive. Trust me, Craig, their presence will ensure the club gets a mention in The Post.”
“Okay, okay,” he said with a groan. “Len can let them in, and then the door closes.”
“You’re wonderful, Craig.”
“Yeah, yeah.” His eyes suddenly brightened with interest. “Hey didn’t you go to the Marc Jacobs party last night?”
Thandie stiffened. “Yes, why?”
“I heard it got pretty wild. Did you see anything?”
“No,” she said immediately. “Nothing out of the norm.”
Craig shrugged. “Figures. I finally score an invite, and I can’t go because I’m working.” His beady eyes scanned her body. “You know, Thandie, you should really consider being my woman.”
She folded her arms across her chest, and gave him her best no-nonsense expression.
“I was just kidding,” he weakly.
* * *
Thandie placed a hand on her hip and said, “If you want a picture with Ruark, let’s get it over with. I want to wash my hands of him as soon as possible.”
“That doesn’t sound like a team player to me.”
“Get the camera, Craig.”
They made their way back to the VIP area, where Ruarke was making a scene popping the cork off a bottle of champagne. After easing their way through a throng of curious onlookers, Thandie quickly made introductions. Ruarke smiled pleasantly, but when Craig asked for a picture, the actor tossed his head back and laughed.
“Dude, I’m not taking pictures with another guy. I’m not gay.” He pulled Thandie to his side. “I’ll take a picture with Tammie here instead.”
Craig’s disappointment was evident, but he eagerly agreed to take the photo. Just as Thandie had expected, Ruark used the photo opportunity to hold her unnecessarily close, even going as far as to kiss her on the mouth on one of the takes.
It was going to be a very long night.
* * *
By the time Thandie got home, she felt as though she had been mauled. It was four o’clock in the morning when she unlocked the door to her loft apartment door. The lower level of her home doubled as her office, and the upper served as her personal living quarters.
She had come a long way in her career. Before starting her own firm, she’d worked five years with Gage Ali. Gage was the director of public relations for one of New York’s top fashion houses.
The years assisting Gage had been the most informative of her life. She’d met more celebrities than she ever dreamed possible and established many business contacts. Although demanding at times, Gage had been a thorough instructor. She had a strategy for every situation. Promoting Manhattan nightclubs was a far cry from managing press releases for a fashion company, but many of the same rules applied. One, keep your cool. Two, take control. And three, keep your cool. Due to her discipline, Thandie had rose quickly in her field. There was not a VIP lounge in the City she could not gain access to, and earn a generous commission while doing it.
Thandie was thankful to Gage for guidance and found herself calling her mentor for advice when she faced an emergency. Gage always had the right answer. Gage had introduced her to just about everyone worth knowing, including her ex-boyfriend, Cam Stewart.
Cam. It hurt every time she thought of him.
They hadn’t spoken since she’d woken in his bed the previous morning. Thandie did not like to idea of him being upset with her, but it was probably best this way. Better they go their separate ways once and for all, instead of prolonging the inevitable.
She climbed the steps leading to her bedroom. One of the girls had left a note on her pillow, a reminder of her massage appointment at ten. Thandie looked at her watch and groaned. Her appointment allowed her only five hours of sleep. She would love to reschedule, but her masseur was hard to book.
Thandie eased into bed, fully clothed. She could smell cigarette smoke in her hair. She yearned to take a shower but was too tired. When she’d dropped Ruark Randall and his friends off at their hotel, Ruark had invited her up to his room to do ecstasy. She had to refuse five times before he got the point. She swore if she never saw the man again, it would be too soon. If she had the energy, she would vent her frustrations aloud, but in the grand scheme of things it didn’t really matter. In spite of for her frustration and weariness, Thandie loved her job. The satisfaction of hosting a successful event far outweighed the aggravation of babysitting spoiled A-listers. Besides, tomorrow night would involve another celebrity with a different story.
Miami, Florida
Elliot Richards slid his hands into the pockets of his slacks. He looked out over the crowded dance floor below. There, beautiful people swayed to loud techno music. Club Babylon was very much alive tonight. Babylon was his jewel, his mistress, his one true love. And his greatest accomplishment. What had begun as a thought was now reality. He’d spent years cultivating the idea, observing the industry, and building his knowledge. He was the man behind Club Babylon, the chic, multilevel dance club whose fame was growing by the minute.
Elliot owned a string of businesses throughout Miami, but Babylon was his obesssion. He was heavily involved in all interactions. He managed a team of fifty workers, comprised mostly of dancers, bartenders and cleaning crews. It was a large undertaking. Mercifully, he did not do it alone. His management staff was the best in the business. He was fortunate to have them, however, very little was done without his approval. Elliot was known for his innovative marketing strategies and extensive knowledge of the industry. That being the case, his staff rarely moved on anything without his say-so. Between the operation of Babylon and his other enterprises, Elliot barely had enough time to sleep. But this was the life he had chosen. Even on the worst of days, he couldn’t think of anything else he’d rather be doing.
Elliot checked his watch. In another hour, he would be expected to make his rounds, offering complementary drinks to VIP members and hugging beautiful, tanned women. It was his job. As the owner, he was obligated to work the crowd. If there was one thing that made Miami different from other party cities, it was its well-connected night scene. Everyone on the strip wanted to say they knew someone important. It seemed to work out that a majority of the people who walked into Club Babylon claimed they were close friends with Elliot, and thus demanded star treatment. His staff had their hands full, catering to the wave of celebutantes who flooded his VIP lounges. Managing a thriving business required long nights and countless favors.
However, there were advantages to being Elliot Richards. He’d been blessed with physical attributes most men could only dream of possessing. Elliot was tall, lean and handsome. His chiseled features were softened by an unusual combination of thick black hair and clear silver eyes.
And Elliot had one more thing working in his favor—he was wealthy. A series of smart business investments made early in his career had paid off, and he now had a vast fortune. Because of his good looks and money, Elliot never had trouble attracting attention from members of the opposite sex.
“Elliot, are you listening?”
Elliot turned to his management team: Adam Parr, Markie Duran, Rex Barrington, Eddie Bloom and Tom Comber. They were all looking at him expectantly.
“Yes, I heard you, Rex,” Elliot said in his low, untroubled voice. He moved to face his director of marketing. “I agree. We need