This commission was no different. He started with the file from RSE, but from this moment forward it would be all first hand knowledge.
Imani stepped from out of the backroom and leaned over pecking Adrianna on the cheek. Today her hair was pulled up into a ballerina bun showing her perfect oval face exposing her elegant neck in a button up black dress shirt that complimented the golden brown hue of her flawless skin.
His pulse quickened, dropping his gaze to his hands pushing papers from one side of the table to the other. It had been months since he entertained a woman. His plans to invite Nicole to a no strings attached dinner while in Atlanta were thwarted because he couldn't seem to keep Imani's sexy pout from crossing his mind at the most inopportune times.
Talking with his parents. Conducting a meeting. Touring property. It was the damnedest thing. He glanced back over as she talked with a couple sitting a few tables over.
"Her name is Imani."
He nodded not taking his eyes off her as Adrianna sat the round paper coasters on the table with a cup of steaming hot coffee and iced water, leaving as quick as she appeared.
Damian had to close the deal and stop wondering if her mouth was as sweet as it appeared. He had a little over a month before he had to return to Atlanta. He sipped his black coffee and pondered the best offer to make Imani move out of the building without unwanted publicity. And get out of town before he did something insane like seducing her on the tabletop.
"Stop staring at the man and say something?"
Imani found working with Adrianna at the bar worse than working at the studio. At least at the studio she could pull rank and kick her out the office.
"What man?" She let out a long audible breath.
"The man that has you spilling drinks and stepping on my toes."
“Ouch!” She stomped on Imani’s foot and wiggled out of reach.
Imani had been preoccupied with trying to see the features of his face. The booth he selected was tucked away off to the side. The overhead lights barely illuminated the tabletop. It was the table repeat customers chose when they wanted to partake of the live music and robust menu and have privacy.
It was public yet private. So private they'd witnessed more than one heated exchange going on in that booth over the length of her employment. It wasn't called the make-out booth for nothing.
Imani stole glances at him for most of the afternoon. She could see the top of his arm covered in a white dress shirt and the swirled tattoo on his forearm. That must be his girlfriend. She reasoned as the olive-skinned brunette took her sit across from him.
"You think that's his girlfriend?" Imani whispered. Adrianna topped off the customer's soft drink and walked over to stand beside her.
"If she's not, she wanna be." She dried her hands on her apron.
Imani faced her, "What makes you say that?"
"That man is a sexual magnet, paid with a Titanium Card, and his eyes," she shook her head and raised her hand in the truth, "panty droppers."
"For real?" Imani hissed. The forced air behind panty made curiosity dance through her veins.
"For. Real." She glanced over at the table as if validating her statement. Her face twisting in agony and she nodded.
Imani glanced back over there. The last thing she needed was to stare into his panty-dropper eyes. She wanted to ask Adrianna more but a warning voice in her head told her to leave it alone.
There was no room in her life for men. Life was hectic enough without adding sexy, magnetic, panty-dropping men to the equation and her panties needed to stay in place. The last man she'd given her heart passed her up for a bigger fish and left her without so much as a blink of an eye. Her time was better spent trying to find another job.
"Have you heard from your landlord?"
"I got a letter about a new owner. But they didn't mention the balance and I didn't either. I sent what I could, hoping it will hold me over."
$1250 a month times six months left her owing the new landlord at least $7,500. It might as well have been a cool million because she didn't have a hundred dollars to her name. She hated owing people.
She was ashamed to admit what she sent barely covered the late fees but she still had to pay the utilities at the studio on top of her own household expenses.
"How long you think that's going to last? You can't keep doing this to yourself. This dance studio is like a leech draining you dry."
“Why would you say that? What’s wrong with giving my students culture?” Imani stiffened at her harsh analogy.
"Ain't nobody got time for that!" She turned to Imani tossing a towel in the sink. "Culture won't feed you and pay your bills."
Tears stung her eyes. But she didn't have time to cry or feel sorry for herself. She needed a plan.
"Is he cute?" It was better to talk about the panty dropper than her landlord.
It was Adrianna's turn to shrug, "He's alright for a white boy. You know I like my papi chulo sun kissed, bilingual, and Spanish in his blood. Can't have my momma passing out on me."
"Indeed, your mom would pass out if you brought anything but a Hispanic man home." Imani laughed.
"That's why I keep my business my business." She tossed her blonde hair and headed to the other end of the bar to check on a customer.
Adrianna talked a good game but she had a man. Her traditional ways went to her core from cooking authentic Mexican food to Salsa dancing every Thursday night. Imani looked back at his exposed skin, it didn't look white but not brown either. More like a warm beige. His head turned in her direction and she felt trapped. Unable to look away, but unable to see his face either.
The young lady returned to the table and Imani spun around, facing the mirrored wall behind the bar. She glanced up into the reflection and watched him lean forward. The light caught his profile with his thick wavy dark brown hair. He smiled up at his companion.
Imani's stomach clinched. He had a deep dimple.
She watched the young lady leave the table carrying her purse and shoulder bag. They must be done for the afternoon. She wanted to see this mystery man for herself.
She couldn't just stroll over, that would look too suspicious. Imani started a fresh pot of coffee and placed a clean mug on the bar, she'd offer him a cup of coffee. While the coffee dripped at a snail's pace she cleaned her area, swept the floor and went to the back to get clean glasses. She normally had to run out at four o'clock on the dot to get to the studio but it was Saturday.
"Hey, can you help me next week? I need help at the studio. The kids are out for Thanksgiving.”
“I can’t. Sebastian is taking me to meet his parents. Sorry.” Adrianna grabbed the tray of food and headed in the opposite direction.
"I'll figure something out." That seemed to be her motto. Imani put the broom and dustpan back in its spot and rubbed her hands down the front of her apron. She'd been working doubles all month. Opening and closing. Today she would work straight through closing.
Holidays were hard for her. Her students were out of school and to accommodate their schedules she remained open all day. Her attendance increased by at least half. Some days it felt like money would solve everything. She could pay the rent, hire staff, and breathe a little easier. She glanced over at the coffeemaker just as the last few drops fell in the pot. Imani poured coffee into the mug as Adrianna returned.
"Where are you going?" Adrianna’s face held a knowing smile.
Imani tilted her head towards his table. "Then break. I need some fresh air."
"How long do you expect to keep juggling everything?" The concern in her voice stopped Imani, Adrianna shook her head obviously not pleased.
"As long as I need to. First Thanksgiving. Then I'll sit down and think of something more concrete. I'm taking it one day, one event at a time. And don't worry so much."
"I would if you worried at least a little." Adrianna huffed.
Imani smiled and kissed her best friend's cheek glad to have someone concerned for her. She circled the
bar and grabbed the warm handle of the cup, taking measured steps careful not to shake the cup too much.
Why was she tempting herself? The magnetic pull she felt from across the room radiated to full blast with each step.
"Should we start charging you rent?" Imani lowered the mug to the table focused on not spilling the hot liquid. The warm tone of his laugh made her heart race, glancing up she laid eyes on the man of the hour.
She was in trouble.
3
"Now, that you totally dispelled my fascination with southern hospitality." Damian joked. Her playful gaze soothed the tension of sitting in the booth for most of the day. He'd sat in same spot since noon and had one too many drinks. The coffee was welcomed.
"Well, I wouldn't want to ruin it for you." She shook her head and little ringlets near her ears swayed. Her eyes searched his and he wondered what she saw. He took the liberty to do the same. His gaze started at her honey brown eyes and traveled south along her curves. She wasn't a slim woman but thick with an hourglass figure. He usually dated tall slender women but something about her made him imagine gripping her hips in his hands and pulling her body next with his.
He eavesdropped on the conversation she had with Adrianna. And with each baby step she took in his direction Damian felt his temperature rise. Part of him hoped she croaked like a toad or her voice was an annoying squeak—anything to make her less appealing. But hearing the warm tone of her voice for most of the day only made matters worse. Her voice was like warm maple syrup on hot pancakes. Sweet.
He had no business wanting Imani, nor would it stop him from evicting her quietly from his building. Then a plan came to mind.
"Please have a seat."
Imani hesitated and lowered down to sit in front of him. His mind flooded with questions. He wanted to learn everything her file was missing. Did she have a man? Did she have a family? Why did she love dancing? What was it that made her risk staying in a building illegally? And he wanted to pinpoint, not for RSE, but for himself why this insatiable desire for her was intensifying.
Minutes passed and he had a feeling they could stare at each other all night. He needed answers.
"Damian Hughes."
"Imani Wright." Her sultry voice crawled beneath his skin and stimulated every nerve in his body.
"Imani. A beautiful name for a beautiful woman."
"Thank you."
The soft fragrance of her perfume made him wish they were not in a dark and crowded bar but somewhere alone. He extended a hand across the table, she accepted, curling her fingers around his. He felt as if an electric current passed between them.
Her honey colored eyes flashed to their connected hands. She felt the current too.
What is it about this woman?
Damian wasn't the type of man to give in to every physical desire, business was always first. He had planned to sit for a few hours but somehow he breezed through his meetings with the contractors. Eliana, an assistant from RSE, managed to book them all today. She'd lined up the appointments, swooped in and delivered the list of specifications he needed for building the compound in Houston to Bruce's requirements.
Now, he had the rest of the weekend off, he'd even considered flying back to Atlanta for Thanksgiving. All he had left to do was swing by and view the property and Harmony Dance for himself.
He was done for the week. Putting RSE aside he focused on Imani.
"What do you do Damian? You've been in this booth all day." Slipping her hands from his and pulling them beneath the table.
"You noticed?"
"Maybe." She blushed. That pleased him.
"I'm a licensed attorney and real estate developer. And I noticed you too."
She dropped her head and shifted on the bench, breaking her hold on him. "And you must be from out of town."
"What gave you that impression?" He leaned into the table enjoying the sweet scent of her perfume.
"You've been in a gloomy bar working instead of enjoying our great city."
"That is true. I hope to see some sights tomorrow. But today was all work." He moved his work aside, thankful he stored her file in his briefcase. He didn't think he'd have the real thing sitting at his table so soon. "What about you? Do you bartend full time?"
"No, I'm a dancer."
"Jazz, hip hop, ballet, contemporary..."
"All."
"I'm impressed." He draped his arm across the back of the booth.
"But you don't know if I'm any good." She teased.
Yes he did, her walk told it all. "Well are you? Any good?"
"The best."
"I see." Her answer pleased him more than the sexy smile curving the corner of her full mouth. "You are a dancer who bartends. Why Houston instead of New York or LA? It seems like you wouldn't find many opportunities here."
"I went away for a few years. Toured with a few artists. But once I'd circled the globe I realized that wasn't the life I wanted. I was tired of the travel, sleeping in hotels, living from a tour bus. I missed home."
"I can relate." She'd described his feelings minus her sentiments about a tour bus. He traveled by private plane but even that got old after a while. But he didn't have a place to call home. Maybe signing up with RSE would change that. "Now that you're home, do you still dance?"
"Not really. I teach."
"Tell me about it."
Imani's face brightened. "I have about forty students. My studio is not far from here, called Harmony Dance. I teach it all but hip hop seems to keep their interested."
"That must be different to go from traveling the world to teaching."
"I guess." She leaned back. "The teaching isn't too different, I choreographed over the years. I find handling the non-dancing stuff where I'm experiencing the steepest learning curve."
"How so?"
She shrugged. “A normal day should consist of teaching a few eight counts. But I spend my days keeping my kids in the studio instead of running the streets. Just the other day one of my students was attacked in my parking lot." Her eyes glisten with unshed tears. "My friends think I'm naive for believing hip hop can save them. But if I succeed in saving one, I’ll keep doing it."
"What would you change?" That was new information for him. He'd file it away.
She sat back. "Goodness...I could give a list of things."
"You have a captive audience." He took a drink of the now cool coffee loving the way her face bunched to the side as she thought about his questions.
"I'd get a new facility with at least three classrooms to teach by age group. Someone else to handle the office tasks. I'd have buses to pick the kids up from school instead of walking through the tougher areas to get to me. I’d offer plenty of scholarships for tuition maybe even branch out and provide after-school programs on school campuses."
He nodded, she was full of ideas. And not what he expected at all. "What's stopping you?"
Her face dropped. "It seems like I take two steps forwards and one hundred steps back." She glanced at her watch. "I gotta get back to work."
"They are very fortunate to have such a committed instructor."
"No, I'm the lucky one." She brushed away a tear and plastered a smile on her face. It was forced—tight and lacked the warmth he felt earlier.
She stood. Thirty minutes had passed in a blink, they managed to talk through her entire break.
"Take my card." She stared at it. He didn't wait for her to accept it. He slipped it into the pocket of her shirt. "I feel awful for making you miss your lunch break. I owe you one."
She chuckled. "I enjoyed talking with you. Thanks for listening."
Damian watched her walk away. The sway of her hips made it impossible to look away. Then she spun around and walked back to his table.
"You're a business man. Right?"
"Yes." He wondered where this would lead.
"Let's say you were up against a major brand and it seemed impossible for your smaller brand to compete. What would you advise?"
"Do you want to compete?"
"Yes. I'm not a quitter." The determination in her eyes attracted him almost more than her sassy walk. Almost.
"My father is the king of advice. He is the best advisor a man could have. One that I keep in my pocket at all times is 'Lead from your strengths’. The worse thing you could ever do is try to beat someone at their own game. It’s their game.” He glanced up at her. "Instead, of losing at their game win at yours."
Imani seemed to absorb his words. It was like giving the winning formula to an opposing team. The thought of telling her who he was crossed his mind. Not yet. He needed a bulletproof plan.
"Thank you." She placed her hand over his and gave it a light squeeze. She stepped back to leave.
"Imani," he lowered his hand over hers, "success is on your heels, when it shows up make it happy it came."
"Is that from your father too?" She smiled.
"No sweetheart, that's my own."
Imani's laugher floated and he swore the gloom of the dark bar dissolved.
The woman in person was greater than the beauty in the file. Now what? Help her. He shook off the thought. It had to be his hormones appreciating the sight of her lush bottom in her fitted pants. But that was a lie. Seeing the unshed tears in her eyes took him by surprise. But they wouldn’t influence his plans either.
Damian knew what life was like being raised on the wrong side of the tracks. His parents lived in a mansion now but before his mother married his father, his life was probably much like that of Imani's students. His mother was a single parent and they struggled to make ends meet until she'd secured a job as a flight attendant. And on a red eye flight from Atlanta to New York she met John Hughes, who later adopted him. His life changed from a have not to a have in abundance. But the have not days never lingered too far from his memory.
He glanced over at the bar and Imani waved before putting her apron back on. He turned back to his work, reminding himself and his hormones that her tears had nothing to do with him. He had a job to do.
Yuki's Luck Page 8
