Damian entered Kenn’s Bar and Grill, a dimly lit sports bar and eatery outside of Downtown Houston. The early November weather was slightly warmer and didn’t require an overcoat unlike Atlanta at this time of year. He stepped to the side of the doorway, shaking off the bite of the cool breeze in the heated interior.

"Good afternoon."

"Same to you." Damian smiled at the waiter, blinking a few times as his eyes adjusted to the drastic change in lighting.

He stretched his neck to look around the room, scanning for the perfect seat. Not too close to the big screen TVs. He spotted an empty booth in the far corner and he made his way across the room, scooting past tables and occupied chairs in the aisle. The booth would provide plenty of space to spread out and work for a while. He looked over his shoulder at the bar, he was close enough to see and hear but not be seen. Glancing at his watch, he had about thirty minutes to get comfortable before the bar opened.

He placed his briefcase on the table and unloaded his files leaving an area free to eat. The place was quiet but it picked up closer to noon. The food was decent and they offered free WiFi. He had a stack of contracts to review and his iPad for research. Since arriving in Houston he'd checked into the hotel and connected with a few colleagues. He needed people on the ground with active state licenses in law and real estate to expedite his plans in a moments notice.

Satisfied with his temporary office setup he removed his jacket and draped it over his briefcase in the seat across from him. He unfastened his sleeve buttons and rolled back the stiff cuffs. He rarely exposed his tattoos but the dark room made it hard to see plus what was the likelihood that he'd see one of his business contacts in this neighborhood.

Damian sat and reviewed the menu. Following his meeting with Cameron and his new business partners, they laid out the full rollout, each man taking responsibility for his tasks.

By the end of September, an attorney drafted a limited partnership agreement through the end of the year. All parties approved the terms and conditions of their association. Then they synchronized their tasks and calendars to meet for a group signing of the official partnership agreement for Rockstar Entertainment on January 1 in Houston.

Damian’s first order of business was locating a temporary office in Atlanta. The RSE partner handling music production and artist development, Bruce Daniels, had a private studio but Damian wanted them to make a strong first impression. Even in a temporary space.

He hit the ground reestablishing old contacts and nurturing new ones and secured an amazing location in midtown. It was smaller than they needed but it would serve as their makeshift headquarters, with a studio and office space in a freestanding building structure.

By mid-October Damian closed on the midtown location and leased it back to the partnership with the option to buy. He flew in an interior designer from New York to transform the vacant space into the official Rockstar Entertainment compound. It had to be grand yet simple, edgy and classic. She exceeded expectations with the modern yet classic decor in monotones with splashes of color. Damian also commissioned the artwork for an up-and-coming artist of the rockstar legends RSE esteemed.

Signing the temporary contracts felt like the first real tether back to the United States and one step closer to establishing a sense of normalcy for him. The partnerships would ensure his frequent presence in Atlanta and hopefully set the foundation to reconnect with his parents and siblings. They lived there and he called it home but in so many ways the words never quite felt appropriate, more rote than real.

He left Atlanta with plans to wash, rinse, and repeat in Houston. He had given himself a tentative deadline of early December before returning to meet with RSE again.

"Good afternoon Mr. Hughes. Would you like your usual?"

Damian glanced over the menu to find Adrianna smiling down at him. She'd served him for most of the week. Today he hoped to finally see....

"Imani." He whispered internally commending himself for selecting the perfect seat. She walked in, almost running, and slipped behind the bar area, disappearing into an adjoining room.

"Sir?" He exhaled a measured breath looking up into her questioning eyes.

"I'm sorry. Yes, the same and add a glass of water."

He closed the menu and placed it in her outstretched hand. The chatter in the bar was noticeably louder as more patrons filled the cozy space. Honestly he didn't want another turkey club sandwich, but he needed time to see the woman who'd captured too much of his mental space.

Adrianna walked toward the kitchen and Damian sat back and watched Imani. He had arrived in town Monday along with his assistant Mason. And for the past five days Damian arrived at least an hour before their scheduled meeting hoping to see Imani in person. He glanced at his watch; he had almost an hour before Mason’s arrival, which gave him time to observe her without interruption.

He leaned back in the booth turning to hide his face in the shadows. Damian earned a moniker—The Shark. He never agreed with the predatory likeness associated with it. It wasn’t attractive, but spine tingling and centered on his approach. His strategy started with learning his clients inside and out, not through private detectives. He gathered intel personally. His hands-on approach gave him the agility to move unseen, unheard, covered in an element of surprise.

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.