Page 31 of Brown Sugar
“It’ll generate even more buzz,” says one female exec, her eyes shiny. “All the speculation will mean record-breaking sales!”
By the time we head out from the luncheon, Kiana seems even more depleted and tight-lipped.
Her schedule’s once again too jam-packed for conversation. She’s carted off to another promotional event, where she’s stuck in sit-down interview after sit-down interview to discuss her upcoming project.
I grit my teeth as I linger in the background, my arms banded across my chest.
This job has reminded me why I hate working inside the industry. It’s a whole other universe from the rest of the world. A universe where young starlets like Kiana are worked to the bone hour after hour, day after day ’til they’re running on fumes.
Somebody’s got to look out for the girl.
I make up my mind. Tonight, after she’s done, I’m going to take her out for a night on the town.
Risky considering her celebrity—she’s even recognizable overseas—but I’ve been to London enough times that I know of a few spots we could go.
“Hal, didn’t I tell you not to call me with bullshit?” I snap when my phone rings.
“Wrong guy, Tyson,” chuckles Clint. “I was calling with some more updates about the situation. We’ve been able to track Rashad to somebody… or an entity.”
“An entity? Like a company?”
“An LLC of some type,” Clint says. “But here’s the thing. I can’t trace it to a name.”
“All LLCs can be traced.”
“Not this one. The payment was made to Rashad for ten grand. It came from an LLC called Bass.”
“Bass?” I repeat. “What kind of name is that? Who’s it registered under?”
“No public association with anybody as far as I can tell.”
“Keep looking.”
“Will do. Not sure how much luck I’ll have.”
I think on it a second longer, waiting for Kiana to wrap up with her interview. “Look into Shawn Lassiter. See if he’s started any LLCs or any kind of businesses.”
“I already looked into his background. I couldn’t find much.”
“His business dealings, Clint,” I say firmly. “Anything he’s been involved in. She’s the bigger celebrity name. He seems resentful of her in some capacity. Now he’s trying to humiliate her on that podcast. All the signs are there.”
We hang up from our call with a new path forward.
I pocket my phone and scan the area.
The interview has finished and the set’s already emptying. The interviewer’s walked off with her assistant while the crew is fiddling with their equipment.
Kiana is nowhere in sight.
Where the hell did she go?
I head in the direction that leads to the dressing room the studio gave her. The door hangs open, revealing her styling team inside. They’re in the middle of chitchatting about meaningless celebrity garbage like who’s dating who and some starlet that’s checked into rehab.
“Where is she?” I ask.
Tai, her makeup artist, frowns at me. “Kiana? Isn’t she with you? You escorted her to set. We were waiting for you to get back…”
My pulse immediately accelerates as I’m met with more blank, clueless stares.