Page 66 of Brown Sugar
I have my answer as to why in the next minute. Shawn’s phone rings in his hand. Before he answers it, he seeks me out from where I’m hiding, our gazes meeting. I give him a nod, signaling for him to go ahead and answer.
“Hello, Bass? What’s up, man? Waiting on you—what? Nah, you’ve got the wrong idea. That’s not what’s going on. Don’t hang… up.”
I come out from where I’m lurking, already aware of what’s happened, though I need to hear it with my own two ears.
Shawn looks shocked as he pockets his phone. “He’s onto us. He said he knows I’m working with Tyson the Bison. Then he said to check out Kiana’s performance on the Queenie Tate Show. Said it’ll be her fieriest performance yet.”
My hands ball into fists, my senses ringing in instant alarm. “I know who it is. We’ve got to get the fuck over there. He’s about to make his next attempt.”
22
KIANA
I’m in trouble from the moment I return to work.
My team begins prepping me for my appearance on the Queenie Tate show, one of the most popular afternoon talk shows out right now. Tommy and the label thought the performance would be good PR for me after my recent bad press from the break up with Shawn and the car accident.
I’m led into the foldable chair where I’m swarmed by hair stylists, nail and makeup artists, and Amari and her costume team holding up costume cards, trying to finalize my look.
I close my eyes and focus on my breathing, reminding myself what Tyson said.
It won’t be much longer… hopefully.
“K, Tommy’s here. He wants to speak with you,” Amari whispers amid the chaotic pre-show preparation. “You want me to come with you?”
I gently shake my head. “He’d just tell you to go away. I’ll deal with him.”
I slip out from under my team and wander from the dressing room in nothing but the robe I’ve been put in, hair and makeup only half done.
Tommy’s in the hall outside. The second he spots me, he’s striding in my direction with a tight expression that says the only thing holding back his ire is the fact that we’re technically in public. Plenty of behind-the-scenes staff loiter in the vicinity. Otherwise, he’d explode like he really wants to. Stopping in front of me, he holds up his pointer finger in warning.
“When this is over, we’re going to talk,” he says. “We’re going to address the breaches in contract and the absolute fucking disregard you’ve had. There’s going to be hell to pay. Workwise and financially. Understand that.”
I’m caught between the knee jerk reaction of snapping at him and being smart and playing along for now. The truth is, he has no idea the contempt and bitterness I’ve developed over the past few days. I don’t give a damn what punishment he and the label have devised this time.
They’re not going to control me much longer.
Even if it means I’ll be out millions of dollars. Even if my brand will be destroyed and I’ll lose my career as I know it.
None of it matters anymore.
My freedom means more. Freedom that I’ve realized is invaluable.
No amount of fame and fortune can ever compare.
“Tommy, I’m here to perform,” I say, barely holding my temper in check. “You got what you wanted. For once, let that be enough.”
I round on my heel and march back toward the dressing room. The group’s already waiting to continue where we left off.
Fingers comb through my hair and makeup brushes glide against my skin. Amari and Monica buzz around me like fruit flies, trying to shimmy me into a sleek pants and corset costume.
In under ten minutes, they’ve transformed me.
I go from clean-faced, natural-haired Kiana in a crop top and leggings to a diva superstar in high heels and a microphone earpiece.
When I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror, it’s enough for a double take. I look like I’m wearing a real life filter, my face contoured and highlighted within an inch of its life.
It’s not at all me. Not the down-to-earth, sultry woman I am at my core.