Larger Than Lyfe by Cynthia Diane Thornton Read Free Book Online

stopping here and there to exchange pleasantries with music executives from other record labels.

    “Keshari Mitchell,” Sean “Diddy” Combs said, hugging her. “How are you?”
    “I’m good…I’m good.” Keshari smiled. “I’m so glad that you could make it to L.A. for Rasheed’s party.”
    “I had a couple of business meetings and I’m shopping for some property, so I’m kinda killing two birds with one stone. Ra’s party is the perfect place to blow off some steam. Congratulations, by the way, on your success.”
    “Thank you,” Keshari answered. “I’m preparing for the same success with my new girl group, so expect an invitation for their album launch party.”
    “I hear that you’ve been getting your feet wet for your own fashion line. One of my designers saw you at a show in Milan. I might be able to give you some pointers.”
    “Actually, the fashion line’s a ways out, but I’d appreciate your insight. I’m sure that it’ll prove invaluable. We’ll definitely have to get together about it. I’ve got another major project underway that’s going to consume the bulk of my time for the next several months. I’m doing a press release about it in the next few days.”
    “What’s the project?” Sean asked, his interest piqued.
    “Keep your eyes on the news.” Keshari smiled, not divulging anything. “Listen, I know that a table has been reserved for you and your people, but why don’t you join me at my table? I’d love to have you. Executives from RIAA (Recording Industry Association of America), if they’re not here already, should be arriving shortly.”
    “I’ll do that,” Sean said and shook his head as he watched the switch of her perfect ass walking away.
    Keshari spotted Misha still shimmying her hips to the musicwith her Sacramento Kings players on the transparent dance floor that covered the pool. Misha was wearing the hell out of her dress. She saw Keshari and waved to her. Keshari could tell that her friend was building up a nice, little buzz from multiple glasses of champagne.
    Dante Peterson, a writer for
The SOURCE
magazine, tapped Keshari lightly on the shoulder.
    “Ms. Mitchell, would you spare me a couple minutes of your time? I’ve been attempting to get in touch with you. I’d like to arrange an interview. I’m putting together a story on ‘power women’ in the music industry and the story certainly wouldn’t be complete without including you.”
    “Dante, you know the protocol for securing an interview. Contact my publicist. This is a party,” Keshari said, barely pausing long enough to fully acknowledge the writer’s presence.
    Shaquille O’Neal rushed up and picked Keshari up from the floor, grinning his 2,000-watt, trademark “Superman” smile. Keshari and Shaquille had been friends since Misha had introduced the two of them at a nightclub party that she’d promoted a couple of years before.
    “What’s up, girl? How you been?”
    He set her down and kissed her on the forehead.
    “I’m cool. Busy as hell.”
    “You look good. Damned good. Almost as good as me.”
    “You’re so silly,” she said, smacking him. “How’re Shaunie and the kids?”
    “Everybody’s good…can’t complain. They all just got back from Miami. I’m taking you to dinner next week. Where do you want to go?”
    Keshari laughed and shook her head. “NO” was definitely not a part of Shaq’s vocabulary.
    “Italian food…your house. ‘Street Ball’ on the PlayStation andmake sure to order tiramisu. But let me call you. I’m gonna be in and out of town for the next few weeks. I’ll hit you the moment I wrap things up.”

    Shaq beamed. The giant, dark brown brotha had a smile that could light up a room.
    “Alright, girl,” he said, “but don’t keep me waiting.”
    He kissed Keshari again before moving off through the outdoor living room with his friends.
    Coming through Skybar toward the patio, a very familiar face smiled and headed in Keshari’s