Larger Than Lyfe by Cynthia Diane Thornton Read Free Book Online Page B

said, reaching over and brushing back the curls that had blown into Keshari’s face.
    “I’m cool,” Keshari said. “Stop being a mama bird.” She reached over and squeezed his hand. “Thanks for the concern, though.”
    “Hey, babygirl, that’s what I’m here for.”
    A sexy, dancehall track from Rasheed’s album featuring Wyclef Jean called “Respect Her” was playing. Terrence went to check on his date and Keshari started toward the cluster of VIP tables that had been reserved for her. Her BlackBerry had been ringing nonstop and she thought that she’d quickly check her messages and chat for a bit with the RIAA execs and Sean Combs before presenting Rasheed with his platinum plaque. Not quite paying attention to where she was going and still more than a bit preoccupiedwith Marcus’s unexpected appearance and the veiled threat that he’d delivered, she collided with a tall, broad-shouldered Boris Kodjoe lookalike and his full glass of champagne.
    “Oh, damn! I’m sorry,” he said. “Are you okay?”
    “Fuck!” Keshari snapped under her breath.
    One of Keshari’s bodyguards appeared out of nowhere, his hand on his jacket as if he were prepared to shoot the man for his mistake.
    Keshari sighed with exasperation as she felt Mr. Apologetic’s champagne trickling between her breasts and down the front of the lace, La Perla bikini she wore.
    “Ms. Mitchell, is everything okay here?”
    “I’m fine. It was just an accident,” she snapped irritably at the bodyguard, waving him off.
    Mr. Apologetic seemed absolutely determined to set the situation right. He grabbed a handful of cocktail napkins from a passing waiter and handed them to Keshari.
    “Thank you,” she said quickly, dabbing agitatedly at her damp chest and down the front of her intricately beaded jumpsuit.
    “Are you sure you’re okay?”
    “Yes,” she said. “I told you, I’m fine.”
    He reached into the inner jacket pocket of his very nicely cut, Armani suit and removed one of his business cards.
    “Please forward me the bill for your dry cleaning and I’ll reimburse you. Better yet, here. Take this. It should cover the cost of cleaning your outfit. I am truly sorry.”
    He held out two, crisp, new hundred-dollar bills to her. Keshari waved his business card and the money away with growing frustration. If this man apologized one more time, she was going to scream and start scratching at his eyes.
    He stood watching her with genuine concern as she continued to dab at the damp but nearly invisible spot down the front of heroutfit. Then, out of nowhere, it finally dawned on him who she was.

    He smiled a sexy, disarming smile. “Keshari Mitchell.”
    “The only one I know,” she replied.
    “Of Larger Than Lyfe Entertainment?”
    “YES,” she said, looking off distractedly through the crowd of people for Terrence, ready to brush past Mr. Apologetic before he went into player mode or tried to persuade her to listen to some artist’s CD.
    “I’m Mars Buchanan,” he said. “I’m the new general counsel for the Western Division at ASCAP.”
    Keshari let her guard down a bit, smiled and shook his hand.
    “It’s a pleasure meeting you,” she said, looking down to inspect the virtually invisible champagne damage to her outfit.
    Mars Buchanan went to apologize again and Keshari quickly cut him off.
    “Look, this was as much my fault as it was yours. My mind was someplace else and I wasn’t looking where I was going. Let’s just forget about it. Okay?”
    “Not a problem,” he said with a bit of reluctance. “You know, I’ve read coverage of you in the trade papers and in several of the music magazines. I’ve also met your attorney and several A & R execs from your label at various industry functions, but this is the very first time that I’ve encountered you in person and let’s just say that entertainment magazine photos don’t even begin to have the same…striking…effect as seeing you up close and personal.”
    He