Читать книгу King's Promise - Adrianne Byrd, Pamela Yaye - Страница 12

Across town, Xavier, Jeremy and Quentin were being seated at a private table at Ruth’s Chris Steak House. Whenever they got together, the occasion usually called for something involving steak—or beer—but definitely a steak.

“Here you go, gentlemen. Your waiter’s name is Sasha and she will be with you in a minute,” their hostess said as she flirted and then added a wink.

All three men gave her their best player’s smile before easing into the leather chairs around the table and opening their menus. Once she turned and walked away, they looked at one another and said in unison, “She wants me.”

They immediately looked at one another skeptically. They knew that any one of them could easily turn heads when it came to the ladies. Xavier, a former heavyweight champion, stood a solid six foot four and was muscular with smooth chocolate skin and licorice eyes. His natural swagger was loaded with confidence that he’d earned in and out of the bedroom. Unlike his older brother Eamon, Xavier didn’t have a single monogamous gene in his body, and that was a good thing in his opinion. It didn’t make him a jerk or anything. He truly believed that life was meant to be enjoyed to the fullest, and more than anything he enjoyed the pleasure of a woman’s company, or two, but definitely no more than three. And he had it on good authority that they enjoyed him, too.

“A hundred bucks says that she was winking at me,” Q said, easing back in his chair and puffing out his chest.

“In your dreams, grandpa,” Jeremy countered. “The only thing that dime would give you is a senior citizen discount on your meal.”

Xavier pressed his lips together, but a snicker still managed to escape.

“Senior—what?” Q’s face colored with embarrassment. “I’ll have you know that the forties are the new thirties, young blood.”

“Sure. Sure.” Jeremy bobbed his head, but crudely gestured with his hands in a way that implied Q was a whack job.

Quentin’s indignation deepened, causing him to smack the table with his hand and up the ante. “A thousand bucks.”

Both Xavier and his nearly look-alike brother straightened in their chairs now that there was some serious money on the table.

“What exactly is the bet?” Xavier asked.

“Simple. Whoever gets her number wins.”

The King brothers rolled their eyes and waved him off.

“Please,” Xavier said, reaching for his water. “That’s child’s play. Who’s to say that she won’t give her number to all three of us?”

Q conceded his point. “All right. Let’s make it whoever can get her in bed. Sounds fair?”

The brothers looked at each other and shrugged.

“All right,” Jeremy said. “Why not? I don’t have any plans tonight. You in, bro?”

Xavier looked at his watch and remembered that he actually did have other plans after dinner and heaved a reluctant sigh. “Sorry. I’m going to have to leave this easy money on the table. But you two go for what you know. I’ll be interested in seeing how this one pans out—old school versus new school.” He pointed a finger at his brother. “Don’t you let me down.”

“Please.” Jeremy leaned back in his chair so that his ego would have enough room at the table. “I got you covered like Allstate. Don’t worry about me, be concerned about grandpa here. I don’t think that he’s going to accept the fact that his player’s card expired—a loooong time ago.”

If looks could kill, Jeremy would have been slowly disemboweled by his cousin.

“I see right now that it’s time to smack you on the ass and send you back crying to your mama,” Q said, smirking. “When it comes to women, all the real players know to call me the Professor.”

“Oh? Is that right?” Jeremy laughed.

“That’s right. Look it up in the dictionary. You’ll see my picture in there.”

While the two cousins argued and goaded each other as to who was the better player, neither of them noticed when the hostess waltzed back by the table, leading another party to their table, and very slyly slipped her number next to Xavier’s silverware.

Xavier caught the slick move, picked up the scrap of paper, looked at it and then tucked it into his black jeans with a smirk. Old school, new school—there was nothing like just being the best school. “Will you two knuckleheads shut up and get back to telling me how much of a genius I am with all the new renovations?”

That stopped the argument long enough for them to flash him a get-over-yourself look.

“What? That is why we came here, isn’t it? To celebrate my genius?”

“Frankly, I just tagged along for the free meal,” Jeremy said.

“Free?” Q frowned. “The only thing free, cuz, was the ride over here. That fancy new renovation job is coming out of my pocket.”

Xavier shrugged. “You’re the one that wrecked the place.”

“When I said I would pay for the damages, I was thinking a few tables and chairs. I didn’t think that you’d go buck-wild and gut the place.”

“Maybe next time you’ll be a little more specific,” Xavier said with absolutely no remorse.

“Does that mean you’ll pay for renovations in the Los Angeles club?” Jeremy asked, since he managed that location.

“Hell to the no!” Quentin said, twisting his face. “What do you think I am—First National Bank?” Then, suddenly, he closed his eyes and groaned.

Xavier frowned. “What’s up with you?”

Q shook his head. “I sounded like my father just now.”

Xavier and Jeremy exchanged looks and busted out laughing.

Quentin and his father’s contentious relationship had been gossip fodder for family members over the years. Roger Hinton, perhaps the most successful man in the family tree, built his fortune in commercial real estate and computer technology in the early eighties, and was one of only a handful of African-American billionaires. Brilliant in business, he’d raised two sons who were equally ambitious and nearly as successful in their own right. Then there was his third son, Quentin, who by all accounts until recently showed an almost violent allergic reaction to the very thought of holding a job.

After much back and forth, disinheritance, bribery and being swept back into the family’s good graces, the one business that Q invested in—The Dollhouse—had made him rich in his own right. Brilliant or lucky? Most of the family decided it was luck. Xavier thought it had more to do with his own brilliance.

True, his older brother Eamon already owned The Dollhouse in Atlanta and he was content to keep it a small club while he fiddled with the idea of opening a restaurant until Xavier saw its true potential, and expanded the operation by capitalizing on a niche market—bachelor-party planning—and launched Bachelors Adventures. The concept was simple, and Xavier saw an opportunity to capitalize on an underserved market. Sure, any strip club could host a bachelor party. But not many catered to fantasy-driven bachelor parties, complete with themes and costumes—if that’s what you wanted.

A bachelor party was a rite of passage. It was a big deal, and since it would be in poor taste to have a wake the night before a wedding, most men felt they deserved to party one last time like a rock star. There was no event too small or too big that Bachelors Adventures couldn’t make happen. That simple business concept and the power of an influential word-of-mouth campaign is what really put The Dollhouse on the map, and not only made them serious contenders in their industry but solidified their reputation as Kings.

“Hello, gentlemen. My name is Sasha and I’ll be your waitress for the evening. Are you ready for me to take your drink orders?”

They quickly put their conversation on pause and turned their attention to an extremely petite red-bone sporting short, natural hair in spiral twists. Her black-rimmed glasses gave her a studious look and her bright-white smile was warm and inviting.

“Three Heinekens,” Xavier ordered for everyone.

Sasha quickly scribbled it down and then asked whether they were ready to order food. Once they’d selected their entrées, she took their menus and promised that everything would be ready in a few minutes. Of course, when she walked away, they gave her retreating figure another look.

“How about double or nothing,” Quentin asked.

Xavier rolled his eyes. “I think you need to put your dick on a shorter leash.”

Q’s face twisted in horror. “Why in the hell would I want to do that? The happier he is, the happier I am.”

Xavier’s brows lifted. “Have you forgotten who you’re talking to?”

Clearly, Q had because he immediately started shifting around in his chair.

Sasha proved to be good at her job and quickly returned with their beers, setting their bottles down in front of them. “Your food will be right up.”

The men flashed her quick smiles as they reached for their beers and returned to their conversation.

“So what do you think of the spanking-new bartender you hired today?” Quentin asked, seemingly having tired of arguing with Jeremy.

Xavier leaned back in his chair and gave the question some serious thought. “She’ll certainly make things interesting.”

“I’ll say,” Q responded, reaching for his beer. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you cock-block so hard in my life.”

“Please.” Xavier gave a halfhearted laugh and rolled his eyes. “If anything, I was trying to prevent you guys from embarrassing yourselves and scaring the woman.”

Neither his brother nor his cousin looked like they bought that load of crap.

Jeremy was the first to call him on it. “Please. You were throwing so much shade that I thought we were in the middle of a cave. But that’s all right. I’m gonna let it go. But only because I’m heading back to Los Angeles tomorrow and you know how I feel about long-distance relationships.”

Quentin laughed. “Yeah. The same way you feel about all relationships. You don’t do them.”

Jeremy bobbed his head along with the joke, mainly because it was true—for all of them. In their world, marriage was a dying institution. Who needed a piece of paper? Life was meant to be lived and enjoyed—the less drama, the better. And if there was one thing that all three men at the table agreed upon, it was that relationships ultimately involved a whole lot of drama.

“Frankly,” Jeremy said. “Business has more than doubled at our L.A. club, so we might want to look into expanding some more.”

“In a down economy?” Xavier asked.

Quentin laughed. “Our business is recession-proof.”

Xavier conceded the point. “Maybe I’m not feeling it because I’ve been renovating for a hot minute. All I’ve been doing is writing checks.”

“There’s still revenue from Bachelors Adventures coming in,” Q reminded him. “You’ve been on top of your game keeping those parties going at local hotels and other venues.”

“True that.” Xavier nodded. “I have this Lawrence of Arabia one coming up with this big-wig CEO out of New York. We’re blowing up off word of mouth.”

Q shrugged. “The old-fashioned way of doing business.”

“We may have to look into expanding into New York, too,” Jeremy interjected.

Q and Xavier frowned.

“What?” Jeremy shrugged. “If there’s money to be made and our hustle is strong, what’s the problem?”

“There is such a thing as growing too fast, you know?” Quentin warned.

“Just like there’s such a thing as striking while the iron is still hot,” Jeremy volleyed, unfazed.

Xavier smiled at the raw, unadulterated ambition gleaming in his brother’s eyes. Jeremy made no bones about the fact that he was out to make his paper. Ambition was great. It would probably take his brother a long way. At least, Xavier hoped it would—unlike his own.

A wave of disappointment and regret started rolling inside him again, but he ignored it and plastered on another smile. Somehow, over the years, he’d become the brother that everyone brought their problems to without anyone ever really asking whether he had any of his own.

For the record, he had quite a few of them.

He suspected that most people thought that because he could take and land a hard punch, and that he could handle just about anything. For the most part, they were right. He knew how to duck and dodge most of life’s problems. But the death of a dream…is something very few ever get over.

In 2002, he was on top of the world after becoming a national Golden Gloves champion with his eye toward the Olympics, the International Boxing Federation, the World Boxing Association and the World Boxing Council heavyweight titles. He wanted it all, like his heroes Muhammad Ali and Mike Tyson, who once had the world at their feet. He wasn’t inspired so much because of the money and endorsements—though those were nice, too—but it was the recognition that came with being the best, being number one.

Then came the fight that changed everything…

“Hello.” Quentin snapped his fingers in front of Xavier’s face and brought him back from his ruminations. “There he is.” Q smiled as their plates were being set on the table. “Still thinking about that hot bartender?”

Xavier rolled his eyes. “No.”

“Riiiight.” Quentin picked up his fork and knife and started cutting his steak. “The only time a man drifts off like that is because he’s thinking about a woman.”

Xavier laughed as he unrolled his linen napkin and started in on his baked potato. “Believe it or not, not all men spend their every waking moment thinking about women.”

Jeremy and Quentin stopped eating and looked at him. “They don’t?” they said in unison.

“Since when?” Jeremy added.

Xavier’s laughter deepened. “You two aren’t serious, are you?”

They looked at each other and then back at Xavier, their expressions unchanged.

“You both need psychiatric help,” he said, and took the first bite of his steak. He immediately moaned as he savored the cut of meat.

“Well, since you’re not interested in Ms. Got Milk, then you won’t mind if I stick around and see what the deal is with her. Hell, I can give her a run for her money behind the bar.” Quentin smirked.

Xavier’s frown returned. “Weren’t you just betting on who would get our hostess in bed a few minutes ago? Now you want to try to move in on my new bartender?”

“What? A man can’t multitask?”

Xavier shook his head. “I hope that you’re donating your brain to science because something is seriously wrong with you.”

“What? Aren’t you at least happy that I’m not drinking myself to death and getting into bar fights anymore?”

“Newsflash—you’re not going to be able to screw Alyssa out of your system, either,” Xavier schooled.

“Ouch. Harsh,” Jeremy mumbled under his breath.

Q nodded. “I wasn’t ready for that sucker punch.”

“Sorry,” Xavier said, and meant it. “That was uncalled for.”

“No. But it’s probably true, too,” Quentin said.

Xavier’s brows rose in surprise. “It was?”

Quentin shrugged as he pretended to think about it. “I said probably. I’ll get back to you with my findings.”

Xavier and Jeremy had to laugh. At the end of the day, Q was doing whatever he had or needed to do to get over his broken heart. The only thing was, Xavier questioned who really broke it—Alyssa or Q’s older brother Sterling.

Xavier counted himself lucky for never having gone through anything remotely similar—since he’d never been in love.

And God willing, he never would be.