Summer Vows

“Don’t look so smug, Josh. I’m willing to bet when Jason and Ana marry they’ll both have a whole bunch of children between them.”

Timothy Cole-Thomas leaned forward, staring at his uncle. “Is there something you’re not telling us, David?”

Dimples creased David’s lean face when he smiled for the first time. He knew his twins better than anyone—and that included their mother. Both were comfortable divulging their closely guarded secrets about the business and their personal lives with him. Ana, as CEO of Serenity Records, had just signed a hot new recording artist that was rumored to become a crossover phenomenon. His daughter had confided to him that she now felt secure enough to shift her focus from business to her personal life. She’d recently closed on a condo and bought a new car—two things on her “to-do” list she’d neglected for years. For years she’d rented a studio apartment, while contracting with a car service to drive her around.

“Not really.”

Martin ran a hand over his cropped silver hair. “I think David should put his money where his mouth is.”

“Hear, hear!” chorused Joshua and Timothy.

Grinning, David shook his head. “You guys have got to be kidding.”

“Do we look like we’re kidding?” asked Joshua. “I agree with Martin. You should put up or shut up.”

David squinted through a cloud of gray smoke as he met the gazes of his brothers and nephew. “Well, gentlemen, I’m willing to wager a million dollars that my son or daughter will marry before Nicholas. What’s the matter? Is the wager a little too steep?” he asked when a groan and soft whistles echoed in the library.

“I don’t mind donating the million if it’s going to a worthy cause,” Timothy said.

Joshua cleared his throat. “Who are we betting on?”

“It has to be Jason and Ana,” Martin remarked.

“Don’t forget Nicholas and Joe, Jr.,” David reminded him.

Timothy Cole-Thomas crossed a leg over the opposite knee. “It can’t be Joe, because his father’s not here for the wager.

Martin nodded. “Timothy’s right. It will just be the four of us. I’m willing to put up a million, but, David, you’re going to have to ante up two mil because you have two kids to Timothy’s one.”

The seconds ticked as the three men stared at David. “No problem,” he said after a pregnant pause. “I’ll wager two million. Whoever wins will establish an endowment in his name at his alma mater. If none marry, then we’ll set up a foundation in the family name: ColeDiz.”

“What are the rules, Martin?” Joshua asked.

David frowned. “Why are you asking him? It’s my kids you guys are betting on.”

“Mine, too,” Timothy reminded him. “It has to be either Martin or Joshua to determine the rules if this wager is going to be impartial.”

“Timothy’s right,” Joshua concurred. “Let Martin establish the contest rules.”

David’s frown faded. “Okay.”

Martin stood up and walked over to an antique desk and picked up a pad, then handed a sheet of paper to each of the assembled. “Write down the names in the order in which you believe Nicholas, Jason and Ana will marry. Also indicate the name of your alma mater.

Joshua Kirkland jotted down his wager. “David, if you’re a little short on funds, I’ll spot you a million,” he teased.

“Yeah, right,” David drawled. As Samuel Cole’s son, purported to be the first black U.S. billionaire, money had never been a problem for anyone claiming Cole blood.

Martin completed his slip. “We’ll put the slips in an envelope, seal it and everyone can put their initial across the flap. Next year this time we’ll open them to find out the winner.” Pushing off his chair, he stood up and stubbed out his cigar and placed the envelope in a wall safe behind a framed print of James Baldwin. “I don’t know about the rest of you, but I’m exhausted. Happy New Year,” he said, with a mock salute. “I’ll see everyone at brunch.”

One by one the men walked out of the library. David was the last one to leave. He wasn’t as concerned with his children marrying because he and Serena had raised them to be free spirits. His eldest son and daughter had married and had given him grandchildren. That was enough for him.

Unlike his brothers, Martin and Joshua, David was not competitive. Never was and never would be. Martin had always been the consummate businessman and Joshua the military career officer. He’d had a brief stint as CEO of ColeDiz International, Ltd., but for him it had always been music. First it had been his band Night Mood and then his independent recording company Serenity Records. The label’s focus had always been discovering new talent and it had continued until he retired and turned the day-to-day operation over to Jason and Ana.

The odds were in his favor, because he had two children with which to wager. And he predicted Ana would be the first to marry because he’d overheard her talking to her mother about her biological clock. At thirty-three she only had two more years before she would fall into the high-risk category. However, David wasn’t as certain when it came to his son or nephew.

Nicholas owned and operated a horse farm in Virginia and the last he’d heard was that the former naval officer wasn’t even remotely close to becoming involved with a woman. It was the same with Jason. His son hadn’t been a relationship in years, and seemed quite content living the life of a bachelor.

Snuffing out his cigar, David pushed to his feet and left the library. He usually didn’t make resolutions for the New Year, but this was one time he wanted to lord it over his brothers and nephew that there was nothing wrong with his unmarried twins. And if he did win the wager, then he would make certain to never let them forget it.

Chapter 1

Los Angeles, California

Camille Nelson felt a shiver of fear snake its way up her spine when a shadow fell across her desk. She was well aware of the company rule for not eating, reading anything not related to Slow Wyne Records, and other infractions like styling hair, repairing makeup or gum chewing while at her desk. Personal telephone calls were relegated to lunch hours, and only when not seated at the desk. She’d heard that an accounting clerk had been placed on probation for talking to her mother when she’d called to check on her sick preschooler during a staff meeting.

Her head popped up and she forced a smile when she saw her boss glaring down at her. “Good morning, Mr. Irvine.”

A frown marred the forehead of the CEO of Slow Wyne Records when he saw the magazine spread out on his executive assistant’s desk. Earlier that morning he’d read and reread every word of the Rolling Stone magazine article on Justin Glover and he had to admit the reporter had hit the mark when he declared the young singing sensation was the second coming of the late King of Pop Michael Jackson.

“Put that away and come with me,” he barked at Camille. “And bring your tools.” Basil Irvine strode toward the carved double doors leading to his office, expecting her to follow him like an obedient child.

Camille gathered her steno pad and three pencils. Although her boss was only forty-three, he still hadn’t come into the twenty-first century where executive assistants no longer took dictation, but transcribed their boss’s notes from tape recorders. She didn’t question her boss, because she needed the job. After a contentious and costly divorce Camille couldn’t afford to do anything wherein she would lose her position at Slow Wyne Records. Even sleeping with Basil Irvine wasn’t a guarantee that he wouldn’t eventually give her a pink slip. She wasn’t the first woman at the company to sleep with Basil, and she knew she wouldn’t be the last.

She sat at the round table in an alcove of an office that was larger than her studio apartment, while Basil folded his stocky body down into a leather executive chair. Sunlight poured into the wall-to-wall, floor-to-ceiling windows behind him, reflecting off his shaved gold-brown freckled pate.

“I want you to send a letter to Ana Cole, CEO of Serenity Records. It’s in Boca Raton, Florida.” He waited for Camille to jot down her shorthand symbols. “Dear Ms. Cole. Everyone at Slow Wyne would like to congratulate Serenity Records for the successful launch of Justin Glover’s first album. Mr. Glover’s musical talent and success impacts the entire industry, and I’m certain it will usher in a new era with a fusion of musical genres.” He paused, his gray eyes narrowing. “Use my usual closing.” Unlocking a drawer, Basil handed her a flash drive when she approached his desk. “And Camille,” he added when she turned to leave, “don’t forget office rules apply to you, too.”

Smiling, she nodded. “Yes, Mr. Irvine. It won’t happen again.”

Leaning back in his chair, Basil glared at her. “I know it won’t—that is if you want to continue to work here.”

Camille nodded as she walked out of the opulent office, softly closing the door behind her. What her boss didn’t know was that she would’ve handed in her resignation a week after he’d hired her if she didn’t need the money. Working for and sleeping with a record executive was a lot better than swinging around a pole in a gentlemen’s club, where she’d had to put up with men pawing her just because they’d slipped her a few dollars. And when she’d finally made it to the champagne room where she had to give lap dances, she found herself more times than not holding her breath for fear she’d lose the contents of her stomach from their alcohol-soured breaths. Basil had become her temporary savior and her loyalty to him was limitless.

She didn’t know about the other women who’d slept with Basil Irvine, but he’d disclosed things to her that she could use to bring down the man who ran his company like a maximum-security prison. He’d become the warden and his employees were the inmates.

She also knew his letter to Serenity Records was a ruse for a trap he had yet to spring. Basil’s ego was as large as the Pacific Ocean and the one thing he refused to accept was failure. He’d failed to sign Justin to Slow Wyne, and had sworn he would make Serenity Records pay for what he deemed an act of betrayal. Basil had been the first to hear Justin’s demo record, but after Slow Wyne offered the young twenty-year-old a deal that had him indebted to the company for the first two years of his contract, Justin’s agent went to Serenity. Basil knew he needed to change the terms of the contract or he would lose Justin. Then it had become a bidding war with Serenity as the winner even though their last bid was lower than Slow Wyne’s. Basil had sworn he would make the singer and Ana Cole pay for their deception.

Camille could care less about an East Coast–West Coast hip-hop rivalry reminiscent of the 1990s hostility between Death Row and Bad Boys Records. She was being paid a salary that exceeded her qualifications when she’d first come to work for the company. However, she’d made good use of the steady paycheck. She rented a small apartment in an up-and-coming neighborhood and had enrolled in a secretarial school where she’d taken the courses needed to become an efficient executive assistant.

She took care of Basil’s needs in and out of the boardroom. In the throes of passion he’d admitted she was the best “lay” he’d ever had. Camille didn’t mind the epithet, because she’d been called worse. She’d planned to use everything in her feminine arsenal to get whatever she needed from Basil before his reign of terror came to an abrupt end. And she knew it would end. She’d started hustling at an early age, and now at twenty-six she knew it was just a matter of time before her face and body would fail to attract men who were willing to trade money for sex.

Sitting at the desk outside her boss’s office, she inserted the flash drive into a port and began transcribing the letter. After saving what she’d typed and printing it out, Camille returned the drive to a locked drawer in her desk. At the end of the workday she returned the flash drive to Basil, who locked it in his desk. There were documents on the drive that could incriminate the executives of Slow Wyne and could send them to jail for either life or for very lengthy sentences. She could care less about the inner workings of the record company. She was just an employee following orders.

Camille read and reread what she’d typed, tapped slightly on Basil’s door and walked into his office when he told her to enter. She left the letter and envelope in his inbox and turned to leave.

“I’ll see you later tonight.” It wasn’t a request, but a command.

She nodded, smiling. It was her birthday and Camille had hinted to Basil there was a bracelet in a Beverly Hills jewelry store she wanted. If he didn’t get her the bracelet, then she was certain he would give her something comparable.