Page 1 of Kisses Behind the Spotlight

PROLOGUE

Khaleesi Williams

SIX YEARS AGO

An entire month had passed since I laid eyes on my auntie. We didn’t have the typical auntie-and-niece relationship because we were only twelve years apart. She was more like my best friend; even if we didn’t have time to see each other in person, we always FaceTimed. That was until she abruptly abandoned her apartment and the feed store while pregnant by a man who, I’d learned, was two fries short of a happy meal. The fact that she wouldn’t let me come see her only solidified my growing suspicion that something wasn’t right; I didn’t care how many times she told me everything was fine. Plus, I was the baby daddy up until that point and went to every doctor’s appointment.

I was up all night thinking about it. The dark bags underneath my eyes could attest to that. Over the bullshit, I exited my condo. I headed down the hallway to have a conversation with Q. It was his fault his crazy ass uncle was ever in our orbit, and he needed to make things right if he wanted me to continue with my role as his creative director. I didn’t give a damn how promising his rap career looked, or how much money I stood to lose.

When I reached Q’s unit, I knocked gently and stood with my arms folded across my chest to make my disposition clear. Jameera and her massive bushel of curly hair opened the door with a bright smile on her face. She was Q’s high school sweetheart and the daughter of James Clayton, one of the most sought-after production designers in the industry. Her father connected me with Q and helped open doors for both of us in the music industry.

Jameera was more than just a rapper’s hippie ass girlfriend. She was building a name for herself in the fashion world as Q’s stylist, while co-owning an athleisure clothing brand with her best friend, Amill. Their line was perfectly titled, Moon & Muse.

One look at Jameera, and anyone would assume she was into crystals and had a superb green thumb. Jameera wore a gang of waist beads, her natural hair fluffed, and a gold arm cuff on her left arm. The gold double nose piercing and septum perfectly accentuated her brown skin.

Conversely, Amill looked like she left the hospital wearing designer clothes. Miss Mama was always dressed in something that cost more than my rent, looking like she just stepped off the runway before signing her first modeling contract. Typical spoiled daughter of a rich bald man type shit.

The duo designed every look Q’s backup dancers wore during his first arena tour, when he was still the opening act. They were already knee-deep in crafting the visuals for his second arena tour, where he would step into the spotlight as the headliner.

I could still remember the mix of excitement and anxiety Jameera felt when Q’s Essence magazine feature dropped. They discussed Jameera and Amill’s contributions in depth and added a picture of the trio. It was the moment when all the behind the scenes work suddenly became visible to the world. Jameera never wanted to be in the spotlight, but after that, it was unavoidable. Eyes were on both Amill and Jameera, and their quiet grind shifted to real industry partnerships and recognition. By the end of that year, the duo was sketching and sewing pieces for artists’ music videos, press appearances, and festival fits.

Wherever you saw Q and Jameera, Amill was never too far behind, their habitual third wheel. Amill was also Q’s stepsister, and like him, she came from money. Her grandfather founded an uber-successful wealth management firm and still held ownership, while her father ran it as CEO. The pair got their break in the industry styling Q together, but when opportunity came knocking, Amill’s beautiful face and modelesque demeanor propelled her from behind the scenes to in front of the camera. You could find her in magazines, or if you were lucky, catch her ripping the runway. Although they were all born into wealth and actively growing their own empires, the trio were some of the most caring and down-to-earth people I’d ever met.

We lived in the same building, and coincidentally on the same floor. It wasn’t planned; I had no idea Q lived in that building when I moved to the area, but it definitely made working together a breeze. Our close proximity mixed with Amill and Jameera’s warm, welcoming nature helped us form a bond that went beyond work. We were like family, which is why I hated that it had come to this.

“Is everything okay?” Jameera pried, her smile slipping into a face of concern once she saw my demeanor.

“I don’t know yet. I need to speak with Q, and he told me to stop by,” I replied.

“We were just getting ready to head out.” She stepped to the side, allowing me to enter.

Every time I entered their unit, I could tell Jameera had her way when it was time to decorate. The decor was a perfect blend of hippie and Afrocentric pieces. Earthy textures, handcrafted African sculptures, and paintings that Q probably spent more than my net worth on filled the space. However, the most impressive decor would always be the plants.

Lush, thriving plants were placed throughout the common areas; their glossy and vibrant leaves told me that Jameera had a true green thumb. I remember the first time I entered their home; the statuesque flowers were the first thing that caught my eye. I thought they were artificial. One day, when I got into plants, Jameera would have to be my mentor.

“Hey, Khaleesi,” Amill greeted me with a bright smile.

She was wearing a one-shoulder, cut-out Versace monokini that left the blinding diamond dangling from her belly ring on full display. Amill pulled water bottles from the refrigerator and placed them in a cooler. I quickly surmised they were about to go to the beach or pool because Jameera also wore a green bikini with her gold waist beads fully exposed. That was fine. I planned to keep my visit brief and would be out of their hair before you knew it.

“Hey, Amill.”

“Wassup, Khaleesi?” Q greeted me, coming from the owner’s suite, dressed in a pair of green swim trunks that matched Jameera’s.

“We need to speak in private. It’s about my Aunt Anila who modeled in your last music video,” I announced.

“Oh, we can go into the office.” He gestured towards the hallway to his left.

I followed his motion and strutted down that hallway until we were inside.

“Well, what happened to your auntie? And what do I have to do with it?” He questioned.

“Anila is pregnant by your uncle, and she’s been missing for an entire month now. I know my auntie. She wouldn’t take off without saying anything. He forced her wherever she went. Where did he take her?”

“Huh? Ion know nothing about Anila or my uncle, but Ion think he would do no shit like that,” Q retorted.

“Well, I know he would, and I’m telling you he did. Until I can lay eyes on my auntie, I’m not working with you. When I took this job, I wasn’t expecting to get thrust into the crosshairs of mafia men,” I whispered the last word.

“Khaleesi, stop playing. We have a lot of shit coming up,” he laughed like he heard the funniest joke. Placing both of my hands on my hips, I never joined the laughter, and Q finally took me seriously.