Page 28 of Body Language (Mind, Body, & Soul #2)

Kendrix

It had been two weeks since I told Arlette her run was over, and since Niv became the new face of GivGold.

And in just fourteen days, the club was louder than it had ever been before the doors even opened.

Her face was on every damn flyer, billboard, and IG story.

Phones going crazy, men trying to book tables weeks out like they knew her personally.

It was scheduled to be our first big Friday with her front and center, and I already knew it was gonna be a movie.

People were lined up outside at six, knowing we didn’t open the doors until nine.

All because of her.

I leaned back in the office chair with the contracts and financial reports spread out on the desk.

Shit didn’t just look good. It looked different.

Cleaner. Smarter. Like she’d been born to run this shit.

She’d already pulled in a few sponsors from her own connections, tightened up bottle service so nobody could skim off the top, and made sure our dancers felt more like assets than replaceable bodies.

I’d been in the game a long time, but I’d never seen someone walk in and move like they’d been built for this. And the craziest part was that she’d done all of it without even needing me to hold her hand.

Damn, Pretty. You proving me right every step of the way.

My phone buzzed on the desk. My sibling group chat was going crazy

Kross: Y’all better get down here early. Club gone be shoulder to shoulder tonight. Tell Niv I said don’t have these niggas out here catching heart attacks over her.

I smirked and shook my head. They already knew.

What made me laugh was thinking back to when Niv and Rivah finally met.

Two smart-mouthed women with the same sharp humor and the kind of confidence you can’t buy.

They clicked so fast, it was like they’d been sisters their whole lives.

Watching them together, I knew me and Kross were in for a ride. A dangerous, beautiful, loud-ass ride.

I ran my hand over my beard, staring at the flyer on my desk like I hadn’t seen it a hundred times.

Her brown skin glowing under the lights, and that smile that said she knew exactly how much power she had.

What fucked me up the most was how easy it felt to let her lead. Normally, I didn’t trust anybody with my business. But with her, I wasn’t worried. I just sat back and let her make moves because I knew she’d make the right ones.

Damn, Pretty. What the hell you doing to me?

8:45 p.m. on the dot.

I told myself I wasn’t watching the clock, but that was a damn lie. The minute she walked in, every head in the club turned.

She wore all black everything. Her hair was pinned up, edges laid so clean it looked like art, with a diamond chain that caught the light every time she moved.

Men stared. Women whispered. Even the staff stopped moving just to catch a glimpse. I sat my ass back in the chair like I wasn’t ready to stand up and meet her halfway.

“Damn,” I said under my breath. “Pretty done turned this bitch into her runway.”

She walked up slowly into the office, taking her time, making me sweat on purpose.

“Club looks good,” she said, eyes scanning the floor like she wasn’t the reason it looked like heaven on earth.

“Correction,” I said, leaning forward in my chair. “You look good. Club just catching up.”

She rolled her eyes but couldn’t hide the blush in her cheeks.

“Boy, please,” she said. “Save that slick shit for the girls you're lying to on IG.”

“Funny. You’re the only one I’m thinking about lying to right now.”

She leaned on the desk, close enough for me to smell her perfume. “What would you even lie about?”

“That I haven’t been waiting on you all damn night,” I said.

Her smile cracked, quick, before she straightened back up. “You better hope this night go smooth. I done worked too hard for your little jealous hoe to mess up anything.”

I smirked. “Don’t even put her in the same sentence as you. She doesn’t have that power.”

“Mm-hm,” she hummed, then smirked. “That’s what you better say.”

I knew Niv was gonna show out, but what she put into play was on some other shit.

The lights dipped low, whole room painted in red like lust itself had rented the spot for the night. First beat of Do Not Disturb dropped, and the place got so damn quiet you could hear a dollar bill unfold.

Two of Niv’s girls came out—ones she pulled from her old spot. I remember her saying they were solid, but “solid” ain’t even scratch the surface. They moved like they ain’t have bones, just silk and sin holding them together.

One of them hooked an ankle on the pole, leaning back so her hair kissed the floor, while the other slid down in a wave so slow it had half the room forgetting to breathe. I leaned back in my chair, cigar lit, watching all the niggas around me try not to choke on their own thirst.

See, they expected twerk anthems. Fast money, fast ass, same shit every other club in Antionette fed them.

But Niv flipped the script. She set a vibe.

The kind that made men think about touching, not just fucking.

The kind that had women straightening their spines, wondering if their men would pay attention to them like that after they left.

I looked around the room, smirk tugging at my mouth. Niggas gripping glasses like lifelines. Women biting lips. Couples leaning close, whispering in each other’s ears while their hands slid under tables.

I caught one dude in the corner whisper, “Goddamn,” and his girl elbowed him without ever looking away from the stage.

That’s when I knew, Niv didn’t just put on a show. She built a damn spell.

And I’ll admit, sitting there, watching her vision come alive, I felt something I don’t let myself feel too often: pride.

Not the kind you get from money or power.

I have that already. It was different. I was watching somebody create an entire world out of their mind and body and making everybody else beg for access.

By the time Chris Brown’s verse hit, the whole room was leaning forward like they’d been hypnotized. Applause shook the walls when the lights cut.

And all I could think was…

Damn. My Pretty just turned GivGold into the most dangerous spot in Antionette.

Niv walked out on the stage and the crowd went stupid. Phones up, hands clapping, voices shouting her name like they’d been waiting all night just to see her. She didn’t even flinch. Just raised the mic slow, lips curling into that smile that said she was about to own every soul in the room.

“First off,” she started, voice smooth, “thank y’all for coming out tonight. GivGold isn’t just a club—it’s a true experience.”

Cheers exploded. I puffed on my cigar, eyes locked on her.

“But let me make one thing clear,” she went on, slicing through the noise like a blade. “Pole dancing, ballet, hip hop, whatever the style .. isn’t just ass and glitter. It’s art. It’s storytelling. It’s a body speaking without words.”

The crowd screamed. She smirked, looking dead in the camera some girl had pointed at her like she was daring the whole world to say different.

“This stage isn’t about shame. It’s about power. About body positivity. About women deciding when, where, and how we get seen. So if you came looking for just a show, you’re gonna leave knowing you’ve been touched by art.”

My chest tightened, watching her own the hell out of every syllable. Niggas in the front row looked like they wanted to propose. Women were nodding hard enough to break their necks.

She lowered the mic, leaned on one hip, and dropped her last line with a smirk that nearly had me ready to climb up there and snatch her off the stage.

“And don’t get too comfortable. I’ll be back.”

The whole room went wild because everybody knew exactly what that meant. She wasn’t just the face of GivGold. She was the soul. And she was about to remind every single one of them why they called her MissCommunication.

I leaned back in the VIP watching chaos unfold around me. My brothers and their women were always like watching reality tv.

Kross is so in damn love with Rivah, and I swear she been running her mouth since she sat down.

Funny as hell, though. Every two minutes, she was saying some off-the-wall shit that had the whole table crying laughing.

My moms always said a woman with a quick tongue was dangerous. Rivah was living proof.

Across from me, was Kairo and his wife Khloe.

She had that “fuck it” glow, throwing back drinks like water, finally letting loose like stress was all her life consisted of.

The DJ dropped a track she liked and she damn near broke her neck bopping to it.

Meanwhile, her loud-ass husband, Kairo, was damn near breaking the sound system yelling over the music.

“Aye, Kordai,” Kairo hollered, pointing across the floor at a group of women, “that one right there thick as hell. Go pull her.”

Kordai side-eyed him so hard, I almost choked on my drink. “Nigga, I might be fresh out. Not desperate.”

We all cracked up, and Kairo sat back upset that he couldn’t play matchmaker.

Pretty slid past the section wearing an all black, long-sleeve leotard, pink tutu sitting high enough for a front-row view of chocolate perfection. Black heels clicking like music all on their own.

My dick twitched. My cigar damn near went out.

And, of course, Rivah noticed. Loud as hell.

“Lawd have mercy,” she drawled, leaning forward for a better view. “That ass need its own zip code.”

Khloe wasn’t no better, fanning herself with her hand like she was in church. “Mm-mm. She too damn sexy. Kendrix, that ass sit up better than two bunk beds.”

Kairo choked on his drink, shaking his head. “See, y’all doing too much.”

“Nah,” Rivah grinned, sipping her drink slow. “We just letting him know she fine enough to have his credit score jump fifty points just for touching that ass.”

The whole table burst out laughing while I sat there trying to play it cool, smoke curling from my cigar like I wasn’t two seconds from excusing myself to drag her ass in the office and handle my damn business.

Then, out of nowhere, I saw a tall, dark suit that screamed “old money,” surrounded by security like he owned the block. Nigga walked in like the air belonged to him. Accent heavy as hell when he spoke to the man on his left, like he was giving orders instead of conversation.

I sat back, puffing on my cigar, watching the scene unfold.

The host walked up to him all smiles. “Good evening, sir. Do you have a reservation?”

“Yes,” he said. “Private room. Code is 2442.”

She glanced down at her tablet, eyes widening just a little before she plastered on her professional face again. “Yes, sir. Right this way.”

Cool. Rich niggas in town. Happens all the time.

Until he opened his mouth again.

“And can I get MissCommunication?”

My entire chest went still.

MissCommunication.

I kept it cool. Real cool. Sat back like my ass wasn’t ready to leap across this whole damn section.

The host hesitated. “Oh… um, I’m sorry, sir. She’s not doing private dances tonight.”

He leaned down just a little, smiling. “Tell Niveah that Sincere is here for her.”

The host damn near stuttered, eyes flashing shock before she nodded. “O-okay, sir. One moment.”

Sincere?

Who the fuck is Sincere?

And more importantly, why the fuck did he know her real name like that?

I kept my face cool while my stomach turned. Across the table, Rivah leaned forward with wide eyes. “Oop. Not the government name.”

The host came back with Niv, and the way she lit up when she saw him pissed me the fuck off.

She walked straight up to him, no hesitation, hugged him tight like they had history.

Not the church hug. Not the polite two-pat hug.

Nah, this one had comfort in it. Familiarity.

She whispered something in his ear, he smiled, kissed her cheek, and followed the host out like it was routine.

I sat back in my seat with my face calm. Couldn’t let my brothers see me tripping.

She came gliding over to our table like she hadn’t just had me ready to set the whole building on fire.

“Y’all good over here?” she asked, smiling.

“Yeah, girl, but you fine as hell,” Rivah cut in, drunk giggles spilling out of her like she didn’t know she was pouring gasoline on the wrong flame.

“Fine ain’t even the word,” Khloe added, already swaying to the music, glass in hand.

I felt my molars grinding.

Niv laughed, leaned down, and rubbed my beard.

“What’s wrong? Your posture’s off.”

I smirked, leaning back, acting like my blood wasn’t boiling. “Is that something I need to worry about?”

She tilted her head, that slick ass smile still on her lips. “You should always worry…”

She paused, letting that shit hang before adding,

“…but nah. He’s just an old friend.”

An old friend.

I don’t like old friends. Especially ones that walk in dropping her real name like they own the rights to it.

I kept my face straight, but inside, I was ready to drag her “old friend” out that private room.