Page 59

Chapter Forty-Five

SAPPHIRE NIGHTCLUB

HARLEM, NEW YORK

Although the strip club typically filled up wall to wall late night, it was critical for the girls to get in earlier. They had to look like money, and most of all, feel like money, which usually called for them to take shot after shot, or for some of the reckless bitches, line after line.

The same scene was beginning to feel old to Jazzy. That was the same reason she left Paris. Jazzy grew tired of things fairly quickly. She was always on to the next thing after she got all she could get from it. The only thing that really stuck with her was fashion, but even that had to have many aspects that kept her on her toes. Fashion would forever be interchanging, and it would always be open to new and exciting things, and that was why it was her niche.

"Why you look like somebody fucked your man?" Jazzy's best friend, Taylor, screwed up her face as her eyes scanned Jazzy up and down.

Jazzy's mean mug, which was a lot tougher than usual, softened before she cracked a laugh with Taylor. "Girl, I'm tired. I been here all day." Jazzy smacked her lips as she folded her arms across her chest.

"You gonna stop coming?" Taylor raised her brow at Jazzy.

Jazzy scoffed. "No, I still got a couple thousand to make off you bitches."

Taylor laughed. "Exactly, so stop complaining.”

"I'm not complaining, just tired," Jazzy corrected her as she unfolded her arms from over her chest to grab the nylon bag she carried the pieces for the ladies in.

Taylor sashayed over toward the mini fridge that sat in the left corner of the locker room. She opened it up, retrieving a Red Bull from one of the shelves. "You know you don't have to do this, right?" Taylor reminded Jazzy as she walked the energy drink over to her.

She thanked Taylor for the drink before opening it up and taking a swig. "Yes, I do. If I don't make my own, who's gonna make it for me?”

Taylor smacked her lips while shooting Jazzy a stale face. "Do you not know who your brother is?"

She waved Taylor off. "You must not know who my brother is," she retorted. "The last thing that nigga needs is someone else leeching off him. If I'm capable of getting it on my own, that's what I'm gonna do."

Taylor let out a sigh. "Girl, you're better than me."

"Pro tip: they give you more when they know you can hustle for it and cop it yourself," Jazzy teased Taylor, causing them to share a laugh.

Taylor let out a sigh as she looked off in the distance as if she were deep in thought. "I knew I should've fucked your brother when I had the chance. I would've been your sister-in-law." She shook her head, shaming herself for missing out on Priest.

Jazzy laughed. "Yeah, bitch. You played him out for J'Ru. Now look at you." She jokingly eyed Taylor up and down in disgust.

Taylor let out a groan. "My bad for wanting the funny nigga." She smacked her lips with a deep roll of her eyes at the thought of J'Ru.

"And the funny nigga played all up in your face." Jazzy pointed at her, still in laughter. "Joked and dumped while PJ booed up with his shorty."

Priest had always wanted to get with Taylor. No one was sure of his intentions, but if Jazzy had to guess, she was sure he would've most likely fucked her and kept it pushing. When he was trying, Taylor always felt like she was out of Priest's league, so she continued to dub him. She completely ignored his efforts and went with J'Ru. He was the one with the car. He put more effort into his style, and he had just gotten a raise at his landscaping job, so J'Ru definitely seemed like the catch out the two. Years had passed, and Priest had made a drastic turn in his life. Taylor was regretting her choice of picking J'Ru over Priest, not because of Priest's status, but because Priest seemed more like the long term committed type, while J'Ru was comfortable with disappearing and then popping up whenever he missed her pussy.

"So, he's taking her serious?" Taylor raised a curious brow. "I'm just inquiring for a friend."

Jazzy laughed at how subtle Taylor thought she was being. "Yeah, he loves her," Jazzy informed her with a light smile. "Very easy-going girl and cool to talk to. I approve of her."

"If you're tryna say I don't have a chance anymore, just say that." Taylor smacked her lips with a roll of her eyes.

Jazzy once again busted into laughter. "Tay, I thought we'd already established that. You fucked up your chance by fucking J'Ru. You know how tight they are. PJ would never double back," she explained to Taylor while giving her an encouraging tap on her shoulder.

"The nigga just had to have morals," she groaned lightly.

"Taylor, shut up!" Jazzy shook her head in amusement.

After a few minutes, the locker room began to fill up with the ladies, and Jazzy began getting them fitted. Ever since she had been coming around and making custom pieces for the dancers, men had been drooling at their heels like lap dogs. The money they made each night reflected it, too.

Jazzy secured a lace bralette around Taylor, immediately causing her breasts to rise and look bigger. "You did it again," Taylor praised her as she looked herself over in the mirror. Jazzy had her looking damn good.

"Don't I always?” she arrogantly responded with a smirk.

The door of the locker room swung open. Jazzy, who kept herself alert despite Priest having security with her, looked up. The alert expression on her face diminished and was immediately replaced by a stale face.

"Aye," Kev, who Jazzy usually referred to as the assistant, called out to her. "He looking for you."

Jazzy cut her eyes at him. "Nigga, don't you see I'm working?" she snapped as she swapped Taylor out for another girl, handing her the custom piece.

Kev smacked his lips just as Jazzy did. "We all working, but he's looking for you," he repeated.

"Clearly not hard enough if he couldn't come find me," Jazzy muttered while waving Kev off. His homie was persistent with Jazzy, but she would never take a man who couldn't approach her himself seriously. She was an intimidating girl, but she didn't think she was that unapproachable.

"Girl, just give that man some attention. He's been pressing you since you got here." One of the dancers who went by the name Passion told Jazzy with a light laugh.

Jazzy rolled her eyes. "You in my business. Don't do that," she advised Passion, causing the locker room full of women to laugh.

Kev, who had little to no patience with Jazzy, scoffed rudely. "You coming or what?"

She really did enjoy giving Kev's homie Ron a hard time. The nigga just needed to grow a pair, approach her himself and stop sending his little do-boy. "Unlike you, I don't move when that nigga tell me to," Jazzy smirked tauntingly.

"I don't even know why he bother with your ass. You not even worth it." Kev shook his head after letting out the sly remark.

Jazzy screwed up her face in offense. "You mad ‘cause your little peon ass get sent on empty trips around this club for your homie. Don't get mad at me because that nigga won't give you a promotion. And I'm very much worth it. If I wasn't, your stupid ass wouldn't even be standing here letting me read you for filth. Weak ass." She dismissed him with a wave of her hand and narrowed eyes.

Kev left without another word, causing the ladies in the locker room to erupt in laughter. Jazzy's mouth was known for doing one of two things: she either intrigued you or turned you away. Some of the ladies thought she was plain old rude, while the rest just knew that she was cutthroat so no one could pull bullshit past her. After getting all the ladies that she made pieces for dressed and glistening in aromatic body oil, Jazzy stepped out of the locker room and made her way toward the front of the club.

The traffic in the club began to pick up, and because it was a weekend, there were a lot more patrons than were there on weekdays. As always, Jazzy made her rounds, chatting with a few people, but mostly remaining at the bar with her favorite bartender, Angie. The music encased the club from wall to wall as it loosened up the clubgoers.

Jazzy was almost never in the bad bitch attire that was expected for going out to a club that always contained a good number of ballers. She dressed casual and comfortable because she really wasn't at the club to draw eyes. She was hustling, making her coin, and then heading home. Tonight, her attire consisted of a white bodysuit she wore underneath a pair of denim shorts. She paired the outfit with a basic pair of black and white Versace sneakers. As always, she kept her diamond drenched Audemars Piguet watch, gifted by Priest, around her wrist. She wore her vintage red Prada bag strapped across her body. Jazzy kept it simple, but she still drew attention from all areas of the club, from the VIP sections to the floor.

"Are you ever not here?" Angie laughed as she handed Jazzy her usual spiked lemonade.

Jazzy took a sip of her drink as she shook her head, responding to Angie. "Give me two more months, and you'll never have to see this pretty little face again." Jazzy gave Angie her infectious smile while batting her long, full lashes.

Angie pouted. "You weren't kidding when you said you were only passing through.”

"Nope. Big bro just wants me to prove myself, so that's what I'm doing." Jazzy smiled lovingly at the thought of Priest. They had their differences, but he was all she had and vice versa.

Angie, who was due to respond to her, had a smirk etched on her face as the stools next to Jazzy filled up. Noticing that she no longer had Angie's attention, Jazzy’s eyes shifted to her left. At the sight of Ron sitting next to her, she rolled her eyes deeply.

"This enough pressure for you?" Ron smoothly asked with a smirk gracing his handsome face.

Jazzy, who wasn't impressed by the little tactic he was pulling, eyed him up and down. She knew it probably wouldn't be the best thing to entertain him, but he was damn fine, from his plump lips to his beard that he always kept lined up sharply. His cut was low with deep waves that even put Jazzy's hard-to-impress ass in a trance. One thing Jazzy couldn't downplay about Ron was that he was always looking good.

The man dressed to impress. Tonight was no different. He was dressed in a black and white Chrome Hearts hoodie with a pair of black Rick Owen jeans. His feet were adorned with a pair of red, white and black Off-White Retro 1s.

Although Jazzy would’ve never found it within herself to admit it, he had inspired some of the outfits she put together for herself. He had a lot of fucking style. "You think sitting next to me is gonna get me?" Jazzy scoffed. "Must've never fucked with a shorty with substance."

Ron chuckled. The more Jazzy made herself a challenge, the more he enjoyed the chase. He wasn't sure if she was intentionally giving him a hard time or if she was just being herself. Either way it went, Ron didn't mind.

"Teach me all I need to know then," he flirted with his radiant smile. Those damn dimples. They got Jazzy every damn time.

Jazzy once more rolled her eyes. The last thing she needed was this nigga thinking he got through to her. "For one, I'm not like any of these other bitches. Don't send for me," she advised him with an intimidating eye.

Ron nodded his head. "My bad," he apologized. "I thought that was the gentlemanly thing to do since you keep such a low profile in here."

Jazzy screwed up her face at him, eyeing him as if he had lost his mind. "Son, who the fuck raised you?"

Ron chuckled. He knew he sounded crazy, but to him, it made sense. He didn't like a whole lot of people in his business, and all it took was for him to be in the wrong place at the wrong time, and shit could go south. Sending Kev wasn't necessarily him not having the courage to approach Jazzy. He just didn't want to blow up his spot. "Alright, let's start over," he suggested. "I'm Ron." He stuck his hand out, introducing himself to Jazzy.

Jazzy eyed his hand with a mean mug etched on her face. "Tell me what your mama named you, not what these hoes call you," she scoffed while advising him how to properly introduce himself to her.

Ron licked his plump lips before giving his introduction another shot. "I'm Cameron Combs, but I go by Ron. You are?"

Satisfied with his now proper introduction, Jazzy caved and decided to introduce herself. Placing her hand into his, her cold brown eyes seared into his. "Jazzlyn Barrette. Nice to meet you, Cameron." He felt a sudden intimidation wave over him at the feeling of Jazzy's sturdy handshake.

She had a backbone.

"Can I buy you a drink?" Cameron offered, only for Jazzy to shut him down.

She wrapped her glossed lips around the two small straws in her drink and took a sip before responding to him. "I can buy my own. If you haven’t noticed yet, I already have one," she told him.

Cameron eased out a light laugh. "Some food, maybe?" he suggested once more.

Again, Jazzlyn shook her head. "Then you're gonna think I owe you," she scoffed lightly. "I can buy my own food as well." She proceeded to wave Angie back over to her, where she placed an order for a fried shrimp basket with cocktail sauce.

"You're making this hard." Cameron ran his hands down his face.

Feeling accomplished, Jazzy smirked while eyeing him in his soft brown eyes. "Was I supposed to make this easy for you?"

Cameron shook his head. He was used to having it easy with women, but he now knew he didn’t have his work cut out for him this time. "Nah, that wouldn't interest me," he admitted in his suave voice.

Jazzy was satisfied with his response. "Exactly. Remember, I'm the catch." She winked at him just as Angie sat her food down before her in a to-go box. She reached into her bag, extracting some cash to pay Angie for the food. "Enjoy the rest of your night, Cameron." She smiled cheekily as she stood from the bar stool, taking her food and drink with her.

She brushed past him, heading back to the locker room where she usually waited for Taylor to wrap up. As she sauntered through the club, she could feel Cameron's eyes searing into her as he watched her every move.

And just like that, Jazzy had Cameron hooked.