Beyond the Velvet Rope by Tiffany Ashley Page A

from her. She didn’t intend to get lightheaded on wine during her meeting. She would have to pace herself.
    “How was your first night at Babylon?” he asked casually.
    “Great,” she breathed, relieved the conversation had turned to business. “I was telling Warren this morning I thought he’d made a very sound investment.”
    Something flickered across Elliot’s face. It bordered annoyance, but she could not be sure. Whatever it was, it was gone as quickly as it had come. “Yes,” he said smoothly, “it’s a very sound investment.”
    “You mentioned yesterday you wanted me to host a series of events at the club,” she said. “Did you have in mind any particular kind of events?”
    “That will be entirely up to you,” he said vaguely.
    “Entirely?” she pressed.
    Elliot smiled. “With my approval, of course.”
    “Of course,” she said under her breath, slightly irritated by the lack of direction he was giving her. “Is there anyone specifically you wish to attend these events?” she asked. “I have a lot of contacts in New York. I planned to work my connections to get as many celebrities as your staff thinks they can handle. I know Brandon Audrey’s agent. I can see how his schedule lays out.”
    If he was impressed by her dropping the name of a major movie star, he was a remarkable poker player. He didn’t even flinch. Whether it was because he didn’t care for Brandon Audrey or doubted her abilities to book him, was a mystery to her.
    Elliot gave her a patronizing smile. “I see you’re not familiar with how things work here. Miami is known for two things.” He ticked his words off on his fingers. “Music artists and models. Wherever there are musicians, there will undoubtedly be models. And where there are models, there are wealthy men. Where there is wealth, there are more beautiful women, and where there are beautiful women, there are men. My point is, you need to focus on getting music artists here. The occasional actor is fine, but concentrate your energy on music. Am I making myself clear?”
    “Absolutely,” she agreed, relieved he was giving her specifics she could use. “And while we’re on the subject of the target market, what about the press? Are there any syndications you want to be featured in? The Tower would make for some great photo opportunities. Elle Décor or even Architectural Digest might consider doing a story—” She broke off when he started shaking his head. “Is there a problem?”
    “No press.”
    “Excuse me?” she asked, certain she had not heard him correctly.
    “No press,” he repeated, “and absolutely no photographers.”
    Thandie laughed. “This is a joke, right?” She stopped abruptly when he didn’t join her. Instead, he sat patiently, staring at her. “You can’t be serious,” she said.
    He flicked away an imaginary piece of lint from his suit lapel.
    “You’re serious?” she gasped in disbelief.
    “No photos. It’s a club policy.”
    “Who would make such an absurd policy?”
    “I did.”
    “But this is for promotion,” she stammered. “How can we motivate people to come to the club if you aren’t willing to show your establishment?”
    “I’m sorry, Ms. Shaw, but I’m quite firm on the matter. Guests come to Babylon for privacy, and I will not break promises just to sell a few silly fashion magazines and cheap tabloids.”
    “Those cheap tabloids define for many people who’s hot and who’s not,” she said. “They set the mode for mainstream society. And if it weren’t for those silly fashion magazines marketing their products, it’s doubtful you would know that Purple Label suit you’re wearing is the center point of Ralph Lauren’s spring line.”
    “Versed as you are in ways of fashion, my decision hasn’t changed. No photos. And if you don’t like it, you can always quit. There are plenty of qualified and more...appropriate promoters who would love to be in your position right now.” One dark, arched