Hip Hop Heat Read Free Page A

confidentiality rules. Some forms even outlined the company's right to Lalana's likeness, voice and video for future broadcasting in conjunction with MC RO. Lalana excitedly signed or initialed lines Jennifer pointed to without reading a thing.
    With all the paperwork in order, Jennifer took a phone call.
    "Oh yes, I know," Jennifer said into the headset, leaning back in her chair. The door suddenly swung open and in walked three men wearing jeans. Each was at least six feet tall. The men's pants hung almost a foot below their waists. Gleaming white T-shirts caused Lalana to squint. And their jewelry! Each man seemed to have been dipped in a pot of Iced-out jewelry to perfectly demonstrate their levels of success.
    From designer sneakers to neatly lined haircuts, everything about them said these men were true poster-boys for everything hip-hop. They stood looking around without uttering a word. Moments later, there he was; striding into Jennifer's office like he owned the place. Lalana's mouth opened wider with each step of MC ROC's Air Jordans. It felt like an honor just to breathe in the same air he was breathing out.
    Lalana's eyes traveled slowly from the leather of his sneakers up his dark jeans to a massive, blinged-out belt buckle. A Presidential Rolex wrapped around one wrist while a diamond bracelet - at least six inches wide - sparkled on the other. Both arms were covered in colorful tattoos stretching up to bulging biceps.
    The white tank top MC ROC wore did little to hide his washboard stomach. A diamond-encrusted R hanging from a platinum link chain rested in the center of it. He was absolutely stunning.
    When Lalana's eyes met his, she noticed his pink glistening tongue glide across his lips as he smiled at her. She felt her heart melt and her panties go totally wet. Lalana wondered if those lips tasted as good as they looked. She crossed and uncrossed her legs in a feeble attempt at composure.
    "'Sup," he said in her direction with a slight nod of his head.
    Lalana couldn't find her voice. Jennifer quickly returned the phone to its cradle without saying goodbye and hopped up from her chair.
    "Hey ROC," she greeted nervously. "This here is Lalana. She's the winner."
    Lalana knew MC ROC was fine; but her eyes stood witness that not a single picture - even those carefully airbrushed for magazine spreads - ever did him justice. He was stop-and-stare gorgeous. When his gazed turned back to her, Lalana managed to ease up from her chair and stand.
    "Hi, um, I'm Lalana," she muttered, realizing she'd simply repeated what Jennifer had already said.
    A movie-star smile stretched across MC ROC's handsome face. He nodded again. "That's what's up," he said.
    His sexy, hooded bedroom eyes fell to her legs, then crawled north over her entire body. He sucked his teeth like a piece of steak was lodged between them as he settled on her breasts; then again said, "That's whassup for real," before turning to his entourage, offering a slight nod, and returning his attention to Lalana.
    The guys bumped fists with each other. One turned to ROC: "She tight, Dawg!"
    Lalana giggled in spite of herself.
    MC ROC turned and took a step toward the door. Lalana's heart sank. But the rapper turned to look at her again: "Wassup Shorty, you rollin' wit' me, right?"
    Before anyone could ask for clarification, Lalana grabbed her purse and stumbled in an effort to catch up with him. If only he knew, she thought with a smile. She would follow him straight through the gates of Hell without him even having to ask.

Chapter Four
    Lalana's mind raced as she and MC ROC walked out to the parking lot. The sun had set, giving way to a perfect, balmy evening. Lalana walked a few steps behind ROC's entourage, overwhelmed by her good fortune. Suddenly ROC stopped and took a phone call.
    Lalana stood off to the side to give him some privacy, watching as the other guys rushed to their respective vehicles.
    "L," ROC said, "show Shorty here to my ride. I'll holla