Perfect Harmony

by Lodge, Sarah P.

  “Chase, what is it? Isn’t this why we’re here?”

  “Why do you want to go back to this man after everything he’s done?”

  “I have my reasons.” Her smile fades.

  “But he hurt you and cheated on you. He lied to you, Melody. He made you sob in pain. How can you return to that?”

  She pauses for a moment then looks up at me. “You really think I have a beautiful voice?”

  Was she changing the subject?

  “Of course. I said you did, and I mean it.”

  She swallowed. “When I moved here three months ago, I met Richard when I was delivering some papers to him at the Manhattan studio. He was with the band and discussing album cover designs or something, anyway, I was waiting inside for a while and I started singing to myself. I was trying to be real quiet, but the band’s producer overheard me and wanted me to come into the booth and sing backup vocals because the woman he’d got contracted to do it backed out at the last moment. I said yes and I was ready to do it, but then the woman came back and was ready so the producer dropped me. Richard overheard the whole thing and he told me how he was planning on becoming an agent on the side and he didn’t have any clients yet, but he wanted to represent me while he built up his business. He promised me the world. It was like a dream.”

  Melody blinks a tear from her eye. “But, when I caught him with Liz, then the whole thing came crashing down around me.”

  Seeing her hurt so much makes my gut twist.

  “Forget him. He’s a fool. You are worth more than he could ever give you.” I try to think of how to comfort her. “It’s hard being on a record label. You have to project this whole outgoing don’t-take-shit highly sexualised persona. I’ve seen it destroy so many lives, girls who were too young and innocent to know any better. This business can chew you up and spit you out if you’re not the perfect fit.”

  Her lips tremble and she looks up at me. “You’re probably right.”

  Damn it. I failed to comfort her. I am an idiot for trying.

  The girl lost her dream, for god’s sake. It takes more than mere words to come back from that. The whole world becomes such a desolate and nebulous place, and every day the numbness consumes you bit by bit until there’s nothing left but an empty vessel.

  There is only one way I know of to deaden that pain, to forget the loss and move on. I know, because it worked for me.

  But I can’t allow myself to have sex with her. It would cure her heart ache, but what more problems would it create?

  If I was the man I used to be, I would sing to her; a sweet song of seduction and sensuality that would make her realise her gift of singing is worth more than the life it could offer her.

  But I can’t. The mere thought of singing again makes me want to wretch.

  I am powerless to help her. There is nothing I can do.

  Except...

  Except make love to her.

  Would it be so wrong? I’ve spent the evening with my desire and lust arguing with my brain, but maybe they can work together. I long to have her in my bed for myself, but one night of pure pleasure would provide her the comfort and solace she needs.

  Maybe I’m rationalising. But maybe I’m not.

  Maybe only one night could cure us both without risking her falling in love with me.

  She may be young, but Melody is still a woman. At nineteen, she’s already had a couple of boyfriends, so she’s not a virgin. She’s at least aware of who she is sexually, and knows that one night no strings attached is exactly that.

  Thank god, she’s not a virgin.

  It may only be two men she’s slept with, but it was something. And she seemed so embarrassed to admit her number, as if something so low was something to be ashamed about. She would wince if she knew how many women I’ve been with.

  But then, even I couldn’t give her a precise number.

  Her cheeks blush a soft red, emphasised against the white porcelain of her skin. She flutters her long dark eyelashes at me.

  “Chase?”

  “Yes?”

  She shifts on her feet. “How old are you?”

  “Why do you ask?”

  “You seem so old, like an old soul. But you look so young, like we could be the same age, except I know you can’t be because of everything you’ve accomplished. I’ve been wondering it all evening and I wanted to ask you but it didn’t seem right and I worried you’d be offended and-.”

  “And why are you asking me now?”

  “I don’t know. I guess I’m feeling better than I did earlier. More comfortable. With you.” She furrows her brow. “So, what’s your number?”

  “Twenty nine.”

  “Really? That’s...wow. You look good for your age.” She’s silent for a moment, then suddenly perks up again. “How come you’re not married? Where I’m from, my family, everyone is married off by the time they’re thirty.”

  “Firstly, I’m not thirty. Secondly, when you have all I have, marriage is something that holds more gravitas than for most. Someone like me must have a wife who it makes practical sense to marry. Someone from the same stock and heiress to another’s empire. And she must bear a son for me to pass my empire on to.”

  “How romantic.”

  “Romance is irrelevant,” I say. “Marriage is a matter of business and pragmatism. For me, at least.”

  Her face drops and her gaze returns to the floor. “So that’s why you’re going to marry Mercedes Bell.”

  To hear Melody mention that bitches’s name... a feeling of deep anger and irritation rushes through me.

  “No. That’s why I was going to, or at least was planning on it.”

  Melody looks up at me and her eyes are huge under the blinding white light of the overhead chandelier.

  “What happened?”

  “She gave me an ultimatum. If I didn’t propose then she was going to leave me and shack up with some other poor bastard. I don’t take kindly to being threatened.”

  “But I thought our whole revenge scenario, it was for your benefit too - to make her jealous.”

  “It was, at first. Now I never want to see her again.”

  Melody’s lips tremble. “What changed?”

  I cup her cheek with my hand and raise her head toward me. Our eyes meet and the rest of the world fades to black.

  “I met you.” I scan the length of her body, taking in her shoes and her dress and her hair and her makeup. “The real you.”

  Her lips part and she stands speechless in front of me. She is trying to find her voice, but I can see every effort is failing her.

  “I haven’t eaten,” she says suddenly.

  “I’m sorry?”

  “Food. I haven’t had any all day. Or drunk anything, now I think about.”

  “How about a glass of champagne?”

  “Oh no no. On an empty stomach? It would go straight to my head. I’m a terrible light weight - one drink and I’d say yes to anything.”

  I brush my palm down the back of her neck and feel her tremble beneath my touch. “How very interesting.”

  She licks her lips and I stroll towards the bar.

  On the way, I find it impossible to not turn and look back at her. She’s paralysed on the dance floor, so stunningly beautiful in her dress, watching me with wide eyed wonder.

  Other men lurk by her side and ogle her as they have all evening. But she has no idea - I’m the only thing she sees.

  I’ve never felt like this about a woman before. I thought I had, but this is different - the need to possess one specific woman has never consumed me so much. It’s new and exciting and real.

  And I can have this one. She is innocent and naive and my employee, but none of that matters any more.

  I’m her boss so I can do what I like. It’s my business and I’m the one who says who can fuck who.

  And right now, I’m saying I can fuck her. And I’m going to.

  My mind’s eye is filled with images of Melody on the luxurious four-poste
r bed in my penthouse, or one of the twelve bedrooms in my Tuscan villa. She’s naked, her legs spread, one finger pointing towards me and then curling towards her, beckoning me with her deep blue eyes to enter her, a haze full of longing and need and desire to touch every inch of her soft skin as she takes all of me deep inside.

  A jolt of exhilaration and adrenaline courses through my body.

  And I know what I must do.

  Tonight, Melody will be mine.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Melody

  The gawking eyes of tuxedo clad gentlemen burns into my skin. I can feel them all over my body as the men shuffle around the dance floor and make small talk with their annoyed women, their designer dresses hanging off their perfect stick thin bodies like a model in a catalogue.

  The women hate me. I know they do - they see their men eyeing me up and jealously flares across their faces.

  But I don’t care about them.

  I take a deep breath to try and calm my shaking hands.

  Chase is the only thing I can think about.

  I watch his tall dark figure tower above the crowd as he cruises to the bar, the throng of people parting in his way as they stare at him, wide eyed and full of wonder and wanting.

  I can’t blame them. As much as I want to deny it, I’m feeling a hunger for him, myself.

  No. This is stupid. I can’t think of him in such a way. Even forgetting who he is, we’d made a deal: our date is a fabrication. He’d been so damn adamant of that fact. He feels nothing for me, so I must feel nothing for him.

  But then, why has his behaviour all night betrayed that deal? The way he looks at me and the way he touches me, cupping my cheek and whispering such beautiful things...

  My skin burns, flushing at the thought of his fingers stroking the back of my neck, and running under my jaw and across my shoulders, and down my back.

  And the soft feel of his lips against my cheek.

  It wasn’t even how he made me feel on a sensual level. There was something else about the way he treated me that made me feel different. Bold and beautiful and courageous and willing to do anything; no longer some scared little girl.

  He makes me feel like a woman.

  How can one man make me feel this way when nothing else in my life ever has? Perhaps it was the way he looks at me with that hunger in his eyes. Or the touch of his compact and muscular body against my own. Or his smell, so hot and musky and clean, like a wild animal full of power and control.

  It sends me into a deep lust just thinking about him. Blood thumps against my ears and my stomach twists, my skin so tingly and scorching hot, and a furious fluttering in my chest.

  I’ve never felt this way about a man before, such hunger and want and desire, tearing me up inside. Every moment he’s away it hurts like hell, and every second he’s next to me I want him more until I can’t think of anything else.

  I swallow, and it feels like there’s a golf ball in my throat.

  All I need to do is get through tonight. I’ll make sure to say nothing else to him, and keep my distance as much as possible. Then I’ll have something to drink, maybe champagne, and something to eat. Before I know it, tomorrow will come and I’ll be free and back to work at the admin desk and Chase will go back to being Mr. Strong and never look my way again.

  Easy.

  It’s not like he’s actually attracted to me, not for real. He says he’s chosen me over that perfect paragon Mercedes Bell, but he’s just lying to make me feel better. He’s probably been lying to me all evening.

  But I’m reminded again of how he cupped my cheek and gazed deep into my eyes, his own so large and enveloping. I felt adrift in his words, how he told me he wanted nothing more to do with her because he met me.

  The real me.

  Maybe this is who I really am, ball gowns and champagne and charity fundraisers. Someone I’ve denied for so long. Someone who Chase would want.

  A thrill rushes though my body as I remember how he pulled me close and wrapped his arms around me like he was protecting me from the world, like a rare treasure he wanted to keep safe whilst flaunt in front of movie stars and famous singers and politicians. The feel of his piercing gaze as he inspected my body from top to bottom when we left the limo and his stern hand brushing off the paparazzi that scared me so much.

  The tension rises up in me like a coiled spring, the need for him so blinding it’s unreal. How he makes my heart pound against my chest and my breath so shallow and fast, my breasts rising and falling with every tight exhale, wrapped snug in this gorgeous dress he bought me. A dress he bought to make me look more beautiful.

  And that look he gives me. Every time our eyes meet and our gaze locks to each other, I fight the powerful urge compelling me to spill my guts and confess everything to him.

  Things I can’t even confess to myself.

  What’s wrong with me? Why am I torturing myself like this?

  I need to go back to the plan: keep my distance, say little and leave as soon as possible. If I do that, nothing can go wrong.

  “Melody?”

  I spin around and find Richard standing behind me. He scans me in my tight gown, his mouth wide open and eyes awash with surprise. “You look... I mean...” he stumbles out. He shakes his head. “I didn’t think you’d be here.”

  I bite my lip. “Me neither. Are you alone?”

  Richard’s mouth opens, ready to speak when I hear a woman’s voice come up behind him. “Richard, darling, you have to try these oysters, I mean, they look disgusting but when they go down, oh my god.” She catches sight of me and freezes. “Melody, hi. Didn’t see you... standing... there.” She brushes a lock of long blonde hair off her face.

  “Liz. Nice to see you.”

  “You too,” she says.

  And we stand for a moment, paralysed and speechless in the sheer awkwardness. It feels like hours pass before anyone speaks again.

  It is only then that I notice Liz’s face. She looks miserable, almost on the precipice of bursting into tears.

  “Melody. I... I’m so sorry.”

  Her voice cuts through the silence like a knife through warm butter.

  “Liz, stop it,” says Richard. “There’s nothing to apologise for.”

  “We never meant to hurt you,” says Liz. “Really. It was a big mess and I’m so sorry.”

  “Stop it.” Richard glares at me and continues. “We were going to tell you last week but you’ve been avoiding us this entire time.”

  My mouth falls open. “You’re blaming me?”

  “Come on, Melody. I was meant to be your boyfriend but if you didn’t want me then at least you should have had the stones to tell me rather than working late, or whatever crap excuse you’ve got ready at a moments notice.”

  “This is not my fault. You’re the one who cheated on me!”

  “Not if you hadn’t pushed me away. For god’s sake, is it any wonder Liz and I got together? All those nights we planned to do something and you disappeared with no warning, me already in your apartment. You’re the reason you’re unhappy. Not us.”

  I shake my head. “No, that’s a lie. A damn lie.”

  “Really?” Richard eyes me from top to bottom, prolonging his look on my long auburn hair curling over my shoulders, and the low cut of my top pushing my ample breasts so close to my chest they threaten to spill over. “Because you sure as hell never dressed like that when we were dating.” He grinds his teeth. “So, who is he?”

  This is the moment I’ve been preparing for all night. The time to drop the revenge bombshell that the man I’m with is Chase Strong, his boss, his boss’s boss, billionaire playboy, ruthless and handsome, someone who could have any woman on the planet. And he wants me.

  And then they’d be shocked. They’d be jealous. They’ve been eaten alive with envy. And I would be satisfied and happy again.

  But then I see Richard’s arm is wrapped around Liz’s waist, his hand on her side and holding her to him. It’s only the minutest of ge
stures, but unconsciously he wants to keep her close to him. He wants to protect her. And she wants to let him.

  I never even offered him that. Not even the passive submission of letting him try and take care of me. Every time he had tried to touch me, I had pulled away. We got along so well at the recording studio when we first met - we had so much in common and he was nice and sweet. A relationship seemed like the sensible thing to do, but I never really felt anything for him beyond friendship. I strained to keep the relationship alive - it was the right thing to do with how supportive he was of my dream and how he wanted to be the one to make it come true.

  But I felt nothing. The first time he tried to kiss me, I resisted. And then I made some bullshit excuse that even I can’t remember anymore. All the excuses have blurred together after all these months.

  He’s right. I’ve spent our relationship avoiding him. And that isn’t right for him. He deserves someone who appreciates all he can offer and can want him back.

  He deserves Liz.

  They’ve even slept together, as my mind’s eye will never let me forget. I couldn’t even offer him that. Not that it would have made much difference.

  I never loved Richard. I realise that now, but that truth isn’t what hurts me. What hurts is how I’ve lost my dream of being a singer. Everyone in my life has always told me that I could never do it, that no matter how great my voice is, I’m just not the right person for it; I’m too nice. But I know what they really meant - I’m not pretty enough.

  But Richard didn’t listen to that - he was so naive and new to the business that he didn’t care, and he was ready to do all those things that agents do, that I have no idea about. He knew people in the industry, and what to say and who to say it to.

  But I don’t know how to do any of that.

  I had such big dreams, and the second I saw Richard and Liz screwing each other senseless on the couch, I knew they were over. He had ended them.

  No. I hate to admit it, but the truth is I’m the one who ended those dreams, long ago.

  Richard gave me enough opportunities to sing in public, at bars and open mic nights and demo auditions. But I found excuse after excuse to blow them off because I was afraid what people would say when they saw the woman behind the voice.