by Nora Flite
“Shush,” she said, pulling me in for a fierce hug. “You won't be working at Caffeline ever again, trust me. No one can say no to you, Amina.” Her eyes twinkled. “I bet a lot of singers have to kill themselves just to get noticed, and you did it accidentally.”
I smiled until my eyes watered. “I love your optimism.” With one more hug, I stepped onto the sidewalk. Korine waved at me, shouting as she drove off. “Don’t you dare forget me, Miss Famous!”
Laughing, I shouted back, “I won't!”
Filling my chest with my last taste of Portland air, I hoisted my suitcase and headed towards the airport’s sliding doors. One of the men who'd been waiting by the curbside luggage drop-off chuckled at me. “Famous, huh? You someone I should know?” he asked.
Blushing, I kept walking. “Sorry, no, my friend was just being silly.”
He lifted his bushy eyebrows, watching me until I couldn't see him. His lighthearted question smothered my excitement. I wasn't famous, and the doubt in his face said he didn't think I could be.
Maybe it was an omen. Why would I ever succeed at becoming someone worth knowing? Don't be nervous, I told myself firmly. This is going to be great.
Wasn't I due for some good luck?
After a quick check-in, then waltz through security, I dropped into a chair at my gate. I'm the queen of finding ways to stay busy. I'm always itching for long stretches of nothingness like this. Slipping out a small notebook, the binding worked over so much it flopped open, I began to write.
Jotting down poems or lyrics is a habit of mine.
But this time, after a few minutes, I began to fidget. My mind kept going back to one thing in particular. A gloriously handsome, tattooed thing—Bach Devine. Frowning, I inched my phone out and opened up a browser. I couldn't resist researching him more now that I was alone.
His face filled my screen—my heart filled my throat. For real, he's way too good looking. I could see some similarity to his father, mostly in the shape of his mouth and chin. But they didn't have the same eyes.
Laurence always had a kindness rooting in his deep pupils in the photos I’d seen. It seemed as if you could meet him on the street and he'd give you a hug, even if you were strangers. Bach didn't have that aura.
His energy was... sharp.
I ran my finger over my screen, confirming his picture couldn't cut me.
How could Laurence Devine create such a wild looking son? Searching the internet, I pulled up article after article about Bach. There were lots of character-assassinating blogs about him being a playboy, each filled with near nude photos. But what I found the longer I looked blew my mind.
He didn't just look like trouble, he was trouble.
Bar fights.
Car crashes.
Disorderly conduct.
Property damage.
The list went on and on. Everything was minor enough on its own, but when put together, it painted a scary picture. One article talked about how much money Laurence Devine had spent to get Bach out of prison. Shaking my head in disbelief, I went back to the photos Korine had pulled up earlier. There was Bach in a crisp black suit-jacket with the headline “Bone Cancer Ends Laurence Devine's Life, Son Inherits Music Empire”.
This brute was going to be in charge of my music career?
“Please prepare to board Flight 166 to Los Angeles,” a voice chirped over the loud speaker. Yanked from my conflicting thoughts, I scrambled to grab my suitcase and notebook. I was flustered over the possibility that I was making a huge mistake by meeting with Bach Devine.
Focus, I told myself, hurrying up to the counter with my ticket. Focus. Breathe...
And get on that plane before you talk yourself out of it.
****
The problem with pumping myself up to board the plane...
Was that I forgot my damn phone on a chair at my gate.
Cursing myself, I wandered from desk to desk in LAX. It was one thing to lose my phone, but my flight had also ended up landing an hour late. Some sort of backup had forced us to sit on the tarmac for way, WAY too long.
Someone back at the other airport should be able to find my phone and send it to me! It sounded logical enough. But every person I talked to—each more bored than the last—had no answers. One of them had me fill out a form for lost possessions, insisting that I give her an address where they could return the phone to.
But I didn't have an address.
I don't even know where I'm staying out here! I felt stupid for not taking better precautions. I didn't know Violet's number by heart, or Korine's. How was I going to reach anyone?
Defeated, I scribbled a simple set of words onto the form. Beats and Blast Record Company. The lady didn't scan the paper, so I had no idea if what I put was okay or not. I just took a copy of the slip she handed over, and then... I started to walk.
At least I have my suitcase. In the lobby, I scanned the masses of people for any hint of Violet. I didn't know what she looked like, or if she'd be waiting for me still. She'd said she'd be holding up a sign with my name—but there was no one like that here.
I was two hours late. She probably thought I'd chickened out. But I couldn't chicken out, not even if I wanted to. I had no return ticket, almost no money, and I didn't know anyone in this city.
Holding my head high, I stepped out onto the bustling sidewalk. The parade of taxis gave me many options. I climbed into the nearest one, my fingers crossing in hopes that the driver would know where I wanted to go.
He was a younger man, his teeth too-white as he grinned at me. “Address, Miss?”
“Um.” Fidgeting, I leaned forward. “Look, I don't know the actual address, but do you know where the Beats and Blast building is?”
The momentary twist of his features turned my stomach into a knot. But then he revved the engine, cranking up the radio so the static and rock music could be heard. “Not a problem! Just enjoy the beautiful sights, we'll be there very soon!”
Tension fled my body; I bit back a relieved, almost psychotic laugh. This was the first good news I'd had in a while. Enjoy the ride?
I damn well would.
- Chapter Four -
Bach
Pacing through the building, I glared at my phone once again. Violet's rapid messages stared back at me:
Still waiting at airport.
She's not here yet.
No word.
Won't answer her phone.
Something is wrong.
Yes, something was fucking wrong; my world was falling apart, and the one flicker of hope had gone missing somewhere inside of LAX. I crossed my office, then back again. Fuck it.
Shoving my phone deep in my jacket pocket, I took pointed strides out into the hall. I can't take this sitting around. I'd go to the airport myself. It was the only thing I could think of. I was a man of action, often to a fault.
Too impatient to wait for the elevator, I jogged down the stairs. All of the swimming I did kept me in good shape. I reached the balcony that overlooked the lobby in record time. I put one heel onto the top step, then froze at what I saw below. Are you kidding me?
There was always foot traffic in my building. People loved taking tours here to view all the signed records on our walls, plus, there was the hope of running into someone famous. Even among all the bustling bodies, it was easy to spot her.
With the sunlight brightening the room through the floor to ceiling windows, her tan skin looked like gold. Black, glossy hair tickled past her curved ears that were free of any jewelry. She was wearing torn jeans and a zipped up yellow hoodie that was clearly too warm for the weather. Her basic sandals showed off her un-pedicured feet.
Amina looked more out of place than a cat at a dog show.
And yet...
She had an energy that said she didn't mind. Her poise, the casual tilt of her head and the way she bent one knee—all of it translated into making it feel like the world was revolving around her.
What an insane thought, I warned
myself. She was a normal girl with an abnormal voice; as much as I wanted her to be special, once you stripped the gauze away, she was a nobody. It was my job to change that.
As I drew closer to her, passing the next to last step on the staircase, something in the air stirred. Then she looked at me.
My fingers crushed on the railing, pain lacing up my arm. I was knotting up everywhere, the thread of static passing from her stare into my heart. It was as if the damn woman had stuck my hand in a live socket.
The flash in her vivid gray eyes said she'd felt it, too.
The ache in my lower belly was begging me to peel away every bit of clothing on Amina. I wanted to taste her, smell her, touch her. And fuck, it would be so easy to make that happen. I'd done it before, I was a pro at coaxing anyone I desired into my bed and—Stop it! Shutting my eyes, I sucked air through my nose. Focus. You promised Violet you wouldn't mess around.
Swallowing, I forced my composure back into place and climbed down the last step. Amina hadn't blinked, she focused on me with rising interest. For each inch I came closer to her, the gap between her plump lips opened wider.
The face of a shocked woman.
Or someone who wanted to be kissed.
Offering my hand, my voice came out warm. “You're Amina Richards, aren't you?”
Smiling nervously, she gripped my palm. The silk of her skin thrilled me. “Did my lost puppy expression give me away?”
“No. I saw your videos. I'm—”
“Bach Devine.” Catching herself, she pulled back and laughed. “Sorry. I saw some videos of you, too.”
My smirk crawled up higher. “Nothing too wild, I hope.”
For a second, her breath caught. I saw it stop in her chest, her breasts rising, falling, and taking my attention with them. “I—um.”
Pushing her buttons was already becoming an addiction. I needed to get a hold over myself before our first meeting turned into something... filthy. But I want a taste of filth. If I took her to my office, no one would interrupt. Well, no one except...
“There you are!” Violet shouted, stomping our way. She'd come from outside, she must have just gotten back from LAX. “Amina, thank goodness! I was worried something had happened to you!”
Blinking, Amina rocked side to side. “Sorry, I lost my phone and the plane landed way later than expected. I'm guessing you're... Violet?”
“I waited in the airport for an hour, then I started asking around for you and—never mind.” Dusting her hands on her white pencil skirt, she gave Amina a quick hug. “The important thing is that you're fine.”
Amina disengaged, flushing all over again. “Thanks. I really am sorry, though. I figured I'd catch a taxi here, and then I was going to ask the front desk to contact you.” Her eyes flicked to me. “Mister Devine found me first.”
“Call me Bach.”
Violet reached down, grabbing Amina’s suitcase. “You've had a long flight. How about we get you settled in. You'll love where you're staying.”
Amina went to respond, her strawberry-red lips spreading. “No," I said. That interruption shaped my voice into a razor. “Before she does anything, I want to hear her sing.”
They wore matching looks of disbelief. They didn't understand; they didn't need to. Every moment counted these days. Amina wouldn't be another mistake. She'd sing for me—now—so that I could know if she was worth the effort of bringing her here.
If she wasn’t?
I’d stick her in a taxi and send her straight back home on a plane tonight.
Violet grimaced. "Hmm—how about we let her rest first.”
Meeting her eyes, I read Violet's mind with ease. She thinks I'm being harsh. Or crazy. Maybe both. “She can rest after she proves her talent isn’t some trick.”
There were people milling around us in the lobby. Violet hissed under her breath so only we three could hear. “You watched her video, you know what she can do.”
“A video can hide weaknesses.” My attention flashed to Amina. “Flaws. How long do you want to wait to find out if she’s worthy of our label?”
Curling her hands into fists, my VP stared me down.
“I'll do it,” Amina said. She lifted her chin with purpose, and even though she wore a slightly uneasy smile, I sensed the strength inside of her. There was nothing wavering in her eyes. This woman was as sturdy as a mountain.
Her confidence threw me off. Why is my heart pounding? I hadn't seen such certainly in someone since...
Since my father.
Brushing a hand over my mouth, I turned towards the elevator. “Then let's get to it.”
****
The recording studio was the most expensive room in the whole building.
Amina was behind the thick glass like some majestic butterfly I'd captured. Was I going to set her free, or pin her up on display? I didn't know. I hoped her performance would help me decide.
“Is it necessary to sabotage her like this?” Violet asked. "That's what you're doing. You must know that."
Amina touched the mic, adjusting it to her height while fiddling with the headset. She lifted her eyes to mine; I smiled at her, talking to my VP as I did. "We have one month until the awards. You want to try and teach someone the ropes? If she can't handle a spontaneous show, she'll fall apart in a week out here. Let's figure that out now."
"I still say it's going too far." Violet waved briskly at the singer. "Is it just me, or does she seem really comfortable in there?"
I glanced at the red-head. "Do you know if she's ever recorded anything before, beyond those little videos?"
She shrugged. "I searched for her online, didn't get any hits."
That was good to hear. Launching a new face was always easier than someone who'd made a name for themselves by failing over and over again. Bending forward, I pushed a button on the dashboard in front of me. It opened a connection between us and Amina's headset. "You ready?"
Clasping the headset, she nodded vigorously. "You want me to sing anything in particular?"
My smile was more of a smirk. "Whatever your heart desires. Pick something, I'll put some background music on for you."
She bit the edge of her lip. "No. No music."
Violet and I shared a look. She mouthed, "Acoustic?" at me. I gave her a shrug similar to the one she'd offered me earlier.
"Okay then," I said. "You're all set, Amina." Closing the connection, I sat back in the chair... and waited.
The room had a reddish glow. Amina was a living ruby, a piece of treasure meant to be plucked and held close. Or she's made of plastic, I warned myself. Pretty things sometimes weren't worth a dime.
More than anything, I wanted this girl to prove she was as good as I hoped.
As good as I fucking needed her to be.
In my lap, I'd unconsciously linked my fingers. It looked like I was praying. I saw Violet staring at me from the corner of my eye, but before I could ease up and appear calmer than I was, Amina began to sing.
I forgot I even had hands, after that.
"Whispers," she sighed into the mic. "Fools and ghosts and me in the middle."
All of the air left my lungs. Violet gasped, and if she hadn't been watching me before, she certainly was now.
Her lashes settled on her glossy cheeks as she continued to sing. “I’m scared, and the world won’t believe. But you will... you’ll know me in the crowd. Whisper my name. I will always hear your voice, even if the ghosts swallow me whole.”
The song crept into my body and pulled me from that room. It forced me to think of blue lakes, an expanse of twinkling night sky, and strong hands that held me steady. No music could have been more welcome. Nothing could have been so painful.
"Why?" Violet whispered next to me. "Why would she pick that song?"
My hands were claws; they fought me as I pulled them apart. In the red room, Amina finished the final verse. It was a kick to my ribs to hear her singing those familiar lyrics.
"Bach," my VP urged me. "Why—"
<
br /> "Shh," I growled. "I don't know." How could I? Of all the songs to pick...
Why had Amina chosen the one my father wrote for me?
Pulling off the headset, she blinked as if she'd been staring into the sun. Through the sheet of invisible wall between us, Amina met my eyes. Her dimples grew, an honest smile forming. She knew she'd sung well—of course she did.
In hindsight, my doubts were foolish.
Amina's smile faltered. Whatever was in my expression had erased her joy.
"Hey," Violet said to me. "Are you alright?"
Shoving the chair back so hard that it tumbled over, I rose quickly. "We need to sign her," I said flatly. "Get the paperwork ready. Amina belongs on our roster."
"Bach?"
But I was already out the door. I didn't look back to see if they were watching me, or what Amina thought of my abrupt retreat. I only knew that I had to get out of there... away from them and everyone and everything.
I'd hoped Amina would be good.
Fuck, I'd wished it.
But I never... not once... thought she could make me feel so much pain.
- Chapter Five -
Amina
“I'm staying here?” There was no way to hide the awe in my voice.
The house—if that was even a fair word—had been hidden behind the giant gates covered in ivy. There was a crisp, green front yard with skinny lemon and orange trees breaking up the flatness. A few pieces of fruit littered the ground, the air tingling my nose with the scent of citrus.
As we drove along the path, I realized the building stretched out on both sides like a pair of wings. It could have housed thirty people, it was way too much for just me. Suspicious, I eyeballed Violet. Her mouth was set in a tiny smile. Her giant sunglasses made it look even tinier.
Parking the car, she lifted the glasses enough to wink at me. “Wait till you see inside. You won't know what to think.”
Honestly, I didn't need more to think about. Ever since Bach had stormed out of the recording studio, I'd been in a funk trying to decipher it. What had I done wrong? Violet had assured me—when I'd asked her bluntly if I'd messed up—that everything was fine.