After Hours Redemption (404 Sound)

by Kianna Alexander

  “You’re right. But it’s not just me. Mother and my dear sister London are also on board with this vision for the future.”

  “This all sounds very exciting, Pete.”

  His eyes flashed. “It’s Pierce.”

  “Of course. My apologies.” It pleased him to give the man a taste of his own medicine. Still, this back-and-forth banter had started to lose its luster. “I’m still not seeing how this relates to me.”

  The flash of anger disappeared, replaced by a smug grin. “We’ve got our eyes on 404 Sound. It’s the perfect addition to the brand, and it would give us control of one of the most state-of-the-art studios in this part of the country.”

  His shoulders stiffened as the spiderlike legs of tension spread. So it was true. “That seems to have more to do with my parents than it does with me. As you know, I’m not affiliated with 404.”

  Pierce chuckled. “Oh, it has more to do with you than you think. Because if we’re going to buy out 404, we’ll need an infusion of capital. Mother hates to come out of pocket on these things if it can be avoided.” He leaned forward in his chair, his gaze focused squarely on Blaine’s face. “And the best way to get that capital, at least as far as I can see, is to stop funding Against the Grain. That way, we can easily redirect those funds to this new endeavor.” He scratched his chin. “I suppose we’d hold on to your label if your performance improved dramatically...but I don’t really see that happening.”

  The tenuous hold Blaine had over his expression slipped. Pierce must have seen the change because he immediately straightened in his seat, putting more distance between them. “It’s really strange that you came by, Pierce. Because my father was here a few days ago. Apparently, he’d already heard about this little buyout plan, and he left a message for me to convey to Hamilton House.”

  Pierce laced his fingers together. “I’d love to hear it.” His tone held both challenge and thinly veiled contempt.

  Blaine stood, towering over Pierce. “I’ll paraphrase for you. My parents aren’t selling 404. And even if they did, they’d never sell it to the likes of you.” He gestured to the door. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to get back to work. Have yourself a great day.”

  Pierce stood quickly, nearly toppling the guest chair in the process. “We’ll see each other again, Woodson.” He slid his gaze upward since Blaine towered over him by a good five inches.

  “I’m sure we will.” He continued to gesture to the door.

  Pierce narrowed his eyes but said nothing. Moments later, with his fingertips locked on his lapels again, he strode out.

  Eight

  Saturday night, Eden handed her ticket to the gargantuan bouncer. Once he’d nodded his approval, she entered the dimly lit Bass Line Lounge. The club, spacious and open, had foregone the typical setup of crowding the floor with a lot of tables. There was a glossy marble bar that occupied the wall directly in front of her, the gleaming mirrored shelves stocked with liquor of every variety. Cozy booths lined the east and west walls, providing seating as well as a modicum of privacy for those who desired it. Centering the space was a stage, with the DJ spinning records on an elevated platform. Just below the booth were drums, a keyboard and speakers.

  Circling past the stage and to her right, she glanced around the place. I’ll head to the bar. That way he won’t have to search for me when he comes in.

  Maybe Blaine was already in the building. She imagined him somewhere backstage, giving Naiya a pep talk as she prepared to go onstage. What kinds of things would he say to the talented young singer? She slid onto an empty barstool, feeling her jaw tense as she followed that line of thinking. Would he smile at her? Remind her of her talent? Praise her? Is he telling her all the things he used to say to me?

  “Miss?”

  The voice dragged her out of her own head and back to reality. Looking up, she saw the bartender standing nearby. He slid her a cocktail napkin. “Anything to drink?”

  “Just a ginger ale for now, thanks.”

  He moved away to get her drink, and she released a quiet sigh. Thinking about those days always made her a little melancholy, so she avoided it most of the time. Like most of her recollections, these had a soundtrack. J. Cole, Kendrick Lamar, 2 Chainz. Miguel’s impassioned crooning accompanying Wale’s rhymes, Elle Varner craving a little more of that good conversation.

  Swept up in the moment, the floodgates opened, and she let herself be carried away by the deluge of memories.

  Those nights in the studio, the booth dimly lit. His hands working the controls at the soundboard while she sat on a stool by the microphone, pouring her heart out in song. Sitting next to him, their hips barely touching, while they bopped their heads to the playback. He’d smelled of expensive cologne, the light watery scent blending with the jasmine incense she still burned when she sat down to write.

  The bartender set her ginger ale down, jarring her out of her thoughts, and she thanked him as he moved away with a smile. Sipping from the glass, she turned on her stool.

  Blaine stood there, less than two feet away. He wore a metallic gray button-down shirt dotted with dark blue feathers, the top two buttons left open. A black sport coat, slacks and polished loafers completed his ensemble.

  His locs hung down around his shoulders, unbound. Their gazes met, and the moment that wicked smile tipped his full lips, something inside her clenched, then unfurled.

  The glass slipped from her hand, clattering to the carpeted floor with a clanking thud. Only the splash of ice-cold liquid hitting her bare thigh made her draw her eyes away from Blaine’s blinding fineness.

  Entering her space, he stooped to pick up the glass and set it on the bar. “You okay, Eden?”

  She nodded, unable to speak for the moment.

  “You sure?” He took a small step back, his gaze appreciative as it swept over her body. “Because you certainly look fantastic.”

  Her cheeks warmed, and she cleared her throat. “I’m fine, Blaine. And thanks for the compliment.”

  He sat down on the stool to her right. “Been here long?”

  Just long enough to have impure thoughts about you... She shook her head. “Just a few minutes.”

  “Do you wanna stay at the bar? Because I reserved us a prime booth so we can get a good view of the show.” His eyes connected with hers. “And...so we can talk.”

  She swallowed, her throat dry. “We can go to the booth. Just let me replace this drink.” Gesturing for the bartender, she got a new ginger ale, then followed Blaine to the booth.

  As he’d promised, their position gave them a great view of the stage. The intimacy of the booth, with its high backed, U-shaped bench upholstered in black leather, made him seem even bigger than his usual tall, broad-shouldered self. He eased close to her toward the center of the bench but left a respectable space between them. With any other man, she’d have considered his nearness an imposition on her personal space. But since this was Blaine Woodson, she scooted nearer to him, stopping when his muscular thigh brushed against hers.

  “This is cozy,” he remarked with a wink. While watching her, he tossed his arm casually around her shoulder, as if waiting to see if she’d move away.

  She didn’t. The voice of logic, the one that told her she was treading on thin ice by getting this close to him, was increasingly drowned out by another, more assertive voice. The one that had awakened the moment she’d entered his office and seen him for the first time in seven years.

  This man is too gorgeous for you to be fronting like you don’t want him. She almost chuckled aloud, because it sounded like something Ainsley would have said.

  “What’s on your mind over there, Eden?”

  She smiled, but before she could open her mouth to answer, the house lights were turned out, signaling the start of the show. A short Black man in a cherry-red suit stepped into the spotlight on stage, bowing graciously at the
applause that met him.

  “Welcome, y’all, to the Bass Line Lounge’s New Artist Showcase.” He paused for a second wave of applause. “For those of you that don’t know me, I’m Ray Price, owner of this fine establishment. Tonight, we’re proud to welcome two upcoming acts from right here in the ATL. First up, singer Naiya B. Come on up, Miss Naiya.” He gestured to the area just to the left of the stage.

  Eden watched as Naiya climbed the two metal steps up to the stage. After exchanging a hug with Ray as he exited, she approached the stool and the microphone stand, offering a curtsy in response to the cheers in the room. She wore a strapless black one-piece pantsuit with wide legs. An ankle-length white floral kimono covered her arms, the fabric billowing around her as she moved. Her mass of curls cascaded around her shoulders, and huge silver hoop earrings peeked out from among the ringlets. An acoustic guitar, mounted on a tan leather strap, hung on her back.

  “Good evening, y’all. I want to thank Ray and Neil for having me tonight. My name is Naiya B.” She paused for another smattering of hoots and hollers. “Some of you may know me from the videos I’ve posted on Beyoncé’s internet.”

  Laughs sounded throughout the room, and Eden found herself chuckling as well.

  Naiya sat down on the edge of the stool, swinging the guitar around to the front. “What you might not know is that I’m currently in the studio, recording my very first album. I’m excited to share a little something from that project with you later on tonight.” She plucked a few notes on the guitar. “But before we get into that, let’s start out with a classic, shall we?” She played a few more notes, segueing into an emphatic cover of Lauryn Hill’s hit “The Sweetest Thing.”

  I love this song. Eden found herself swaying in her seat, her body moving of its own accord. A quintessential late-nineties ballad, the song spoke of the bittersweet memory of young love, bursting with hope and passion, but finally falling victim to the harshness of reality. Naiya’s cover paid homage to Hill’s original without being a direct imitation and showcased the young singer’s incredible vocal range.

  By the time Naiya hit the soaring notes of the vamp, Eden’s hand went to her chest. “She’s magical.” Turning toward Blaine, she found him staring at her. The intensity of his gaze shook her to the core.

  He reached out, gently cupped his hand around her chin. “I know. I’m very familiar with magic.”

  * * *

  Blaine stared into Eden’s dark eyes, reading the wonder they displayed. He’d struggled to hold back from touching her, and now that her silken face rested on his hand, he knew he wanted to do so much more. That decision wasn’t his to make, but he’d plead his case as earnestly as he knew how.

  She looks so beautiful tonight.

  Dressed in that hot little one-shouldered white minidress, paired with metallic gold high-heeled sandals, she was a stunner. No other woman in the club could hold a candle to her. And while his main purpose in being here tonight was to support his newest artist, he had a difficult time taking his eyes off his gorgeous companion.

  “Blaine.” She whispered his name.

  Still cupping her chin, he said, “Yes?”

  “People are staring at us.”

  He didn’t bother to verify what she’d said, because it didn’t matter to him who saw them. “I don’t care. But if I’m making you uncomfortable...”

  “It’s not that.” Her cheeks were warm and slightly reddened. “It’s just... I’m trying to focus on Naiya’s performance. That’s why I’m here, remember?”

  He released her, nodding. “Of course.” Though parts of him were bereft at the loss of contact between his hand and her scented skin, he knew she was right. He turned his gaze back to the stage.

  She shifted on the bench. “That doesn’t mean we can’t continue this later, after the show.”

  He glanced her way, and she gave him the sauciest little wink. His heart skipped a beat. Is she finally softening up?

  Grinning, he looked again toward Naiya, illuminated by the spotlight. Applause filled the space as she ended the song. “Thank you so much. Next, I’ve got another familiar tune some of you might know.” Two black-clad female background singers eased into position behind her, their microphone stands flanking Naiya’s stool. She strummed her fingers over the strings again, this time easing into India.Arie’s “Steady Love.”

  Eden watched, her expression conveying her awe. “Look how easily she segues between eras. She’s so fluid, so versatile.” She leaned forward, tenting her fingers as her elbows rested on the table. “That’s definitely going to help with the songwriting for her album.”

  “She’s really in her element up there, isn’t she?”

  She nodded. “Yes, she’s a dynamic performer. But what I’m really getting is a good sense of her range as a singer. She’s already given me her journal, so I know what’s in her heart. Seeing her on stage like this will help me translate her thoughts and feelings into lyrics more effectively.”

  “Great. I’m glad this is helpful for you.” He scratched his chin, wondering what kind of things the two women would come up with once they returned to the studio. He was anxious to hear the outcome, and not just because of the added pressure placed on him by recent happenings at Hamilton House. He only took on artists if he felt fully invested in developing their careers, so he truly wanted to see Naiya showcase her vocal prowess on her debut project.

  He did his best to pay attention for the rest of Naiya’s forty-five-minute set, and he caught most of it. But sitting so close to Eden had his mind slowed and throwed, as if DJ Screw himself were inside his head, working the crossfader back and forth. He found that focusing on anything other than her brown-skinned beauty required a hell of a lot of effort.

  “So it’s time for my last song, folks.” Naiya leaned into the microphone, her voice rising over the quiet din of conversation and clinking glasses. “It’s the first single from my upcoming album Capitol View Soul...” She paused, smiling out at the audience as a cheer went up at the mention of her neighborhood. “Oh, I see y’all. We in the building? Capitol View, stand up!” A few more hoots and hollers followed her acknowledgment. When the room quieted, she spoke again. “This song is called ‘The Way It Was,’ and I hope y’all like it.”

  The DJ dropped the needle, and Naiya set her guitar and stool aside, standing at the microphone. While her background singers provided harmonious accompaniment, she belted out the song, her love letter to the neighborhood that had nurtured her. She and her singers even threw in a few simple, choreographed steps, upping the entertainment value. Folks clapped along, and Blaine felt his foot tapping beneath the table. Looking around the room, he noted the bobbing heads, the pumping fists.

  People are feeling the vibe. This is definitely a good sign.

  By the time Naiya hit the song’s soaring final note, most of the crowd was on its feet. A rousing round of cheers and applause shook the club as Naiya and the two singers took their bows. Blowing kisses to her audience of new fans, she jogged out of the spotlight and off stage.

  Blaine tapped Eden on the shoulder. “Come on, let’s go congratulate our superstar.” He slid out of the booth, then held out his hand to help her to her feet.

  She slipped her hand into his, smiling. That familiar electric charge snaked up her arm in response to his touch, and she relished the sensation. Slinging her purse strap over her bare shoulder, she maintained the contact as they navigated through the crowd toward the stage area.

  They found Naiya standing among a tangle of enthusiastic admirers. Blaine stood back, watching as people jockeyed for selfies with the young singer or asked her to sign various items. Then he spoke with his artist briefly, offering his congratulations on a great performance. Naiya then left to celebrate her accomplishment with a few friends. As soon as she was gone, Blaine turned back to Eden. “Now. About what you said earlier...”

  Her expr
ession turned coy. “I’m not sure what you’re referring to, Blaine.”

  He feigned distress. “Come on, Eden. What do I have to do to get you to spend some time with me? You want me to grovel? Get down on my knees and beg like Jodeci?” He held his hands up. “What’s a brotha gotta do to get on your good side, girl?”

  She laughed, shaking her head. “You’re crazy, you know that?”

  “Yes. I also know that most of the reason I’m acting this way is you.” He moved a bit closer to her. “So what do you say? Give me a shot?”

  She sighed, but a slight smile tipped her glossy lips. “Let’s go for a walk.”

  He frowned, confused. “Now?” It was after ten on a Saturday night, after all.

  She nodded. “Yes. Take me to Piedmont Park.” She folded her arms over her chest.

  He cocked his brow. “Piedmont Park, eh? I know you remember what happened the last time we were there.”

  “How can I forget when you keep bringing it up?”

  He chuckled. “Don’t act like you don’t like it.”

  She rolled her eyes in an exaggerated fashion. “Whatever, Blaine. Do you want to go, or not? Unless you have something else you’d rather be doing right now?” He eased closer to her, dragging his fingertip over the satin line of her jaw. Then he leaned close to her ear, his voice low as he spoke. “I can assure you, the only thing I want to be doing right now is you.”

  She gave him a wicked smile. “Then let’s go.”

  Nine

  A half hour later, with the moon sitting low in the sky, Eden walked hand in hand with Blaine through the Twelfth Street Gate at Piedmont Park. She’d brought her trusty blue twill blanket from the trunk of her car, and had it slung over her bare shoulder. The night had given way to a cooler, breezier atmosphere, a welcome respite from the day’s oppressive heat and humidity.

  There weren’t many people out this time of night, save a few folks walking their dogs or taking an evening jog. The subtle song of crickets, grasshoppers and frogs mingled with the whir of passing traffic whizzing around Midtown.