One More Bad Boy

by Nora Flite

  At my arrival, he held the pen up like it was a weapon. That was good; his instincts were telling him that even in just swim trunks, I was a man worth fearing. “Bach,” he started to say.

  “How fucking dare you.” I stopped inches from his face, backing him against the desk. My secretary, Farrah, covered her mouth in distress. The last few droplets of water on my skin bounced onto Santino's shirt. “You show up at my company to yank out of your contract and you can't tell me to my face?”

  “Take it easy!” He laughed, but he was starting to sweat. He had a front row seat to how the cords in my forearms flexed. “You're a busy man, Bach. I thought Violet would handle it.”

  “And when you signed with us, did you do it through Violet?”

  His lips pulled into a sickening smile. “I remember shaking hands with your father. Not you. In fact, I think I remember you were on some bender in Vegas. Or maybe you were serving jail time. My memory isn’t always so good.”

  Ignoring his bait, I said, “You'd never have done this to my father.”

  “Bach, this isn't personal. It's business.”

  “Business.” I spit the word out, leaning ever closer. “My father made you famous and this is how you thank him?”

  “Is running this place into the ground how you thank him?”

  My fist came around so fast that I almost couldn't stop myself. I redirected the energy; instead of punching him in the nose, I gathered up the front of his shirt. His arrogance melted into terror.

  “Bach!” Violet—the wise woman that she was—had followed me. Reaching around my middle, she tried pulling me backwards. “Bach, calm down! This isn't helping!”

  She was right, of course. But Santino's words had cut me deeper than any insult ever could. I was seeing red—and all because he was right.

  Violet lowered her voice. “Bach, please.”

  When I released him, my fingers throbbed from the tension. I flexed them, then gently eased Violet off of me. My hot gaze never strayed from the other man. “Finish your paperwork and get the hell out of here. We don't need musicians who can't commit representing us.”

  He was breathing heavy; his knuckles were stained black. He'd gripped the pen so hard that it had broken, ink splattering on his skin. “You're lucky I don't sue you,” he said.

  “You're lucky your contract allows you to cut and run with no penalties,” Violet spat back. “Laurence Devine didn't believe in that kind of thing. He trusted the people he brought into this company. Thought they had integrity. Pride.”

  Her implication that Santino didn't have those qualities made him bristle. “People have their reasons.”

  “Money,” I chuckled darkly. “It's always money.”

  “At least Eckland's label has some to throw around.”

  I bit my tongue. Danny Eckland had been one of my father's rivals. Never quite as good as Beats and Blast, but... if I kept losing my musicians like this...

  Looking away, Santino bent over the desk. Farrah offered him a wet-wipe, then a new pen. Her crystal-blue eyes fixed on me, as if I'd yell at her for helping. That look unsettled me; I put on a fake smile, mouthing, “It's okay.”

  It was one thing to direct my fury at someone who'd wronged me, it was another to let others get caught in the crossfire. Suddenly aware of my swim trunks and bare feet, I walked out of the room at a quick pace.

  Violet was on my heels, her shoes clicking as she struggled to keep up. “What the hell were you thinking?” she asked.

  Palming my damp hair, I said nothing.

  “Slow down for a second!”

  I entered the nearest elevator, ignoring how the exiting women gawked at me. One of them whispered, “That was Bach Devine!” Before the doors shut, she lifted her phone, snapping a picture.

  Great, another memorable photo for the internet. As if people didn't have enough reasons to talk about me. And why did so many of my photos have me mostly—or totally—naked? At least I look good. Small favors.

  Violet had jumped in before the doors shut. She promptly smacked my shoulder with her purse. “Stop running and listen to me!”

  “Fucking Danny Eckland?”

  “Forget about Santino, I have news.”

  “Great. Nothing goes better with a stiff drink than news.”

  “It's two in the afternoon, why are you—never mind.” Chasing me into my office, Violet shut the door behind us. “Just look at me so I know you're listening.”

  My office was big and wide, the furniture a soothing white color. On one end there was a partial kitchen with a bar, the marble swirling with rich silver. The window behind my desk overlooked the city.

  On the back of my padded chair hung a suit-jacket I kept around for decoration. Pretty sure Violet gave it to me as a gift. Or a not-so-subtle reminder of how important my job was.

  It wasn't my style, I'm a jeans and t-shirt guy, but it was the only dry thing in sight, so I grabbed it, sliding it over my bare chest. It would do for now.

  Crossing to the stainless-steel fridge, I filled a glass with ice and poured straight vodka into it. Only then did I look pointedly at Violet. “I'm listening.”

  She lifted her eyebrows in disapproval. “I'm tempted not to tell you, now.”

  The vodka burned down my throat, swirling in my gut and removing some of my bitter mood. “I'm tempted not to share my vodka.”

  “Not everyone drinks in the middle of the day, Bach.”

  “Too bad, it'd make everyone much friendlier.”

  “Whatever. Just look at this.” Pulling out her phone, she tapped the screen, loading a video. “I know you're sore about losing Santino, but I think I've got the answer to your problems right here.”

  My problems. My VP was referring to the crushing fact that my father's empire was losing talent left and right. Many had walked out soon after his death, but others drifted as each of my decisions failed to stop our decline into the red.

  People were panicking and investors were shutting their check books. Those who'd once consulted my father for advice, as well as offered wisdom, had turned their backs on me.

  I was failing. So if Violet had an answer, I had to listen.

  The girl in the video was frozen in time. Paused as she was, I was able to scrutinize her freely. Short hair, dark as a crow’s feather, tickled her ears. A pair of fluffy white ears were perched on her scalp, her head angled down as she smiled at the cat in her arms. I wondered, suddenly, what color her eyes were.

  Then I wondered why the fuck that mattered. A single frame of a video was useless to me. What the hell was Violet playing at? She was watching me with anticipation. I took a long sip of my drink. “This,” I began, letting each of my words thicken the air, “is the answer to my problems?”

  The edges of her mouth dipped down. “There it is, that tone of yours.”

  “It's not a damn tone.”

  “It is!” She stabbed a finger at the phone. “This girl is exactly what this company needs. She's fresh, she's different!”

  “She's a girl wearing... what are those, cat ears?”

  “Ugh.” Her hand came up, tapping me on the skull multiple times. “Ugh, ugh, ugh! You haven't even listened to her sing yet.”

  I gestured sharply at the dark-haired stranger with my drink. “I figured your suggestion would involve a singer who was...”

  “What? A big-titted wannabe actress?”

  My eyebrows scrunched together. “A somebody. Where did you even find her?”

  “Instagram.”

  “Is that what it’s come to? Jesus. I need another drink.”

  “Don’t give me that. Social media has launched careers for plenty of people.”

  Ignoring her, I refilled my glass. “Mmhm.”

  “You don't get it. How could you, honestly? You only show up online when people catch you doing reckless shit—I mean, those girls snapped a photo of you in swim trunks in the middle of an elevator just five minutes ago!”

  Okay, that made me smile. “Are you t
rying to protect my image? I didn't know you could be so sweet.”

  She pushed her phone back into my line of sight. “Her name is Amina, and thanks to these videos, she's gotten over eight hundred-thousand followers for the coffee shop she works at!”

  “Alright, I admit, that's impressive.” I held out my hands; Violet gave me the phone. Could this random nobody really save my company? It was an idea that was too good to be true. Even considering it had my pulse flickering. Don't get excited, I warned myself. Ever since I'd been handed control of Beats and Blast, nothing had gone right.

  Why would that change now?

  I started the video. Amina rocked on the screen, a gentle motion that somehow added to the lilt of her voice. The song she was singing was clean—water and crystal and velvet in my ears. She was reaching through the phone and stroking the contours of my soul.

  She became more enticing the longer she sang. Her plump lips spread apart, luring me deeper, making me imagine what else they could do. The way her chest rose as she took a new breath to sing another lyric had my mouth dry.

  Then her head rose up. She looked straight at the camera.

  Gray as a storm cloud. That was the color of her eyes.

  The frozen, singular frame Violet had used to introduce me to this woman had been a trick. It had left me fully unprepared for this... this wave of life. I’d expected to tell my VP that this was a waste of time. I never expected my heart to skip a beat.

  Violet's whisper was free of mockery. “I was right, wasn't I?”

  Carefully, I turned off the phone and handed it back. “I want her. Find out how to make that happen.” Her sly grin gave away her game. “You already got her, didn't you?”

  “If you're asking if I convinced a certain hot and fresh internet star to visit us here in LA and decide if she wants to sign a contract that will change her life...” plucking the glass from my hand, she took a sip, “...then yeah, I guess I did.”

  “Holy shit!” Laughing, I vaulted over the bar, grabbing her in a hug. “You wonderful woman! She's really coming? What did she say?”

  Wriggling out of my grip, Violet set the glass aside. “She agreed to hear us out. She sounded very excited.”

  “When does she arrive?”

  “Her plane lands tomorrow afternoon.”

  “Alright, and when does she leave?” How long do I have to try and convince her to work with us?

  Violet chewed the side of her lip. Her posture was closed off. “I kind of bought her a one-way ticket.” I laughed in surprise. “Don't smirk so much about it. The company is bleeding dry. Amina needs to convince the world that we can produce platinum artists again, or else...”

  Everything HE worked so hard for will vanish.

  Gently, I grabbed her shoulder. “Violet?”

  Her eyes flashed curiously. “Yes?”

  I dropped my voice, making sure I was as serious as I could ever be. “We have a lot of work ahead of us. And you know that I fucking hate work. But this company means everything to me. I will save our jobs—this place—and everything my father created. This girl could launch Beats and Blast straight to the top before the year ends.”

  She was staring at me like I was a damn ghost. I wondered how I looked to her. Was I as convincing as I wanted to be? “You're hoping she'll be ready in time for the SoCal Artist Awards, aren't you?”

  She's too sharp. Guess that's why Dad hired her. “It's the reason you brought her to my attention, isn't it?”

  Her eyes softened, but her voice was hard. “No. My hope was that we could build her into a star that would draw in artists to replace the ones we lost. What you're talking about... Bach, if she loses it in front of that many people, it'll ruin us faster than anything.”

  “And a slow death is better?”

  She had the courtesy not to comment.

  In a few long steps, I found myself standing on the other side of the room. The windows that swept across the walls showed off the hazy sky. LA wasn't a young city, it was a city for the young. These days, I felt older than ever. Was it from late night drinks in shithole dive bars? Was it the rotation of quickly forgotten women who rolled out of my bed?

  Across the way, the windows of other buildings twinkled at me. They were the closest I'd come to seeing the stars in far too long. “Maybe you’re right,” I said softly. “Throwing money and effort into a stranger could be what tears the last of this company down.” My father's legacy. “But for the first time since he died, I actually feel like we stand a chance. What else can we do except jump in with both feet first?” Inhaling through my nose, I clung to that single breath. I was dizzy when I finally let it free. Twisting, I saw that Violet’s eyes were glistening.

  She whispered, “You're going to hate this, but...”

  “Don't you dare say it.”

  “You remind me of him. Sometimes, I mean.”

  “Violet?”

  Her eyes widened eagerly. “Yes?”

  “I could really use some pants. These wet trunks are freezing my dick off.”

  The intense mood shattered. Stomping my way, her fist clocked me solidly in the shoulder. “Asshole.”

  Rubbing my arm, I grinned. “I was really working you up there, wasn't I?”

  “For a waste-of-space playboy, you give pretty good speeches.”

  Smiling, I dropped into the chair behind my desk. “At least I can do something right around here.” The way I said that had her eyeing me with too much sympathy for my comfort. Putting my bare feet up, I pointed at the door. “I'm serious. Get me some pants.”

  Violet considered me for a long minute. “Do you want to come with me when I pick her up at LAX tomorrow?”

  “You think I'm that eager to get my hands on her, huh?”

  “The way you phrased that makes it sound dirty.”

  Chuckling, I slid deeper in the chair. “Don't get the wrong idea, I'm not looking for a piece of ass. Amina's going to put money in our pockets, get me back on top. I'm not going to mess that up by screwing around with her.”

  “Where was this logic when you were fucking every other girl on our roster?”

  It wasn't the first time she'd complained about my hook-up habits. When my father ran things and I didn't have to play at being the boss, I'd probably slept with eighty percent of the female talent. It rarely went well. Turns out people would rather date Bach Devine, rich son of a music legend, than join his one-night-stand club.

  Violet hovered by the door. “You really mean it, you won't sleep with her and mess everything up this time?” My expression darkened—she winced. “Sorry, that came out wrong. I just want you to finally follow through with something.”

  “You really can't let me live down my mistakes, huh?” Lifting my hand, I shook my head. “I promise I'll try my best to stay out of Amina's bed.”

  “You'll try? That's supposed to be comforting?”

  “What would be comforting would be some damn dry pants.”

  “Right, sorry!” Taking an exaggerated bow, she stepped into the hall. “It's good to hear that you won't mix business and pleasure. That's all—hey!”

  I'd chucked a pen at her; it bounced off the door frame, sending her running. I scrubbed a palm down my face. Did she have to act like the condescending older sister I never had?

  It's like she thinks I'll jump this girl's bones the second I see her.

  I would never risk this company for a woman. It was insulting to imply it. Except, that wasn't what was bothering me. What was really buzzing around in my skull was what she'd said earlier.

  I remind her of my father?

  It was a compliment I didn't fucking deserve.

  My dad had been kind, talented, and compassionate. A man worth loving.

  I was nothing like him.

  And I never would be.

  - Chapter Three -

  Amina

  “I still can't believe you're leaving so soon,” Korine said, parking her car in front of the curb. The departure section of the air
port was quiet. Midday on a Tuesday was not exactly the high time for travel.

  I'd asked Korine to drop me off since I neither owned a car or could afford an Uber. “Violet offered to fly me out there, how could I say no to an all expenses trip to LA?” I asked, smiling.

  “Violet.” She rolled her eyes. “That's the vice president, right? I wonder if she'll play quarterback, keeping you from meeting Mister Big Shot himself.”

  Mister Big Shot. She means Bach Devine. After the phone call with Violet, Korine had fluctuated between cheering for me and frantically researching Beats and Blast online. She'd gasped at the news about the founder passing away a few months back. I’d been less shocked. I knew Laurence had died, I’d been a fan of his music since I was small. But I didn’t know he’d owned Beats and Blast.

  Korine’s sadness didn’t last long. She took one look at the photos of the new CEO and begun swooning. I'd swooned a little, too.

  Bach looked like the kind of action hero who'd slam a motorcycle through a building's windows, rescue a woman in a bikini with one arm, all while flipping the bird at the cops chasing him.

  I knew his type uncomfortably well: the quintessential bad boy who liked to play the field. He wa the kind of guy I found myself falling for again... and again... and again, even with Korine working her hardest to keep me from making the same mistakes.

  I had a type. I knew I had a type.

  But I also had a goal, and as hot as he was, Bach Devine wasn't going to be another Murdoch. No more bad boys or play boys or any kind of boys for me. Dating had to be on hold until I got both my feet planted on the path towards my dreams.

  Still, I enjoyed a private thrill at the memory of Bach’s handsome face looking back at me from the paparazzi photos online. The idea of meeting him in person was intimidating. I hoped Korine was right about the VP keeping me away from Bach; avoiding the guy would be easier on my heart.

  A car honked behind us and one of the airport security guards motioned impatiently at Korine. “This is it,” I said, gripping my suitcase. I blew out a quick puff of air. “Thanks for covering my shifts for me, Korine. It’s good to know I have a fallback plan if Beats turns me down.”