by Nora Flite
I wasn't dumb. Everything was not fine.
Was it the song I chose?
"Here," she said, lifting my suitcase from the trunk and setting it on the smooth stone under us. "I'll get this, you go on ahead."
"No, no. I can carry my own luggage!"
"I'm sure you can. That's what makes it a favor and not an obligation." Grinning, she walked off with it towards the wide French doors.
"Thank you," I said honestly. Despite her instructions to go ahead, I kept pace with her, opening the door so she could walk inside. I'd been hopeful that they'd put me up in a Holiday Inn. I'd heard they sometimes had free tea and mints in their rooms.
But this...
This was insane.
A large, circular couch was placed in the middle of the foyer, but there was so much room on both sides that I could have stretched my arms out and not touched the thing while walking by.
Arches triple my height were cut into the pale walls like this was part of the Colosseum. The upper level that I could see had similar arches along the railing, and as I trailed behind Violet, I kept expecting to see someone—anyone—walking past them.
"Are you alright?" she asked me.
Blinking at her, I smiled sheepishly. "This is a huge estate," I explained. "Aren't there other people living here?"
"In a sense." She didn't elaborate, she just kept pulling my suitcase further inside. I itched to press her, but I was too dazed. Never in my wildest dreams had I thought I'd enter a mansion.
I feel like a princess. Korine was never going to shut up when she found out.
The walls had tons of art, changing the vibe to that of a museum. There were open doors along the walls; I spotted green grass, trees, a long pool and what looked like a guest house. Who needed that when you probably had fifteen bedrooms in the main building? Maybe it's a pool room? A giant, way too fancy place for foam-noodles and chemicals?
"Up here," Violet said, dragging my suitcase along a curving staircase. We trotted down the soft rug lining the hall above the foyer. From here, I could see that there was a giant music note created by silver tiles on the floor below.
Many doors were closed along the hall. Violet pushed one open, dropping my luggage just inside. "This is yours," she said, breathing heavily.
Stunned, I wandered into the bedroom. The open balcony let sunlight and bird song inside. A silvery bedspread covered a huge mattress, and I was pretty sure I could see a bathroom that might as well have been a spa.
"Wow." It was all I could say.
Checking her phone, the VP sighed. "It's already this late? I have so much paperwork to get ready. Amina, you should get settled and relax. I'll check in on you later."
"Oh, should I... do anything?"
"I just said to relax." Grinning, she backed into the hall. "Chill until dinner. I'll order something. The work begins tomorrow, enjoy the last bit of daylight you have as a normal person."
Smiling uncertainly, I sat on the bed. "You're going to transform me?"
Violet's eyes danced away. "Not me. The job will transform you." Hesitating, she cast me one more of her bright smiles. "Okay! Yeah! I'll talk to you soon, you have my number, call if you have any questions!"
She was gone before I could remind her I’d lost my phone at the airport.
Stretching, I dropped back on the bed and stared at the ceiling. It had been a very long day for me. My eyelids itched, drooping as I listened to the sounds outside. Transformed, I mused. Can becoming a musician really change who I am?
Violet made it sound both glamorous and terrifying. What a combo. Reminds me a lot about...
Bach Devine.
Shivering, I rolled onto my side. I could see him in my head, that masterful poise and brutally hot stare. I'd known he would be handsome, but videos and photos didn't capture his energy.
I thought he'd be exactly like my cocky ex-boyfriends. Instead, he was like no one I'd ever met before. I was a little wary... and plenty intrigued.
I didn't know I'd fallen asleep until the early sun started burning my eyelids.
Groaning, I sat up and shielded my face. Did I really sleep all night? What time is it? I scrubbed my palm over the blanket, then under the pillows, before remembering I'd lost my phone.
Rubbing my eyes, I swung my legs over the side of the giant bed. I ached, but worse, I felt dirty from sleeping in my clothes. I'd done it many times before, but when my surroundings consisted of pure white satin and crystal, well...
My suitcase was sitting in a corner. Digging into it, I grabbed out a clean outfit. The bathroom attached to my room was bigger than Caffeline. Setting my clothes on the giant sink counter, I fiddled with the shower.
Why didn't Violet wake me up for dinner? Imagining her seeing me passed out and drooling was too much. I stuck my face in the hot water and let it wash away my stiff muscles and sour mood.
Drying myself off, I slipped my hair up in a loose bun, then draped on clean jeans and a pale-yellow tank-top. Looking more awake, I eased my way quietly down the stairs. I mean, I tried to be quiet; my heels landed hard, a bad habit of mine, announcing me wherever I went.
Sunlight leaked in from all directions, creating a peaceful atmosphere. I was about to call out for Violet, but the notable scent of coffee reached me. Of course. Breakfast time. What a fantastic idea.
Strolling across the cool floor in my bare feet, I didn't wander long. The kitchen was unsurprisingly huge and easy to find. There was a large marble island covered in pastries and a platter of eggs and bacon. On one side sat a silver carafe of the coffee I'd smelled, next to that, a clear one of orange juice.
But as much as my stomach growled hungrily at the sight of food... that wasn't what I was staring at.
He was naked but for a pair of tightly-fitted red boxer-briefs. They left nothing to the imagination—and believe me, I'd done a bit of imagining. Ink designs swept over his bare torso; giant wings and various cursive letters.
Never had I seen a real live person with such perfectly defined muscles. Every assumption I'd made about magazine's photoshopping models turned into doubt. Real people like that did exist.
“What are you doing here?” I gasped.
Bach turned towards me, one eyebrow lifting just as slowly as the edge of his smile. “Excuse me? This is my house.”
His house. Of course.
"You mean... you and I..."
“That's right,” he said. “We’re going to be roommates.”
- Chapter Six -
Bach
She wasn't the first woman to walk into my kitchen after sun-up. I kept telling myself that, even as my pulse raced the longer she stayed near me. She wasn't even dressed sexy! She'd thrown her wet hair up in a lazy loop, her bare feet leaving damp smudges on my perfectly clean floors.
My eyes drifted over the delightful expression of surprise plastered on her face. I needed her to speak; the silence made me too aware of how the air around us was growing hot and heavy.
She licked her lips, I watched her tongue intently. "You're saying," she began, "That Violet arranged for me to stay in your personal home?"
"It was easier this way. I'm going to need to work closely with you to make sure you're ready."
"Ready for what?"
My glass dripped condensation onto my arm, I ignored it. "Violet didn't tell you?"
"She didn't get a chance to talk to me," she mumbled. "I fell asleep after we got here yesterday. I was pretty exhausted."
So, the responsibility falls to me. Did Violet intend for that? Maybe she suspected the offer would mean more from my lips than hers.
Pulling out one of the stools next to the counter, I motioned Amina closer. She grabbed a blueberry muffin, settling beside me. Briefly, her eyes flicked over my body. That thrilled me; her stare when she'd first seen me this morning hadn't gone unnoticed.
"Amina, it's clear that Beats and Blast—that I—am interested in signing you. I know you know that."
"I wouldn't have flown out h
ere otherwise."
Her honesty was refreshing. "However, as good as you are... and you are good..." The memory of her haunting voice pushed pins into my guts. "There's more to being a top performer than just a great voice."
"Sure," she agreed slowly.
I leaned away, throwing my arm over the back of the stool. "Have you heard of the SoCal Artist Awards?" Her head swung side to side. "It's a gigantic show, and a great opportunity, especially for a new artist."
Her coal-black eyes went wide. "You want me to try and win an award?"
"I need you to win an award."
Anxiety ruined the shape of her mouth. I preferred her easy smile so much more. "You want to sign me with a contingency."
"No. Not at all." Pushing two fingers to my cheek, I watched her closely. "I want to sign you regardless." But if you don't win... I might not have a company left to represent you. So it's as good as a contingency, anyway. I didn't say that.
Amina was twisting the muffin wrapper in her fingers. "That's a lot of pressure either way. But... I don't see the harm in going for it. When's the event?"
If she knew the risk of failing, she wouldn't be so calm. Telling her the reality of the situation would be bad for her nerves, though. Or that was how I justified my lie by omission.
I said, "One month away."
She choked on the bit of food in her mouth. "That's kind of soon."
"It is. Again, having you live with me will guarantee our best shot at winning. Finish up eating, I'll go get changed, then we can get the paperwork out of the way."
"Alright, you got it." She plucked another muffin from the basket. Not that I cared, but I wasn't used to seeing a woman going for seconds. Every industry person I'd met out here had embraced the LA mindset of "suffer for your success."
Models, singers, actresses... and the guys were no different; they all starved themselves in the hope it would impress others, leading them to more wealth. More power.
And here was Amina, just happily chomping at the sugar-stuffed muffins I'd normally ended up donating to the snack table at work. Was she really free of the pressure to be so perfect all the time?
Her eyes caught me staring. "What is it? Crumbs on my face?" She wiped at her mouth, dusting muffin bits onto her yellow shirt.
Inside, I battled with a new wave of lust. I was fucking fascinated by this woman. I could count each crumb where it rested on the swell of her chest. I fought down my urge to bend my head forward and lick the muffin-bits free with my own tongue.
But I also knew the hard truth of the entertainment industry. As much as I was infatuated by her casual attire, messy hair, and unselfconscious habits...
No one else would be.
"You're going to need a makeover," I blurted.
She sat back, eyebrows wrinkling. "Because of some muffin crumbs?"
"The key to selling you to our investors and the masses is going to be making you stand out. There's a certain look that—"
"Sell me?" she laughed, cutting me off. "I'm not a product, Bach. I'm a person."
"In the music world, people are the products." My words held a brutal edge. I regretted them instantly, and that confused me even more. I was only speaking the truth, it was a fact you had to learn out here. And still, I prepped myself for the inevitable sadness in her eyes.
Amina glared at me, her voice all stone. "Fuck that."
I snorted in shock. "What?"
"Fuck," she said pointedly, "That." Jumping off the stool, she ignored the last of the crumbs that drifted to the floor. "I'm not going to agree with what you're saying. Not now, not ever. I'll come find you and that paperwork when I'm ready."
And then she actually walked away from me. From me. I stared after her until she was out of view, her naked heels clunking down the halls. I'd been sworn at before, that wasn't what shocked me.
She thinks she isn't a product? She was wrong. Amina was going to become a shiny, sparkling piece of merchandise, and that was just that. If she didn't, how the hell was I going to make any money off of her?
How was I going to save my empire?
She's got guts, I mused, realizing I was smiling. Anyone else standing up to me like that would have pissed me off. From her, this fire was... enticing.
The heat in my belly had become a partial hard-on. Adjusting myself, I started to head towards my bedroom to get changed. Something stuck to my feet; crumbs.
Even when she wasn't next to me, Amina left an echo of herself.
- Chapter Seven -
Amina
How fucking dare he?
Stomping around upstairs, I threw back the balcony doors that belonged to my bedroom. Bach Devine, you might just be the most condescending man I've ever met.
Honestly, how could he call me a product? How could he call anyone a product? I was still fuming, especially as I remembered how confidently he'd told me everything.
The man had stood there with his perfect teeth and his even more perfect body, lecturing me about needing a makeover. Who did he think he was?
I know who he is, I told myself grimly. Propping my forearms on the white railing, I stared out into the brilliant green backyard. He's the guy who's rich enough to afford a place like this.
But so what? Did he think money meant he could treat people like they were property? It was disgusting. He was disgusting.
And I was planning to work for him.
Groaning, I covered my face. I told him to fuck off. Korine would have died on the spot if she'd seen. Or maybe she'd have applauded. Thinking about her made me understand why Bach’s comments had upset me so much. Murdoch had told me numerous times that I needed to dress a certain way or do my hair in the style he liked.
Was it my curse that I kept running into assholes?
I stood there for a long while, just listening to the birds and the gentle wind that ran through the fluffy green bushes. Citrus scented air tickled my nose. I was doing more than just calming down. I was avoiding the situation. Bach was waiting for me to sign the contract that would make me an official member of his music company. I’d woken up in a situation people would kill for. I should be rushing downstairs, pen in hand.
Except now I was having doubts.
I had to remind myself that he was my answer to a successful future. Especially after... No. I wouldn't think about that. One failure didn't determine a pattern.
Pushing off the railing, I headed back inside. There was no point in avoiding Bach. If I wanted to leave the city, I'd still have to confront him. And I didn't want to leave. I wanted to sing. For that, I could put up with one more jerk.
I made it into the main foyer before I saw another living person. "Hey! Good, you're here," Violet shouted, catching me off guard. As beautiful as the mansion was, I seriously felt like I was exploring a very clean haunted house.
"Hey," I said, crossing to meet her by the French doors. "I was about to look for Bach."
"He left for work ten minutes ago." Glancing at her phone, she hooked her arm around my shoulders to guide me out into the sun. "We need to get over there. He's got about a half hour of free time where we can get this damn contract out of the way and begin more exciting things."
Shielding my eyes from the light, I followed her to the dazzling blue car she'd driven us in yesterday. "He's that busy, huh?" This morning he seemed to have plenty of time to lounge around in his underwear. The memory didn't bring up as much distaste as I expected. Instead, I shivered as I remembered Bach's lips pressing softly to the edge of his glass of OJ.
Violet released me, climbing inside the car. "Bach is trying to balance a lot of stuff right now," she said. "He's doing his best, but..." Trailing off, she eyeballed me as I buckled myself into the passenger seat. "Forget it. Let's just not make it harder for him, is all I'm saying."
How hard could he really have it? I wondered. The car vibrated as Violet drove us through the automatic iron gates. Maybe it was because I'd experienced the opposite side of this flashy lifestyle, but I was struggli
ng to find sympathy for a man who owned a billion-dollar empire.
How did that saying go? First world problems?
Don't be a dick, I told myself. He probably does have stuff to worry about. The article Korine had shown me, about Bach's father dying, made me sympathize with him. I knew too well what it was like to lose your family.
Clutching my knees, I looked out the window and forced myself not to get emotional. When I'd heard the news that Laurence Devine had passed on, it had cut me raw. The number of times I'd played that man's music over and over was impossible to count. It had helped me through so many tough times.
What was funny was that, as well as I'd know the guy's music, I'd known nothing about the man himself. I'd been especially shocked to learn he had a son close to my age.
His face when I sang Whispers... Bach had looked like I'd stabbed him in the gut. Had it been a bad idea? I'd just gone with something that meant a lot to me, that I knew I could perform well, and that I'd hoped would land me brownie points with Laurence's son.
Bach hadn't mentioned the performance since it had happened. I guess it wasn't as big a deal as it felt like. But, it had been enough to cement that he wanted to sign me. I kept that firmly in my heart as we pulled into the parking structure of his building.
"Hurry," Violet said, scurrying out of the car on her pointed heels. She kept checking her phone frantically. "We've got sixteen minutes."
"You're counting down to the literal minute? Isn't that a bit much?"
She didn't slow down, but she did glance at me with a withering look. "This place barely runs as is. Every minute counts between now and the—" she caught herself.
Realizing the problem, I waved a hand. "Bach told me this morning about the awards. It's not a secret, if it was supposed to be."
Violet stepped into an elevator in the lot, ushering me in as she poked the buttons. "Well, good. You should know everything. It'll be easier to make things happen if you do."
That reminded me of Bach's threat. "Can I ask you something?"
