One More Bad Boy

by Nora Flite

  Violet blinked at me. “Rent?”

  My jaw dropped, my voice cracking with a small laugh. “I’m not keeping it. It’s way too nice.”

  “It’s extremely nice. And extremely yours.” She crossed her legs, kicking her red-heel side to side. “You don’t get it yet, do you? This is part of working for Beats and Blast.”

  “Wearing fancy dresses and getting my hair done is part of my contract? I thought you told me I wouldn’t have to change who I was.”

  Her mouth quirked in a dubious smile. “You like that dress, though.”

  I shrugged awkwardly. “I did before I knew I was keeping it.”

  “Amina, relax. Bach is paying for everything.”

  “Well maybe that’s what bugs me,” I mumbled. “I don’t need special treatment. Or a nice house. Or a roommate who walks around half naked. I just need people to hear me sing.”

  She’d started to play with her phone, but she froze midway, gawking at me. “Did you say naked?”

  “I... said half naked. Half.”

  Violet put her fingers to her temples. “My god. I’ll tell him to keep his clothes on while he has company over. That’s so like him, I’m sorry.”

  “It’s okay,” I said, not sure if it really was. I didn’t know if I was explaining myself well. This was about Bach, but it was also about seeing so many gobs of money being thrown around just to rush me into the spotlight. Did people care if I owned an expensive dress if my voice was good?

  Sitting in silence, my mind wandered back to a certain word... a certain moment.

  Bach. Naked.

  Jesus.

  I’d assured her he wasn’t fully nude, but what did it matter? Those damn red briefs didn’t exactly hide much of his stellar body. My face began to burn; I sank deeper into the sofa, biting my thumbnail, trying to shake that sensation of attraction.

  “Bach scares you,” Violet said suddenly.

  I went stiff as I tried to think of how to explain myself. Violet watched me like a hawk. I wilted under her perceptive stare. No, I couldn't tell her that Bach didn't exactly scare me... he made my heart race in a way that worried me. An alluring, naughty, inappropriate emotion came over me when I thought about him.

  Violet nodded to herself. “I'll keep him away from you tonight.”

  “What?”

  “I won't let him make you nervous when we're relying on you performing at a hundred percent at the gala.” Alexis was back with some papers that she handed over. “Ah, thanks. I'll pay your invoice right now. And sorry again for all this trouble.”

  “No, no, thank you. It's fun to be challenged like this,” she said, then she smiled at me. “I'm sure you'll be amazing tonight, Amina.”

  “If I fail, at least I'll look good because of your dress.”

  She laughed like I was joking.

  I wasn’t.

  - Chapter Ten -

  Bach

  As I strolled through the open-air garden of the gala, I strained to tell if people were whispering behind my back. A woman in a low-cut gold dress swayed close, a tray balanced on her left hand. “Champagne?” she asked.

  “Sure.” I took a glass, noting how she lingered even after I slipped her a tip. She’d recognized me, and she was trying to work up an excuse to stay and talk. Normally, I’d have embraced such a brazen act. Tonight, my heart was on something else.

  Someone else.

  “I won’t need a refill soon,” I said, gesturing with the glass. “Take care of the rest of the room before everyone thinks I’m as greedy as the magazines say.”

  “Of course, Mr. Devine.” Her smile was weak. After one more second of hoping I’d change my mind, she wandered off. I watched myself from a distance, noting how weird I was acting.

  Taking a deep drink of the tart champagne, I went back to wandering. It was all I could do to keep myself from going crazy as I waited for news about Amina and Violet. Last I’d heard, they were getting something for Amina to wear. Would it be revealing? Tight?

  Could she possibly look any sexier than she already did in plain clothes?

  Fuck, get a hold on yourself. I headed toward the flower arrangement near the chocolate fountain. Do your damn job. Network, asshole. There were powerful people at this gala. Many of them were pleasant enough. But there were sharks in the water, too. Rich companies who were delighted over how mine was crumbling more each day.

  With that in mind, I still wasn't prepared to see the tall, broad-shouldered man laughing near the chocolate fountain. He was surrounded by a few beautiful women... and a guy I didn't want to lay my eyes on again.

  Santino Fresh. That bastard. Why was he here, and why was he making conversation with one of my father's closest friends, Sherman Proud?

  Approaching the group, I waited until both men caught my eye. Their joy faded into seriousness. “Sherman?” I asked as I closed the distance.

  “Bach,” he replied, looking me up and down. “I wasn’t sure you’d come tonight.”

  “What are you doing getting cozy with him?” I jerked my head at Santino, who was smirking behind his glass of champagne. The women were watching eagerly; this was gossip fuel. They were probably praying someone would throw a punch or break something.

  Sherman's expression remained neutral. “I'm helping to make sure his talent isn't wasted.”

  Ice bloomed in my chest. “You mean you’re working with Danny Eckland?”

  “Don't be so shocked.”

  I shook my head in disgust. “You were furious my father didn't leave his company to you, but I never thought you'd sink this low. How much money did Eckland give you for your consultation?”

  Something close to guilt flicked through his blue eyes. “They offered a partnership.”

  Fuck. It was worse than I thought. “So, you're siphoning off my musicians to help my rivals? Dad would think you're a piece of shit for that.”

  “Your father,” he growled, coming closer, his voice hot and low, “Would be aghast to see how you're screwing up what he built! If you'd just listened to me months ago...”

  “I did listen, Sherman. You made it crystal clear you wanted Beats and Blast signed over to you.”

  “It would have been better for everyone.”

  “Don't talk like my empire has already been bled dry,” I said, shooting another quick glare at Santino. “There's still time to see how this all turns out.”

  Not waiting for any response, I spun away from the group. The girls started to talk in hushed voices—nothing I could make out. I'd hear about it later once Violet threw the online rumor-mill in my face.

  My phone vibrated. I lifted it high, seeing Violet's number flashing. “Hello?” I asked, then added, “Are you both here?”

  “We're backstage,” Violet said. “The stagehands are giving us hell, making us get ready in some shadowy corner instead of a proper room. They’re a little upset you dropped this performance on them so last minute.”

  “Please, it's free entertainment for the crowd.”

  “Bach, we need to talk about your spontaneous decisions. This kind of stuff can't—”

  “How is she doing?” I asked, lowering my voice. I'd started walking towards the stage in the distance. The white floor was raised six feet off the ground, and huge curtains of sparkling gold hid the production crew from sight. There were many shows planned for this fundraising event, I hoped Violet had managed to wiggle Amina in at a prime slot.

  Violet didn't answer for a minute. “She's nervous.”

  “Of course she is.”

  She paused again. “Bach... I don't think you should see her before she performs.”

  I pulled up short. “Excuse me?”

  “You give off an intimidating vibe.”

  “You're saying I scare her.”

  “To put it mildly.”

  Paranoia wriggled through my guts. “Did she ask you to keep me away from her?”

  “Just give her space, I've got her slotted to go on third, it won't be long.”

/>   My eyes flew to the stage. Amina was back there, preparing to sing.

  And avoiding me.

  “Fine,” I snapped, ending the call. I crushed my phone in my grip, hearing the plastic case creak. I was on the verge of breaking the device and I didn’t care. She’s scared of me? God, that rubbed me wrong. Sure, I could be a bit much, but frightening?

  The old me was a monster. Amina didn’t know that person.

  But she’s scared of me anyway.

  Running my thumb over my phone’s screen, I began pacing through the crowd. I’d told Violet I was fine with staying away from Amina. It was an utter lie. What I wanted more than anything was to run behind the stage curtains and touch that woman’s dimples.

  I wondered how soft her hair felt.

  Had she done it up? Left it loose? What would a properly done-up Amina Richards look like? I ached to be a part of her every experience, being told to keep away was agony. It’s because her success means everything, I told myself, trying to rationalize it.

  I should be back there, making sure she was ready. I should be involved in every step of this process. What, do you not trust Violet? I asked myself. No—that wasn’t the problem. Of course I trusted my VP. She’d had her hands all over my father’s company long before I’d ever bothered to get involved.

  It was just...

  This thing with Amina was different.

  I wasn’t used to being told no. Especially not when it came to something I wanted.

  Fuck, I thought, pulling up short. That’s it, then. I’m as bad as Violet said; I wanted to drag Amina into a corner and tear off whatever fancy outfit she’s been stuffed in. Finishing my champagne, I shook myself. Violet was right, I needed to keep away from that girl. The last thing she needed was me distracting her with my wicked attraction.

  And what about after she performs? I wondered. Will I be able to do what I promised; keep my hands off of her, when she’s not on the verge of going on stage? It was a good question. One I had no answer for.

  “Hey, Bach,” a voice called.

  I spun around just in time to catch a small piece of metal. Baffled, I studied the circular bottle opener, then eyed the man who’d thrown it at me—Santino. He was sneering, two girls—different from earlier—leaning on him. “What the hell is this?” I asked.

  “Like it?” he chuckled dryly. “It’s part of my swag pack for my new tour.”

  “Tour?” I hesitated, studying the bottle opener closer. It read FRESH in big letters.

  “That’s right.” Santino ran a hand through his wavy blonde hair. “Eckland booked me a music tour. Ten cities, starting in Vegas in four weeks. It's called the All-American Fresh Tour. Danny’s an ace with this stuff, man.”

  Clutching the bottle opener, I scowled. “How appropriate for you to be selling your name on pathetic shit made in some abusive sweatshop.”

  His face fell. “Excuse me?”

  I threw the bottle opener back at him. “Made in China. What an authentic way to begin your All-American tour, Fresh.” I turned away and began to walk. His voice brought me back.

  “Laugh all you want, man. At least Eckland isn’t digging up any random pretty face that’s naïve enough to hop onto a sinking ship.”

  I froze on the spot. “What did you say?”

  “I saw your girl backstage. The hell are you playing at, huh? She was so pale she was see-through, ready to puke from terror.” Santino grinned smugly. “She’s cute, though. Maybe when your company collapses I’ll give her a spot on my tour. I’ll show her how good I can treat a roadie, bet she sings even better with a dick in her—”

  He never finished his crude comment. He couldn’t when I’d grabbed him by the throat, throwing him into one of the chocolate fountains. The girls screamed, jumping out of the way as Santino floundered in the thick syrup. “Say it again,” I growled, looming over him as he wiped at his sticky face. “Just try and fucking say that again.”

  “What the fuck, man?” he coughed, looking up at me in disbelief. The crowd chattered loudly, people rushing away, others rushing close to take photos with their phones. Three guys in black security garb hurried to help Santino to his feet.

  One of them eyed me, unsure what to do. “What happened here?” he asked.

  Santino shoved the men away and pointed at me. “This fucking psycho knocked me into the fountain!”

  “Mr. Devine,” a guard said, “Is that true?”

  Lowering my eyebrows, I glared down my nose at Santino. “Doesn’t ring a bell.”

  “Are you serious?” Santino asked, his face red where the brown-coating wasn’t hiding it. “That dick-head threw me in!”

  I squared my shoulders in his direction quickly, like I was going to take another swing. He jumped backwards, slippery shoes going out from under him so that he landed back in the fountain. I loved how freaked out he looked as I bent low, my heel on the edge of the fountain. “Are you sure I pushed you?” I asked coolly. “Or did you mean to say you tripped and fell?”

  The guards scrambled to get Santino back up. He was simmering with humiliated rage, but he bit his tongue. I knew what he was thinking; better to be a klutz than to admit to being scared of me. “I guess I slipped,” he hissed through tight teeth.

  Adjusting my jacket, I walked away from the scene without looking back. I would have liked to knock out some of Santino’s perfect teeth after what he said about touching Amina, but I had something more pressing to get to. He said she looked terrified.

  When I got near the stage, I slowed down. Will seeing me make that worse? I didn’t know what to do. Fuck, I hated not having an easy answer.

  “Mr. Devine?” It was the woman from before with the champagne. “Did you want another glass? The performances will be starting soon, I thought I’d check if you needed a pick me up.”

  I waved my hand, starting to tell her to go away. Then I pulled up short. “I don’t need a pick me up,” I said, “But I know someone who does.”

  - Chapter Eleven -

  Amina

  Suffocating.

  That's what I was doing.

  Why did I agree to this? Why did Bach ask me to do this?

  Signing me to his label should have meant spending time prepping in a studio, warming my vocal chords, and training myself to release an album in a safe environment.

  But this... this was a madhouse.

  People rushed around backstage, all of them shouting. No one looked happy, not even the women who wore plastic smiles. I didn’t belong here. This was my worst nightmare.

  Gripping my stomach, I hunched over in the corner. “I’m so screwed,” I whispered. Violet had run off somewhere to make a phone call. She’d asked if I was fine, and I’d assured her I was, but... I wasn’t. I couldn’t be.

  I should sneak away, I thought, tempted by the idea. But when I imagined how disappointed everyone would be in me, I lost my courage. There was no winning this one. I couldn’t run, I couldn’t hide; my only option was getting on stage and doing my damnedest to not fail.

  But I was going to fail.

  It was my fate.

  It always would be.

  “Are you Amina?”

  I blinked at the bombshell-blonde holding a tray of drinks. “Um, yes?”

  She smiled wide, then offered me a glass. “Here, I was told to bring this to you.”

  “By who?”

  Her head tilted as she gestured off to the side, where the noise of the crowd was coming from behind the curtains. “Mr. Devine sent it. Along with this.” Dipping her fingers in her cleavage, she extended a piece of paper to me.

  I took it gingerly. “Thank you.”

  Satisfied, the woman swung her hips and escaped out of view. I wasn’t looking where she went, I was too interested in the paper in my hand. Setting the champagne on a table covered in makeup, I peeled open the note.

  Amina,

  Whisper my name.

  I will always hear your voice, even if the ghosts swallow me whole.


  I read the lyrics multiple times. I knew them by heart, but coming from Bach... written in his perfectly angular ink strokes... they meant something more than just a reminder of a song I’d heard a thousand times.

  Does he want me to imagine he’s the only one listening out there? Was this some weird version of pretending the audience was naked to give yourself courage? I smiled helplessly at the idea of stone-hearted Bach trying to make me feel better.

  Folding the note into a neat square, I put it in the pocket of my dress. Why didn’t he come see me in person if he wanted to give me advice? Then I remembered what Violet had told me in the dress shop. Right, she said she’d keep him away from me so I could focus.

  She must have warned him to keep away.

  But he’d sent me a message in spite of that.

  Something squealed behind the curtains; microphone feedback, then a girl’s voice. “Well, well, well, hey there, everyone! Ready for more music? We’ve got plenty to share!”

  Violet exploded around a corner, startling me. “Are you ready?” she asked. “You’re up next.”

  I filled my chest with a big, deep breath. Then I snatched the glass of champagne off the table and downed it. “Ah!” I gasped, shaking myself from my fingertips to my toes. Violet watched with raised eyebrows, but she didn’t comment. “Okay,” I said, clearing my throat. “I’m as ready as I’m going to be.”

  She ushered me forward, smoothing my hair, checking my makeup as she went. I’d opted to have Alexis keep things in the purple hues to match my dress. My eyelashes were dramatic, my lipstick was, too—but Violet assured me it needed to be extreme for the crowd to see from where they were.

  A man with a headset saw us coming. He waved frantically. “Go, go! You’re on!”

  And then I was blinded by the spotlights overhead. Everything glimmered, the air wavering from the sound of constant talking or lingering applause. There was a mic on a stand; a voice came from above, someone I didn’t know. “Here we go! For her debut performance, and for your pleasure here at the All That Glitters Gala... it’s Beats and Blast’s very own Amina Richards!”