by Nora Flite
Thunder erupted from the crowd. People had no clue who I was but were clapping enthusiastically. I faced the audience, shielding my eyes and trying to make sense of all these strangers. The sound was constant but the longer I waited, the more it calmed down.
All too abruptly, the entire room was silent.
Waiting for me.
Oh god. Oh god, I can’t do this.
Nothing was coming to my mind. I squeezed the mic, my tongue heavy and dry. I couldn’t sing. I couldn’t talk. I couldn’t even run.
Whisper my name.
Remembering the hand-written note set my heart thudding faster, but not from fear. I licked my lips, wishing I could get a single lyric out. “Bach,” I croaked instead, so softly the mic didn’t pick it up. Would he fly from the crowd, swoop me up and save me? Or would he shuttle me off when the night ended in some taxi, sending me home to Portland?
Everything was blurry... my head felt light. Someone coughed, a polite noise—a subtle hint I needed to begin. I was dizzy from breathing too fast. Everyone in the audience was a blurry blob.
I will always hear your voice...
There, out in the sea of faces, one became clear: jewel-bright eyes, a mouth so serious it could never be truly sweet, never create gentle words, only roughness. Bach. He was going to be so disappointed in me.
Then I looked closer.
That man... he wasn't frowning because he was angry. The tension around the edges of his eyes said Help me. He was praying for my success. He didn't just want me to perform, he needed me to. I'd never had anyone look at me with so much hope before.
How could I run away from that?
Gripping the mic, I summoned all my confidence. All the hope I’d denied myself for years. And I sang my damn heart out.
- Chapter Twelve -
Bach
She sang with raw skill;
power that hadn't been drained of its rough edges and enticing flaws that didn't come off as mistakes, but character. Amina was impressing every set of ears at the gala. Stealing their attention... their admiration.
I wasn't immune.
Did she get my note? I wondered, focusing on how stunning she was as she swayed imperceptibly in her plum and gold dress. I’d watched the terror take hold of her on stage. I’d worried, for a fleeting second, that my efforts were wasted.
Cupping the mic, she leaned to one side as if a gentle breeze had touched her. The song she sang wasn’t one I knew. Halfway through it, I had the inkling it was one she’d written herself. With only time for one song, I’d figured she’d perform a cover of something the crowd would know.
But now... now, I was sure this was the right choice.
All too soon, the song ended.
I held my breath as the silence descended. I didn’t wait long before the whole room exploded in applause. I was so overwhelmed I forgot to clap, too. I quickly joined in, lifting my arms over my head and roaring with support. Amina went pink. Someone motioned for her to get off the stage, but it took Violet going out, scooping her up by the elbow, to get Amina to move her feet. She stumbled behind the curtains.
It’s over, I thought, amazed. She did it.
“Wow!” someone said, clasping my shoulder. “She’s one of yours, Bach? What was her name again?”
“Amina Richards,” I said, blinking at the man I didn’t know. Others joined him, crowding me, asking for information on my new star. They wanted to know when her first single was coming out, when they could hear more.
I slid into business mode and answered as well as I could.
Considering my heart was still caught up in the memory of her song, I did pretty well.
“Excuse me,” I said after a few minutes of networking. “I need to check on Amina.” The group was disappointed, but I slipped around their flashing cameras and offered handshakes until I got to the stage. The security guards by the stairs took one glance at me before letting me through.
“Bach!” Amina’s eyes locked on mine. She was sparkling with glee, red-cheeked and grinning. There was no hesitance as she ran at me, laughing. “Did you see me?” she asked, grabbing me in a hug.
The warmth of the embrace was surprising. I wanted to wrap my arms around her body and hold her tight, to feel her pulse through the soft dress. Before I could react, she pulled away, shaking me by my shoulders like I was a friend she’d known her whole life. “What am I saying?” she laughed. “Of course you saw! I just—I can’t believe I did that! It was crazy, I’m still shaking! Feel!”
Amina pushed one hand flat against my chest, right over where my heart would be. I knew she was just trying to show me how she was trembling from adrenaline. But she’d accidentally allowed herself to discover how excited I was.
I couldn’t stop her before she felt my heart racing.
Her attention locked on mine, her grin collapsing into an “o” of surprise.
Stepping backwards, I cleared my throat. “You amazed everyone out there. I’ve already got people trying to line up interviews with you. They all want to know who Amina Richards is.”
Some of her earlier energy returned. But I knew she was still caught up in how fast my heart had been thudding under her palm. “Oh, that’s so weird to hear. But good, right?”
“Very good,” Violet said, swinging between us. She held up three glasses of champagne, offering one to me, then Amina. “Let’s have a toast!”
“Here, here,” I mumbled, clinking my glass on each of theirs. I drank fast, the bubbles burning. I felt... exposed. It shouldn’t have been a big deal, letting her notice my excitement, but it was. What would she do with this info?
I knew what I wanted her to do.
I could picture her dragging me to some far corner of the stage. Wrapping her fingers in my shirt, feeling my heart beating faster than it had the first time under her warm palm. We’d kiss, there’d be tongue... teeth... and someone would snap a photo of us fucking in my car in the lot under the building.
I promised Violet I wouldn’t.
Lifting my eyes, I watched my VP as she talked with Amina. Her body was placed carefully between the singer and me. It was intentional, making me remember what she’d said to me on our brief phone call.
She acts like I’m the Big Bad Wolf. Twisting the stem of my empty glass, I imagined it was one of Amina’s nipples. Would they be pink, or the color of fresh apricots? I was desperate to know and the fact I might never, ever find out was torture. I’d never had a delicious morsel dangled in front of me that I couldn’t taste.
Suddenly Amina faced me. “Should I go out there?”
“What, you mean the party?”
“Yeah. I could meet the people you want me to impress.”
I smiled at that. “I wasn’t going to hide you backstage all night. Did you get to see any of the garden before you were shuttled here to get ready?” She shook her head. “Come on, I’ll show you around.”
Violet crossed her arms as we walked by her. “Don’t do anything to ruin the good buzz we managed to create tonight.”
“Remind me why I pay you to have such little faith in me?” I asked with a grin. We stepped out from behind the huge curtains, exiting down a small set of stairs that led into the main area of the gala.
The crowd was thick here; someone accidentally elbowed Amina, making her wince. “Keep close,” I said, grabbing for her wrist. “No one bumps into me, they know better.” Her pulse fluttered under my grip as I shielded her. My head became light from her presence.
When we found a room with a long table covered in gold-glitter macarons, I turned to face her. “Here, eat something. You must be hungry.”
She glanced at my hand where it held her. I let go, making a show of adjusting my tie even as she scrutinized me. “You sure you want me to eat a bunch of cookies?”
I arched my eyebrows. “What?”
“You already forgot about this morning,” she muttered, grabbing a macaron. She looked at it instead of me. “Good to know how pointless our talks are
.”
Oh, right. The stuff about the makeover. That moment seemed so long ago. “I was being harsh,” I said.
Biting into the cookie, she tilted her head. I watched with fascination as she licked the crumbs from her plump, kissable lips. “You don’t have to say you’re sorry much, do you.”
“More than you’d expect, actually,” I said under my breath. Amina was staring, so I lightened my voice. “I’m a fuck-up, sorry. I didn’t think through what I was saying. And... looking at you now...” I gestured, enjoying how she blushed. “You proved me wrong. You’re a natural beauty, Amina.”
“Stop that,” she scoffed.
“You think any man in this room has a choice about being attracted to you?”
She was glowing red now. Fuck, it was a turn on to tease her.
Shoving the rest of the cookie in her mouth, she exaggerated her chewing comically. “Yeff,” she mumbled, “I’mmf ferry shexy.”
I hung my head as I laughed openly. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d had so much fun with anyone, never mind a woman I wanted to drag under my blankets. “Pass me one of those,” I said.
Amina gently tossed me a cookie. “Thanks for arranging all of this. I was a little put off by the situation, but... I’m grateful I went through with it.”
“You say that like you might have backed out.”
She gathered herself, then looked out at the crowd. Her smile was melancholy. “I was afraid I was going to.”
“Well you didn’t. So, stop wearing that guilt around your neck. It’s pointless.”
Her surprise was written on her face. “Wise words from the self-proclaimed fuck-up.”
“I have my moments.”
She pursed her lips. “I like the advice in person better than in note form.”
My smile inched bigger. “I’m glad you got that.”
“Me too. It really helped. But next time, don’t send it to me by way of boob-cleavage.”
Shaking my head, I popped the macaron in my mouth. “I did what I had to.”
“Mmmhmm. Sticking something down a pretty lady’s breasts is such a sacrifice.”
She was teasing me, and I knew it, but I didn’t like what she was implying. “I didn’t touch her, Amina.” I advanced slightly, my voice dropping. “I wasn’t interested in her.”
Amina stared up at me with wide, glowing eyes. Her voice caught, giving her an alluring, raspy edge to her words. “Even with how beautiful she looked?”
“I didn’t notice.”
“How could you not?”
“Because,” I whispered, leaning in, studying the groove of her bottom lip. “There was someone else filling up my head.”
Amina backed into the table, rattling the glasses. She spun around, fumbling to adjust the things that dropped. “Oh, shit,” she mumbled, avoiding my eyes. “Let me... I’ll just clean this up, sorry.”
Heat collected on the back of my neck. “Forget that. It doesn’t matter.”
She gave me a sidelong look. “It’s fine, I’ve got it.”
Why did her reactions get to me so much? I adored watching her fall apart. “Let me help,” I said, finishing standing the glasses back up. Before I got far, a waiter came over, ushering the both of us away with a polite smile.
Crossing her hands behind her back, Amina gave me a weak smile. “Time for more of that tour?”
“Great idea.” I strode through the open air, and she stayed nearby. The gardens spread before us, the entrance flanked by two huge lilac bushes. A stage had been placed inside, round lights dangled above on strings as a DJ played nearby.
There was a silent auction arranged on one side of the stage, but most people were ignoring it, choosing instead to pack the floor. All of them were dancing; a wall of stiff suits and glittering gowns. There were plenty of young people here for the gala. Some of them probably not old enough to drink, but that wasn’t stopping them.
Amina looped her hand in mine and pulled me deeper. “Do you like dancing?” she asked.
I swallowed thickly. “Depends on who it’s with.”
Shooting me a grin over her shoulder, she guided me into the fray. “I used to go dancing with my friend, Korine.”
My attention was fixated on her one hundred percent. “What about with your boyfriends?”
Amina released my hand. “They never wanted to.” She tucked her chin, watching the DJ, but not really looking at anything in particular. Then she twirled so that her dress floated like a jellyfish under the ocean, her eyes getting darker, playful. “This isn’t what you think it is.”
My eyebrows arched as I smiled. “And what’s that?”
“I’m not flirting.”
I chuckled at her bluntness. “Okay. Understood.”
“Dance with me like you’re Korine, not like you’re an ex.”
“That’s easy, since you said your exes never danced with you.”
Amina’s mouth dropped open. Then she looked me over with appreciation, like she enjoyed my call-back. Without another word she began to bob her head to the DJ’s song. Her hips swayed, shoulders shifting in tandem. She was infected by the music. She channeled it—like the steady beat was giving her life. Transfixed by her movements, I stared as she danced by herself only a foot away from me. She didn’t care who watched. She didn’t care if she did this alone. Amina was one with the rhythm. She experienced music in a way few people ever would.
Others began to notice her. I spotted the hungry face of a young man, knew what he was planning as he eyed Amina up and down. Before he could step in and get her attention, I made my move.
“Bach?” Amina asked, blinking up at me as I loomed over her.
I rested my hands on her shoulders, tensing with delight at how soft her skin was. “I’m doing what you said,” I murmured. My hips arched closer to her but didn’t touch.
She let her lashes hood her eyes. “This is how you think my friend Korine dances with me?”
“One million percent, yes.” Smirking sharply, I shot the other guy a warning look over Amina’s head. He scowled, then backed off. Satisfied that I’d made my claim known, I linked my hands with hers and gave her a little spin. “Feel free to guide me, though. I don’t know your friend like you do.”
She kept her eyes locked on mine as I glided my palms up her forearms. Then I cupped her naked shoulders, tracing her lightly shaped muscles, brushing the ends of her short black hair. “Korine wouldn’t do that,” she said huskily.
“Probably not,” I agreed. My touch trailed lower. Amina watched me the whole time, never stopping me as I outlined her curved waist, or as I clutched her hips in a possessive hold. My erection was huge and distracting.
Her body swung closer, so fucking close.
Something dug into my upper-arm. Something that dared to rip me away from that moment with Amina.
“Bach!” Sherman growled, turning me to face him. “I’m going to fucking kill you.”
- Chapter Thirteen -
Amina
I kept reminding myself it was good that our dance had been interrupted. That I had no right to be disappointed someone had come along and thrown themselves between Bach and me. But all the reminders in the world couldn’t cool the hungry heat.
My shoulders wore invisible imprints from his fingers. Helplessly, I reached up and rubbed my bare skin. For how intensely I felt his absence, there should have been indents in my flesh.
Shuddering, I focused on the scene before me. The stranger—a broad-chested man in a plum suit with tan skin and a widow’s peak—was glowering at Bach. “What did you do to Santino?”
“I’m guessing you’re talking about the chocolate fountain incident, Sherman,” Bach said, yanking out of the guy’s grip.
“He left! Didn’t say a word, just got in his car and drove off!” Sherman said, his face screwed up in rage.
Bach shrugged. “I’m not responsible for what he does anymore.”
“You don’t get it.” Sherman stepped forward, and to his
credit, Bach didn’t budge. “Santino was supposed to perform tonight! Thanks to your short temper, he won’t be.”
What did Bach do? I wondered, trying to piece things together. No one else was watching us, they were caught up in the fast-paced music.
Clenching his fists, Bach shot me a look. “Blame your new partner for stealing high-maintenance musicians.”
“I didn't say I was taking Eckland up on his offer.”
“Good for you, keeping those options open. This still has nothing to do with me.”
“It has everything to do with...” Sherman bared his teeth, then shut his eyes like he was calming himself down. “This is so you.”
“What is?”
“Being unable to take responsibility. I don’t know why I expected more from a selfish, no-talent thug.”
“Hey!” I snapped, stepping between them. From the corner of my eye I caught Bach’s eyes widen in surprise. “You can’t talk to him like that!”
Sherman’s scowl pulled tight over his teeth. Then... he squinted, sizing me up, his voice getting softer. “You’re Amina, aren’t you?” He didn’t wait for my answer, he looked over my head at Bach. “I saw you on stage earlier. I was surprised you were working with Beats and Blast.”
I laughed dubiously. “Why would that surprise you? You don’t know me.”
“No, but I know him.” He motioned at Bach, who turned a shade redder. He was ready to pop. “Beats and Blast is a dying label. A talent like yours deserves something better. Here, take my card.” I waited for Bach to intervene. He didn’t. Sherman offered me a stiff, red card with rounded edges. His name was embossed across the front: Sherman Proud. Beneath it, in silver letters, it read: Platinum Record King. He saw me reading it and smiled, saying, “It sounds cocky, but it’s true. I make my artists into millionaires.”
Bach’s stare burned into the side of my face. Licking my bottom lip, I looked up at Sherman. “You’re right. It does sound cocky.” His frown returned instantly. “I think I’ll stick with the devil I know.”
Bach’s hands relaxed at his sides. “You heard her. Go offer your card to some other people, sounds like you’re on the lookout to replace Santino.”
