by Nora Flite
Amina hopped down, following me into the foyer. As we walked through she froze in mid-step. I was confused by what had stopped her, until I glanced down. Her shoe was poised over the first row of silver tiles that formed the giant music note.
The exact spot we'd fallen last night.
The place I'd run my tongue over her throat while cupping her perfect tits.
Her eyes met mine. Was she able to read the lust in my face? Was she remembering last night with the same fervor as me? She wants to keep our relationship professional. Gritting my teeth, I spun for the double doors. My heels stomped on the smooth floors, echoing as I strolled outside. I didn’t check to make sure she was following me. My body language said I assumed she was, and if she didn’t, it was her loss, not mine.
The sky burned blue, not a cloud in sight. A quintessentially beautiful SoCal day. I didn’t waste a second enjoying it. I moved until I came to the large garage, tapping a button in my pocket to make it open. As the metal rolled up with a gentle rumble, I glanced sideways at Amina. “I don’t have time to drive you around, neither does Violet. You’ll have to take care of yourself for now.”
“Okay,” she said warily. “What does that mean—hey!” She fumbled to catch the keys I’d tossed at her.
“It means you need a car.” I bent my head towards a fire-red Tesla that glowed among my array of luxury vehicles. I delighted at how her eyes widened... how her lips parted. And I agonized over remembering what she’d told me minutes ago about how we couldn't sleep together.
I’ll kiss her again, I reminded myself. I wasn’t letting this woman go. To hell with that.
“You’re giving this to me?” she whispered.
“And this.” I drew out a silver credit card, pinching it between two fingers—the same ones that I’d curled so delightfully inside of her tight cunt. I trembled as she took the card from me. She held up the two rectangles of paper beneath it; my business card, and Violet's. “Buy yourself a phone, you can’t exist in LA without one. Text us your number when you've got one.”
“I don’t know what to say.”
“‘Thanks’ will do.”
Her smile was playful. “Right. Thanks, boss.”
I didn’t want to be boss. I wanted to be fuck me harder, and more, god, more! Running fingers through my thick hair, I turned away. “I’ll see you later. Drive carefully, I don’t want to lose my new star to some tragic accident on the 405.”
She was saying something behind me. Some lighthearted joke, probably, but I was hurrying away, playing it aloof because it was the only armor I had. My moods existed on two planes—obsessed with Amina or acting like she meant nothing to me but dollar signs.
Days ago, I’d been sure my biggest desire was keeping my company afloat.
Now I had something... someone... I wanted even more.
- Chapter Seventeen -
Amina
I'd never driven a car as nice as this one.
Rolling through the long palm-tree dotted streets of Beverly Hills, admiring the sights, and inhaling the summer air was almost enough to make me forget what Bach had said to me earlier.
How cocky can a guy be? I wondered. He thinks he can lure me back to his bed? As if he was so good I wouldn't be able to resist? Even though no one could hear me, I laughed.
But it rang false.
I wanted to act like last night had been a blip on my radar of sexual encounters, but that would be a big fat lie. Bach hadn't just been good, he'd been astounding. The way he kissed, even the way he breathed; it all added up to make the experience impossible to hand wave away.
That just meant I would have to be more cautious. I'd limit the time alone I spent with Bach. Business only, that was my goal. And that started with getting my own phone again so that he wouldn't have to relay every message to me in person. The more distance, the better.
I'd used the car's GPS to find the nearest phone store. Parallel parking next to a meter outside of the building, I turned the Tesla off and hopped out. When I walked into the store the door jingled. A clerk lifted his head and gave me a friendly smile. There were purple streaks in his green hair. “Hi there, how can I help you?”
“I'm looking to buy a new phone.”
“Got it. Touchscreen. Brand?”
“Um...”
“Flip, keyboard, Bluetooth?”
I shrugged helplessly.
“Do you have a budget?”
Biting the corner of my mouth I thought about the silvery credit card in my pocket. “I think I can afford something decent.”
The clerk brightened, waving me towards a display of phones along the wall. “Look at these models, play around, and when you find something that feels right, just call me over again.”
I hadn't had a new phone in... well, probably ever. All the ones before had been hand-me-downs. Humming to myself, I poked nervously at one of the rectangular devices. It looked a lot like the one Korine had, and the familiarity was nice. I gasped when I saw the cost. Four hundred dollars, seriously? Did all phones cost that much or was it a California thing? Jesus.
“I’d go with that one,” a deep, male voice said.
Jumping, I was surprised to see Sherman standing next to me. He wasn’t dressed to the nines like at the gala; he had on torn jeans and a long-sleeved green shirt that laced up at the neck. His easy comfort made me more nervous. “What are you doing, stalking me?” I asked.
He laughed hard while wiping the corners of his eyes. “Look at you, already acting like a big star. No, I was just picking up a new Bluetooth headset and saw you walk in. How are you doing?”
“Fine,” I said too quickly.
His thick eyebrows moved lower. “Mmm. I see.” He glanced around casually. “You’re alone. Everyone too busy for you today? Or are you avoiding them?”
“That’s none of your business.”
“On the contrary, it’s exactly my business. Many deals are made when clients get into drama with the people they work closely with.”
Heat swam up my neck. “There’s no drama.”
“No?” he asked, grinning.
“No,” I said, but I couldn’t look him in the eye.
“Bach has a reputation,” Sherman said gently. “I worried when I met you that he’d take advantage of you.”
“It’s not like that.”
“How nice of you to defend him. But I’ve known that guy longer than you have. I know how many selfish decisions he’s made.” His shoulders shifted upwards. “Using you won’t be his last one, that’s for sure.”
I whipped my head up, gawking at him. “Why do you think he’s using me?”
“Because he has to. You know his company is barely above water, yes? He cares about his happiness, and his alone. He’ll drain Beats and Blast, take advantage of everyone working for him, promise them the moon... and then he’ll walk away when the money from his father's hard work is gone. That’s who Bach Devine is.”
There was anger blistering inside of me, yet it was blocked by my own uncertainty. Bach had told me just hours ago that, even though I wanted to keep things professional, he wasn’t going to back off. Sherman was right. Bach was selfish.
I caught my own reflection in the phone I’d been checking out. I was pale, my eyes too wide and too wet. Sherman’s comments were getting to me. “Bach said you were the one that discovered Laurence.”
“He told you that?” His posture became guarded. “It’s true. I believed in Laurence Devine more than anyone else. More than his own son did. I helped get him the exposure he needed to become a world-wide sensation.”
“If I wanted that same result, what advice would you give me?”
All of his defensiveness vanished. He lit up at the first indication he was winning me over. “I'd tell you to recognize your own raw potential.”
“You think I have that?”
He put a hand on my shoulder. “I know it.”
His kind words drew a helpless smile from me.
“And,” h
e went on, “If I was representing you, I'd put all of my focus on you, going out swinging at every meeting to guarantee people took you seriously. And I wouldn't, not even once, try to sleep with you.”
Every bit of my skin was scalding from humiliation. I was relieved when he took his hand away. “Good to know.”
Sherman watched me closely. “I'm guessing that right now, Bach is taking meetings with all the brand-new talent that's come crawling out of the shadows since they saw you perform under his label last night. His attention is on the next best thing. Not on what he has right in front of him.”
Unsure how to respond, I bit my tongue. Sherman slipped a hand into his jean's back pocket. Withdrawing his business card, he extended it towards me. “I'll make this clear once more. I want to sign you, Amina Richards. Not use you to rejuvenate my company.”
The first time he'd offered his card to me, I'd turned him down. Now, for some unknown reason that I hated myself for, I took it. It's only a card, I thought. It's not an agreement.
Sherman was smirking like he'd won a game I didn't know we were playing. Clearing his throat, he backed away. “We'll talk soon. Good luck, Amina.” He vanished out onto the street just as the clerk came up to me again.
“So!” he chirped, clasping his hands. “Did you make a decision?”
Gripping the business card, I worried that I’d made the wrong one.
****
I set up my new phone while sitting in my car. Or Bach's car, or whatever.
The first thing I did was check my email. There were a few spam items, but I noticed the multitude of messages from Korine. The subject lines were increasingly panicked.
Where are you?
Why aren't you answering your phone?
Oh God I hope you weren't kidnapped and this whole LA thing was a trap!!!
The last email from her said, I saw you on TV!!!!
My skin prickled with a million goose bumps. Opening the message, I saw she'd inserted a video link. With my anxiety mounting, I clicked it.
A host I didn't recognize was talking into a mic. “Many new artists performed last night at the All That Glitters Gala, but one of them took the event by storm.” I inhaled sharply as I saw myself on the stage; the camera zoomed in, a graphic shot on the screen, displaying my name. It was beyond surreal.
I typed up a message to Korine as quickly as I could.
Just got your email, sorry for the silence, I lost my phone. Could you text your number to my new one?
I sent the email, then leaned back in the driver's seat. How many people saw me singing at the gala? I knew there would have been a bunch of attendees, but I hadn't really wrapped my brain around the idea that it'd be broadcast across the country, or the world, now that it was on the internet.
Gathering myself up, I focused on the things I could control. I fished out Bach's card, tracing my thumb over his phone number. Then, imagining his whiskey-smooth voice through the speaker, I breathed quicker. I'll text Violet instead. I sent her a message saying This is my new phone. Then another clarifying that this meant Amina Richards.
My phone came to life; I jumped, nearly dropping it on the floor of the Tesla. I didn't recognize the number. “Hello?”
“Amina!” screamed Korine. “Oh my God it's so good to hear your voice. When I couldn't reach you, I thought all these horrible things. Then I saw you on stage and I wondered if maybe you were avoiding me on purpose because you got all famous or something.” She laughed to show she wasn't serious.
I giggled in relief. It felt so good to talk to my friend again. “No, nothing like that. I just forgot my phone in the airport like a dummy.”
“But you are famous now, right? I saw that video! You sang at an event with thousands of people watching. The must have been crazy.”
“It was something,” I admitted.
“How's LA? Is it hot? Oh! Is Bach as hot in person as he is in the photos?”
A wave of heat washed over me. “I guess.”
“Let me guess, that VP is keeping you miles away from him. I figured as much. Well, that's fine. You should be focusing on your career anyway.”
How did I explain that Violet wasn't keeping me from Bach? If anyone was keeping me from him, it was me! “How are things at the café?” I asked
“It's only been a couple days since you left, Amina. How much can really change?”
Lots, I ached to scream.
She kept talking. “I want to hear about your life. That's where all the excitement is at. Are people taking photos of you on the street? Do you have a team rushing you place to place so you aren't mobbed?”
“It's seriously nothing like that. No one knows who I am.”
“Did you read the comments beneath the video?”
“Why would I do that?”
“Because then you'd see how many people are obsessing about you. God, you're so bad at this whole fame thing. Amina, people are losing their minds. You should be booking shows, getting interviews. Capitalize on this momentum!”
“You sound like Bach,” I muttered. “I just want to sing.”
“All work and no play make Amina a dull boy.”
She wouldn't think it was all work if I told her I'd slept with Bach. I couldn't tell her. She’d been adamant in breaking me from my bad habits. If it hadn't been for her I would never have had the courage to break up with Murdoch. I would still be dating that douche bag, dealing with his obvious cheating, defending him, and probably worse.
Korine's respect meant a lot to me. I hated lying—even if it was by omission—but it was the best decision. “I'll be dull if it means I get to make this career work. I'm going to talk to Violet about recording my first album as soon as I can.”
“Why not ask her right now?”
I chewed my lip. “She's busy. Everyone is busy. It's why I had to go buy this new phone, people can't babysit me anymore.”
“Wait, they flew you out there, but they're too busy for you? That's fucked.”
I thought about Sherman and what he had said about how I wasn't a priority. That I was just the bait to get bigger better artists to sign with Bach's label. I shook off the bad vibes as quickly as I could. “The second I know more, I'll tell you.” I paused for a second. “It's a good to talk to you again, Korine.”
“Same. It was a strange not being able to reach out to you. I actually had to talk to Nana.”
Both of us laughed; I glanced down at my phone as it suddenly vibrated. A message? “I've got to go. I think Ms. VP is texting me.”
“Speak of the devil. Love you, babe.”
“Love you, too.” I hung up and then scrolled to read the messages that had come in. I was right, they were from Violet.
Where are you?
I texted her the address.
Perfect. Let's get lunch.
She sent me the location of a place and told me to be there in ten minutes. She was always so strict on her timelines. I was determined to get through to her about what I wanted. If meeting Sherman had done anything for me, it was that it instilled a desire to make my needs known. I wasn't going to be pushed aside. I wasn't going to be ignored while other musicians were brought on.
I'd come out here to make my dream happen.
I wasn't going to lose sight of that.
****
Violet waved at me as I entered the blue brick restaurant. She was sitting at a tiny table in the far corner, like she wanted privacy. It was extreme to me because the place was entirely empty.
“Hey there,” she said with a smile. “I've only got 30 minutes, and I've already ordered my lunch. Go pick something quick so we can chat.”
I looked over at the chalkboard menu with uncertainty. “What exactly is an açaí bowl?”
“Probably the most LA thing there is. It's this exotic frozen fruit, then you add toppings. I’m super obsessed with them.”
“So... ice cream for lunch?”
“Healthier than that, but yeah.” She motioned like she was shooing me away
. “Just order something before mine arrives.”
I wanted to point out that she was the one who’d decided to order before I got here. Instead I buttoned up my comments, hurrying to the counter. There was a young man waiting for me expectantly. His hair swept down to his shoulders, some of it knotted on top in a man-bun. “How can I help you?” he asked.
Reading the menu a few times, I shrugged awkwardly. “I've never had one of these, can you just pick something tasty?”
He winked and pointed to a row of wooden bowls. “Pick a size, I'll take care of the rest.”
When he rang me up, I winced at the price. I was grateful all over again for the credit card Bach gave me; I’d never ordered twelve-dollar ice cream before. Taking the little number sign, I went back and sat across from Violet.
“What did you get?” she asked.
“I have no idea.”
“You’ll love it anyway. I should have warned you, these things turn your teeth purple. Get used to carrying a toothbrush around.”
“Is that a thing? Do people just carry toothbrushes with them everywhere they go?”
She quirked a plucked eyebrow. “People who get their pictures taken all day long? Yes, they carry toothbrushes. And makeup sets. And hair straighteners.”
“I'm never going to carry one of those.”
She put her cheek on her first as she squinted at my short hair. “You're lucky you don't have to.”
“Wait, do you carry one around?”
“I’ll tell you, if you tell me about yourself first.”
I snorted incredulously. “There’s nothing to tell.”
“Come on. I'm asking out of genuine interest. Where are you from? Were your parents musicians, too?”
Ah, dammit. This was a conversation I preferred to avoid. Leaning back in my seat, I scanned the counter, willing our waiter to interrupt us. When he didn’t, I gave in to Violet’s patient smile. “I’m from Texas. My parents weren’t industry pros, but they tolerated my constant whining that they sing with me. Oh, and Mom could play guitar. She taught me some when I asked her.”
“Huh.” Violet sipped her water. I wished I had something to stall with, too. “You make it sound like they got into music just for you.”
