“Stop the song.”
I oblige, leaning forward to turn it off, and put the phone back into my pocket.
“You want a budget,” Rowland says, leaning back in his chair even further with an expression of disapproval as if I just asked for his only daughter’s hand in marriage, “for an unsigned artist, who may not even go with us—”
“I told you, she’ll sign with us when I tell her to. I can call her in right now. But this video will be an act of good faith. Trust me, she’s worth it. You already have proof,” I say, leaning forward in my chair as I try to convince him.
“Based on what?” Rowland says, a smile on his face. He can’t hide how much he enjoys playing his power games. He puts his feet up on the floor and his hands behind his head. “A few college DJs? A few industry types who wouldn’t know the street if it smacked them in the face?”
“It doesn’t have to be a big budget. She’s talented. We should make the investment while we can.”
“You mean take the risk. Then it’s my ass on the line instead of yours.”
“It’s no risk. It’s just a small amount of money that we’re sure to get back. If we capitalize on this.”
“Excuse me? Last I checked I’m the one who decides what to do with this company’s finances – my finances. And given your track record, I can’t say I have much faith in this girl. Does she even have any talent, or are you just blowing smoke up my ass for your latest flavor of the week?”
Something inside me sparks up, the thing that I suppress every time I walk into Rowland’s office. I lean forward slowly, my face blank, and say the next two words slowly.
“Fuck you.”
They taste delicious.
Every part of Rowland’s face drops. He drops his feet off the desk, puts his palms on it, and leans forward.
“I’m sorry? Did you just—”
“You heard me. You’re not deaf – although that would explain a lot of things.”
I stand up, and Rowland instinctively backs up a little.
“Who do you think you are?” he manages to say, though his voice is weak and nasal. “Have you forgotten that I’m your boss?! I pay you!”
“I know what I am. It might have taken me a while to figure it out, but I know. I also know what I’m not. I’m not a cowardly parasite that doesn’t believe in anything, or anyone. I’m not a jumped-up rich kid with an inferiority complex he has to keep hidden behind a big office and lousy power-plays.”
I turn around and start walking for the door.
“You’re fired, Brando!” Rowland calls behind me. “You’ve just made a big mistake!”
This time it’s me who raises my arms out wide as I step toward the door.
“So why do I feel fucking great?”
Chapter 14
Haley
“You said that?”
Brando nods and takes another lick of his ice cream cone, his smile framed against the endless ocean. The dusty-orange light of the setting sun carves out his perfectly-proportioned face so sublimely I feel like I’m living in an Instagram photo.
We carry on down the boardwalk, working on our ice cream cones, feeling light and happy. Every second a perfect moment that seems to linger before it gives way to another.
“So what are you now? Are you still my manager?” I say as we start walking up the pier, almost reluctant to break the comfortable silence between us.
“I guess,” Brando says, sucking the end of his finger in a way that makes me wish he’d asked me first. “I was never that good of an A & R guy anyway. I like artists too much to exploit them.”
I laugh a little. “’Too much’ is one way of putting it… Thanks, though. I appreciate you sticking up for me.”
“I did it just as much for myself as for you. If I was really smart I’d have kissed his ass until he handed me the budget. But…”
“But that doesn’t exactly come easy to you, right?”
Brando sits on the bench at the end of the pier and looks up at me, smiling.
“I guess we’re both discovering what our limits are.”
Brando points his dark-brown eyes at me in a way I haven’t seen yet. I stand a few feet in front of him, feeling the salt air fill my lungs, enjoying his devoted attention, wondering how bad news can feel like good news when you’ve got the simple things right.
“So it’s just you and me now? We’re going it alone?” I say, having to look at him through my wind-blown hair.
“In case you hadn’t noticed, it’s been that way from the start.”
I smile shyly and put a hand on my beach skirt as it blows against my skin. I didn’t feel like my regulation jeans and dark t-shirt today. It was a snap decision to wear this light-blue, almost see-through skirt, and a tight white tank top with a denim jacket over it. The kind of decision a girl makes much more easily when she’s getting some.
“What’s the next step then?”
“We still need a video,” Brando says, still studying me like I’m the Sistine chapel. His look makes me feel naked, but the stranger thing is that I don’t mind.
I squinch up my face. “How? You said it yourself, we have no budget. Nothing. Maybe we can borrow some equipment, but don’t we need a director? Lighting guys? A studio? I don’t know, videos seem like—”
“You look so beautiful right now,” Brando says, his voice cutting through mine like a soft punch.
I look down at my feet, wondering if it’s normal for an adult woman to blush this much.
“The way your hair falls over your face,” he continues, as if in a trance, “the way your eyes catch the light and hold it. You always look amazing, but right now, right here, out in the light, I can see the magic around you.”
I look around to see if anyone else is nearby, embarrassed but smiling like I’m guilty of getting away with something.
“Anyway…we were talking about the video?” I say, looking back at Brando. He’s holding his phone out in front of him. Filming me. “Oh no! No no no!”
“Yeah,” Brando says, standing up, his face expressing pure, mischievous glee. “About that video…”
I hide my face behind my hands, turning away and taking a few steps back down the pier. Brando follows, his hand still holding the phone steady.
“Brando! Put the phone away!” I say, but I’m laughing as I say it, and the way his eyes narrow as they flick between the screen and mine lets me know how much he’s enjoying this.
“If you look one tenth as good on film as you do in real life, this is gonna be amazing.”
“Come on!” I say, pleading as I twirl around to face him, walking backwards away from the camera, before turning back around to walk down the pier.
Brando steps in front of me, so now he’s walking backwards, and I’m walking towards the camera. He winks, and I try not to smile, try not to laugh. Try not to let Brando make me feel so playful and happy, as if this could actually happen.
“How about a little dance?” Brando says from behind the lens. I stop and give him a look that says ‘no,’ before covering my face with my hands again, hiding behind my hair. “Or act shy,” he says. “That works too.”
I continue to walk, Brando still filming me head-on as he steps backwards carefully.
“Okay,” I say, talking to the camera lens, “you win. We’ll do the video like this.” I get just close enough, and then snatch the phone away from him. He freezes on the spot, his hands still out in front of him, holding a phone that isn’t there anymore. “On one condition,” I say, raising the phone and pointing the lens at him, “you’re gonna be in it too.”
I watch him on the phone screen as he drops his hands to his side, and gives me a picture-perfect, cover-shoot sexy, incredibly photogenic smile.
“Deal.”
The rest of the evening is a heady blur of laughter and randomness. We go to a sushi place and we film each other acting goofy with our chopsticks. Brando gets sake on his shirt and we go to a clothes store to buy a new one. I force hi
m to change in the middle of the store, on camera, making sure I catch the looks of the female onlookers, eyes wide as they bite their lips. Brando gets someone to film him surprising me by picking me up on his shoulders and running down the boardwalk. I do cartwheels on the beach, Brando takes off his clothes and emerges from the water, we film ourselves kissing against the changing colors of the sky as the sun sets.
“This…could actually turn out pretty awesome!” I say, checking the footage as we enter Brando’s apartment. “It’s no blockbuster, but it’s real. It kinda makes sense. Intimate, kinda silly, genuine. It’s perfect for the song.”
Brando walks up to me and pulls the phone from my hand. “I agree.”
“Do you think we got enough?” I say, looking up at him. “For the whole song?”
“No."
Brando’s face is sultry as he raises the camera and points it at me.
I look sideways at him, confused, but still playfully curious. “What are you doing?”
“Filming you.”
“I can see that,” I say, laughing gently. “But is this for the song? Or for yourself?”
“That depends,” he says, voice thick and full, “on how hot it gets.”
“Hot?” I say, the wetness of my lips audible in my voice. “You mean, like this?”
I ease off my denim jacket, body sideways, looking over my shoulder at the camera – at Brando. I drop the jacket to the floor and press myself back up against the wall. “Like this?” I say, arching my back, breasts pushing out against the white tank, skirt swishing from the curve my ass. Brando stalks around me with the camera like an animal, moving the lens the way his eye would across my body, lips parted like he can already taste me.
I spin around and walk away from the camera toward the couch. “What about this?” I move the skirt slowly down over my ass before letting it drop. I look back over my shoulder and see Brando on his knees, camera in one hand, pulling his shirt off with another, breathing so heavy it’s as if it doesn’t fit, the lens and his eyes worshipping my ass.
Facing the window, Brando behind me, I take my tank top off, slowly teasing it up over my belly and over my head before tossing it aside. Then I do the same with my bra, folding my arms, hands over my breasts, before turning around. Brando’s shirt is off, and though he’s still holding the camera up to face me, he’s not looking at the screen anymore. “This?” I say, lips pouting.
Brando steps toward me slowly, shoulders rolling like a jungle cat. My heart beats faster with every inch of space that disappears between us. I drop my hands from my breasts and push my palms against the phone screen. He’s close enough that I can see the tension in his neck muscles, taste the testosterone on his skin. He stretches his arm out, camera pointing back at both of us.
“This,” he says like a low, dangerous hiss, before forcing his lips on mine.
I grab the back of his neck, fingers digging into his unyielding, taut skin, urging his delicious tongue into me. I let another hand venture around the ripples of his torso, exploring the irresistible curve of his muscles.
He continues to film as we fuck each other’s mouths harder and faster with our ferocious tongues. His other hand presses against the small of my back on its way down to my ass, where it grabs and smacks me harder against him. I gasp at the delicious sting and wrap my arms around his neck, legs around his waist, and he lifts me up as easily as another part of his body.
I close my eyes, feeling light-headed from his smell, from the rhythm of his heartbeat; so hard against my chest it makes my tits move, pressed up against his pecs. I struggle for breath, his tongue probing me hungrily, but I can’t let him go, won’t let him go.
He gives my ass another firm slap and I moan, tilting my head back. “Brando.”
He carries me to the bedroom, while I concentrate on tasting his shoulder. He throws me back onto the soft sheets of his bed, his giant frame towering above me. He tosses the phone aside.
As he looks down at me, spread out on my back in just my panties, I leap towards his jeans like a woman possessed, hands tearing at his fly like it’ll save my life. He buries his hands in my hair and I look up at him, his face hard and commanding. I pull his jeans apart, popping a button in the process, and pull them down.
His cock looks even bigger and more beautiful than the last time. I stare at it, half-scared, half-delighted. He puts a hand around my chin, framing my face, lifting my eyes to meet his.
“You want that?” he asks.
I nod.
“Take it,” he orders.
I wrap a hand around the shaft, feeling the power and weight, another hand pressed against the lines of his waist.
I watch his face twist and relax as I brush my tongue around the head. He breathes in sharply through his teeth as pleasure shivers through him. I take it slow as I work my tongue along the hardened curves, running it down the endless length, taking his balls in my mouth softly, then working back up the shaft. He groans and pants, and I feel my own center getting wetter with the thrill of shifting control. I take the head in my mouth, sucking long and hard as I draw back, his cock popping out from between my lips. I do it again, deeper and harder. He grabs fistfuls of my hair, pulling me deeper. I go again and again, holding his cock in my mouth, sucking and winding my tongue against his flesh.
“Fuck,” he grunts, “that’s so good.”
Brando’s grunts get more and more primal, his grip on my hair tighter and the thrust of his hips faster, until he’s fully face-fucking me. The length of his cock choking me, pulsating like a battering ram in my throat. I grab his ass cheeks with both hands, hard as steel, and dig my nails into his skin, telling him to fuck me like this, telling him that as big as he is, I can handle it. That yes, I do want it. Bad.
As if in response, he fucks my mouth even harder, his breaths coming in shorter, deeper gasps. I drop onto the bed on my back, keeping him with me, neck craned forward with my mouth still full of him, as he kneels over my chest, my breasts between the defined muscles of his thighs, his hand buried in my hair, keeping my tongue steady on his magnificent, wonderful, God-like dick.
My head held in his powerful grip, mouth speared by his cock, I have nothing to do but gaze up at him, a mountain of flexing, machine-like muscle. His face a picture of determined, unstoppable potency. A skyscraper of a man, dominating everyone and everything around him.
He pulls out, rolling quickly off to the side to grab a condom. I take a second to gasp for breath, feeling like a stranded shipwreck survivor, before glancing over at him, easing the condom on as he lays on his back. As soon as he does, I kick my panties off and leap onto him, straddling his cock.
“My turn,” I gasp with wet desire.
I slide myself over his cock a few times, squeezing it between my lips, before grabbing it roughly and pushing it slowly inside – sitting on the head. Brando tries to push deeper but I shove him down harshly, smiling at the pleasure of keeping him on the edge. I work my pussy over the head of his cock slowly, teasing him with what’s to come. He tries to raise his chest once again but I shove him back down once more, even more roughly than before. He looks up at me, his face a mixture of maniacal smiling and the aching desire for more. I smile back, through gritted teeth, working myself up until I’m ready.
We cry out in unison when I slam myself down on him, taking every last bit of his cock into my wet pussy. He clutches at my ass mindlessly as I ride his cock, arching my back, thrusting my hips, squeezing my lips to make it hit all the spots I want it to. I throw my head back, pushing myself higher and higher, so good that I don’t even know I’m coming until I’m yelling his name, my face buried in his neck, my pussy aching and satisfied as the orgasm starts to fade. The heat and sweetness drain out of me. I slowly catch my breath, my heart still pounding.
I press my cheek onto Brando’s chest, my sweat-soaked hair settling against his skin. Limp muscles melting into his tough, reliable frame. The last thing I remember before I pass out is his arm coming up to
wrap around my shoulders, holding me tightly to him.
I wake up in the middle of the night. The faintest glimmer of yellow in the sky tells me it’s still a while before sunrise. I stretch out across the bed, eyes still closed, trying to see where Brando is.
He’s not there. I open my eyes quickly, throwing off grogginess instantly. I look across the bed, and sit upright when I realize the fear is true. He’s not there.
I snatch up the thin bedsheet around me and look around. Between the bed and the rest of the loft there’s a partition, and around its corner I see brief flashes of light. My mouth goes dry and I start to feel the coldness of the hour. I slide out of bed as slowly, and as quietly, as I can, then tiptoe up to the partition.
“Brando?” I say, in sleepy confusion, when I see him sitting at the couch, intently bent over the laptop in front of him. I step closer and it becomes clear why he doesn’t answer: he’s wearing headphones. I walk up behind the couch and look at the screen.
It’s the footage we filmed.
Suddenly, Brando somehow notices me and turns around. He flips off the headphones and tosses them aside.
“I didn’t know you were up.”
“Likewise,” I respond. “What are you doing?”
“Come and see for yourself,” he says, shuffling up on the couch to make space.
I walk around and settle in beside him, hugging myself against his bicep as he presses play.
It’s the music video.
And it’s great.
As the scenes play out on the screen, I laugh at the recorded memory of our day together, gasp at how good we both look, find myself wordless at how well it goes with the music.
“It’s amazing!” I say, laughing at just how surprised I am. “I had no idea you could do something like this.”
Brando shrugs modestly. “I can’t. I just watched a few online guides, and figured the rest out as I went along. It was mostly just cutting and splicing, anyway.”
Brando Page 10
