Sin for Me

by Lisa Marie Perry

  No C-level assistants were on-site today, having been surprised with Atlanta Braves tickets as rewards for their hard work and professionalism while the company underwent slight challenges. Moniqua Prenz hadn’t retreated in her fight against Devil’s Music, but the company had released a brief official statement that was so vague yet suggestively threatening that the media would spend the next week puzzling over it—which bought them time to strategize a countermove.

  Chelsea entered the boardroom to find Emma already there, accessorized with earbuds as she tapped notes into her tablet. She waved her fingers and tugged one bud free. “Thanks for sending me this audio.”

  “Sure.” Clint Jermaine had wrapped up in plenty of time to collect his lingerie-clad guests and the rest of his entourage and get to the airport with time to spare. Chelsea had endured the smoke-filled studio in order to collect a raw recording to send to Emma before post-production work began. The song felt like a threat—its harshness more in the quality of Clint’s guttural voice than in the lyrics of Vitalz’s poetry—and that was the beauty of it.

  Vitalz had sustained the company for years, had a reliable chart presence, and wasn’t afraid to experiment with their sound. Yet one group couldn’t carry the roster—maybe it might’ve when Devil’s Music was being built, but not now, when it was being torn down.

  “ ‘Nasties’ will breathe in new life,” Chelsea said, parroting video-view and download projections from a recent meeting. An Academy Award–winning director and internationally acclaimed choreographer had been brought on board for this project. Filmed on crime-torn Chicago streets and a yacht that had been acquired specifically to be trashed by a wrecking crew and ravaged with graffiti, the video simulated everything from orgies to freebasing to murder for hire. If critics could click away from the video without feeling perverse and disturbed, then Devil’s Music hadn’t done its job.

  “The single—the entire album, even—won’t sustain our edge through the year, Chelsea,” Emma said, putting away her buds and the tablet. “We’ve already established that, haven’t we? That’s why Delilah’s coming here.”

  An unfortunate truth. There was no guarantee that Delilah herself could save this company after the damage Lo Grizz, Odell Murdock, and now Moniqua Prenz had inflicted.

  What then?

  A knock on the door called Chelsea and Emma to their feet. Then the door opened to reveal Delilah Bishop at Joshua’s side.

  The photographs, posted on Shatter’s website and snapped at various industry and charity events over the past two years, hadn’t lied. She’d changed.

  A white billowy dress that nipped in at the waist and ended barely past the tops of her thighs lent her an almost angelic softness, and the discs dangling from her ears resembled platinum record albums. Her hair fell over one shoulder like unspooling brandy-colored ribbons.

  A pair of impassive green eyes set in a heart-shaped face settled on Emma briefly before they rested on Chelsea. “Dante’s engaged. He’s happy without you. When y’all broke up, I think the only one who ended up broken was you.”

  Fuck, that was painful to hear. Chelsea took her seat again, so that she wouldn’t launch herself across the room and slap the California glow off Delilah’s face.

  Joshua reached as if to reprimand Delilah with a touch to her arm, but she whirled on him and whispered a single syllable: “Don’t.”

  “Take a chair, Delilah. I’ll get you a drink.”

  “Chardonnay—if you’ve got it.”

  “Of course we do.” With the deliberate movements of one battling his temper with every breath he took, he filled a delicate crystal glass and passed it to her none too carefully.

  She seemed to survey the room for a moment before something, perhaps a memory, took her unaware. Uttering a wavering “Oh,” she held the glass close and her eyelashes fluttered.

  The conference table allowed the four of them to each claim a side. With Emma at the head and Joshua at the foot, that left Chelsea and Delilah to face each other. But after a moment’s consideration Delilah took the chair closest to Joshua.

  A moment ago she’d snapped at him to avoid contact; now she was settling in at his elbow and watching Emma…

  For what? A comment? Concern?

  Joshua Drake and Delilah Bishop had met in graduate school, but his loyalty lay with his wife and the company now. No alliance they agreed to within the confines of this boardroom would alter that.

  “Wouldn’t you be more comfortable across from me?” Chelsea suggested. She stretched out her arms. “Plenty of room to spread out and relax.”

  Delilah dipped her finger into chardonnay and poked it into her mouth. “Mmm. I’m good here.” Another dip. This time with two fingers. Then three. Then four, and all but her thumb were swirling in the bowl of the fine crystal, soaking in chardonnay. Finally she took her hand out of the white wine and then it disappeared over the edge of the table, out of view.

  “Thanks for joining us, Delilah,” Emma began. “We all understand your time’s valuable, so we intend for this one conversation to be productive.”

  Chelsea then took the reins, providing a timeline and detailing the correlation between strikes against Devil’s Music and acquisitions made by Shatter Records.

  “First off, I’m going to respond to what you’re not outright saying.” Delilah doled out measured glances to each of her former colleagues…former friends. “I’ve played no part in poaching your talent. Shatter isn’t building its success on the backs of crumbled competition. That’s what Devil’s Music did so well.”

  “If we’ve stepped on the competition’s backs since taking over,” Emma said, “it must be because we found no reason to veer too far from the Bishop tradition. It’s how you, your father, and your grandfather managed this label—”

  “Emma,” Chelsea warned, “that’s enough.”

  “Am I incorrect?”

  “To address the matter at hand,” Delilah continued, sending a glare to the head of the table, “a couple of years ago I stood in this very house predicting some shit like this would go down. I could’ve stitched the wound if Joshua had been willing to hear me out.”

  “You two spoke?” Emma asked. “When?”

  Chelsea watched Joshua’s expression shift. A moment ago she wouldn’t have thought it possible for his already chiseled-from-stone features to harden further, but they did, and she felt fury escape him and sweep the room.

  “A couple of years ago, as she said,” he replied, his deadly precise focus finding Delilah’s. “June. The night of the party.”

  “Our wedding anniversary,” Emma clarified, arching a brow. “Tell me what was said.”

  A muscle rippled in his jaw at the same time that his hands flexed into fists on the table. His wedding band spun the light, and Chelsea didn’t doubt that everyone in the room caught the gleam of it. “Delilah told me she could control Lo Grizz’s lawsuit if I convinced you to let her back into the company.”

  Delilah addressed Chelsea and Emma. “And he told me no. Flat out, without pausing to consider the consequences.” She drummed her right hand on the table, used it to twirl her hair, to gesture…

  Chelsea was hit with the urge to drop a pen onto the floor as an excuse to peek under the table. Who knew if the woman wasn’t sitting there with a lighter concealed in the hand that wasn’t in plain sight?

  “I suppose your husband should’ve made you aware of our conversation,” Delilah continued. “It’s the way of men, I guess.”

  “Well, he did speak correctly on behalf of the entire board. We wouldn’t have let you back into this company.”

  “Uh-huh.” She smiled at them all. “And now that you’ve begged me to sneak to Atlanta so you could burden me with all the drama you frankly deserve, what will you do if I say I want back in?”

  “Is that what you’re asking?” Chelsea demanded. “Cut to it. I don’t want to play games, goddamn it.”

  “Then you’re all about being straightforward now, Chel
sea? Too bad that wasn’t the case when you were fucking my brother while lying to his face.”

  “Shut the hell up.”

  Joshua’s warning only provoked a nanosecond of pause. Delilah leaned closer. “I don’t think I will shut up, Joshua.” She bit her lip, as if concentrating on something abstract. Then, “I’m not here to fight. My life in California is stable. My career is secure. Except for a couple of vices I can’t resist, I’m on an upswing. I’d say my company’s got this industry by the nuts, but that might seem like bragging and that’s not at all why I agreed to come.”

  “The best revenge is living well, right?” Emma mumbled. “What can you do for us?”

  “First, I want my cut. I have the resources to buy back my twenty-eight percent. Before you shut me down,” she went on when the room almost erupted in uproar, “realize that I’m requesting a silent partnership. You’d all remain in your current positions. I won’t take that from you. Furthermore, why the fuck would I alert anyone of a shakeup here that can be traced back to me?”

  “So all you want is permission to buy back your stake?” Chelsea asked. It wasn’t a demand to piss on, but she’d expected Delilah to ask for control. “You want to be a part of this company but have no decision-making power?”

  “Ah—wait a moment. I do expect voting rights. Devil’s Music is a part of me,” she said. “I should be a part of it. If y’all agree, then I’ll give you two names that will clot the bleed.”

  “We need an immediate fix,” Chelsea specified. “We have zero time to network.”

  “I’m aware. The best act in your circus is Vitalz. What they have is good, but they can’t compete with what Shatter and several other labels have on tap. Shatter is your threat. I’m a threat to you. Right now I can either save you or take everything I know straight to my CEO.”

  “Swear to God, I had a feeling you’d flip this into a threat. I knew you wanted revenge.” Emma stood up. “Get out.”

  “If I leave,” Delilah said, but she was looking at Joshua, “then I won’t come back and everything’s off the table. Tell your wife to sit down.”

  “We don’t work that way,” Emma snapped. “I don’t sit because he tells me to.”

  “Then do it because I told you to,” Delilah growled back. “Twenty-eight percent in exchange for names. A quiet transaction, and I won’t have anything to do with how you handle the information I provide. You’re all smart, if you can manage to look past your egos. I have faith you won’t run this label into the ground. Of course, if I do have a stake, then I’d be obligated to protect my interests.”

  It brooked no further discussion or debate. They all knew it. “Okay,” Chelsea said. “We’ll sell.”

  “And does our CEO agree?”

  “I agree.” Emma stood staring at her husband, her skin pale as the afternoon light slanted over her. “Joshua.”

  His nod was nothing more than a sharp hitch of his chin, but Delilah grinned.

  “Perf. Now, someone document these names. The first is Alexis Lazarus.”

  Chelsea leaped for a pen and notepad when Emma only stood unmoving. “Who’s she?”

  “Devil’s Music’s next breakout star. You’ll build her in-house. Keep her protected and out of the media until launch.”

  “Wait, wait, wait,” Joshua cut in. “Give us background.”

  “Seriously? I have to hold you all by the goddamn hand?” She huffed out a breath. “Her YouTube channel is AlexisLazarusMillennial. Look her up and tell me she won’t fit seamlessly in Moniqua Prenz’s place.”

  “Assuming we’ll let Moniqua out of her contract.”

  “You will, once you meet Lazarus.”

  Emma finally returned to the head of the table and opened her tablet. After a few moments, she turned the screen for all to see a young woman with carelessly curly light brown hair, eyes the color of sun-dappled whiskey, and a dimpled smile.

  Holy shit. “She’s gorgeous.”

  Emma made no comment as her gaze flickered to Joshua before returning to the tablet. Then her eyebrows almost kissed as she frowned. “This is a sign language channel.”

  “Alexis Lazarus is deaf,” Delilah said. “She’s one of the most badass undiscovered talents I’ve ever met. She uses vibrations to fucking kill it. She uploaded a few cover videos.”

  “Where would we find her?”

  “Louisiana. Emma, you studied sign language, so communicating with her won’t be an issue for you. Chelsea, Joshua”—she seemed to sway in a rhythm, as though she was shaking her foot aggressively and the movement was jerking her entire body—“you’ll be relieved to know she also reads lips competently enough. Bring in an outside interpreter if you’d like, but I don’t see an urgent need for one, since Emma’s fluent. Lazarus will need a proper introduction. Debut her as if she’s a headliner.”

  “We haven’t heard what she can do. We don’t know her abilities, who she’ll mesh with,” Chelsea reasoned. “It’s too soon to talk introductions.”

  “It’s too late to be conservative. You won’t feature her on someone else’s album. Give her a solo album. Take all the rules of this business and break them.”

  “Hell, no,” Joshua said. “We’re not creating that kind of budget for someone you found giving sign language lessons on YouTube.”

  “You’ll invest in her the way you’ve never invested in an artist before. Because if you don’t capitalize on her talent, I’ll see to it that Shatter Records does.”

  “Which begs the question,” Emma said. “Why isn’t she already a Shatter commodity, if she’s so spectacular?”

  “I’ve kept my eye on a few prospects. After what happened here, I went to Shatter knowing I’d need insurance in case things didn’t pan out. I figured I’d start my own label if I had to.”

  “So you’ve been holding out on your company, looking out for Delilah Bishop first.”

  “Damn right. If I don’t, no one will.” She shrugged a shoulder. “My generosity’s a flaw—one of those vices I can’t shake. Use it to your advantage while you still can. This is your one chance to acquire Lazarus. Take it.”

  “What’s the other name?” Chelsea asked.

  “As I was saying, she’ll need content. A full album. A killer debut single. The only songwriter I’ve met who can produce the results Devil’s Music needs in this type of pinch is my brother. So note the second name, Chelsea. Dante Bishop.”

  Dante, who’d introduced her to sex and kept her coming back for more. She had done things with him she refused to share with anyone else. She’d been stupid with him, out of her mind with him, in love with him.

  After he’d figured out her role in double-crossing South Sounds and bringing Marquis Redd to Devil’s Music, he hadn’t confronted her straight-on, face-to-face. He’d answered her lies with vile retribution, screwing her that night, waiting until she was bent over in front of him, holding out until he was in her deep and she was crying out her orgasm…

  “This won’t present a problem, will it, Chelsea?” Delilah asked. “I’m sure you’ll agree that of the three you’re the best candidate to approach Dante and lure him home where he belongs.”

  “Lure sounds underhanded. I remember he doesn’t respond kindly to lies.”

  “The purpose of this meeting is underhanded, so lose the goody-goody act. All I can advise is that you stay out of his bed. Keep this about business and your feelings won’t get hurt. Besides, as I told you, Dante’s engaged. Any dealings you two have from this point forward should be about the company…obviously. I mean, you’re not the type to interfere in someone’s relationship, are you?” Delilah slid her gaze to Emma. “That’d be unforgivable, wouldn’t it?”

  Chelsea stared at her notepad. A deaf woman named Alexis Lazarus, who lived in Louisiana. Dante Bishop, who’d said he cared about her yet had shredded her heart while they were naked and he was inside her. Those were the people who’d rescue this company?

  “If you fail,” Delilah said, “it’s twenty-eight percen
t my failure, too. I won’t accept that. So don’t fuck this up.”

  “I’ll start the paperwork,” Emma mumbled, seemingly grateful for the opportunity to flee the boardroom.

  Chelsea’s peripheral vision snagged on something across the table, and if her heart hadn’t already been broken beyond repair, it might have broken now—for Emma.

  The hum of the air conditioner could disguise the slide of a zipper and the softest groans and the faintest sound of someone thrusting in their chair…but nothing hid the sight of Joshua reaching down to right his pants before he got up and crossed the room to the bar.

  She stood and sidled close as he poured himself two fingers of single malt scotch. “I’d slap the hell out of you,” she whispered, “but I guess there’d be nothing left if I did.”

  “What—”

  “Don’t.” She wanted to scream, but her voice broke. “Don’t act like I’m imagining this. I know what y’all were doing across the table…underneath it.”

  He knocked back the drink and set the empty glass on the bar. “It’s complicated.”

  “You let a woman who’s not your wife touch you during a meeting. That’s not complicated. It’s all kinds of fucked up.”

  “She unzipped my goddamn pants. What was I supposed to do? Break up the meeting because of that?”

  “What about your marriage?”

  “That’s between Emma and me.”

  “Until today. Now Delilah over there is a part of it. You’re as much to blame as she is, and I can’t stand to look at either of you.”

  He vanished through the door and Chelsea picked up a napkin. Bringing it over, she let it flutter onto the table in front of Delilah. The woman looked like an angel but was more sinful than Satan himself. “Seems you could use this.”

  “Okay…thanks.”

  “No worries. I mean, giving another woman’s husband a chardonnay hand job must be messy.”

  Delilah’s remorse was fleeting and might have been only a shard of light passing through the windows. “You’ll tell Emma?”

  “You want me to, don’t you?”