Sin for Me

by Lisa Marie Perry

  Dante observed her. A line of vases holding bright bouquets separated them. Golden light surrounded them. Her hair was messed up and there was an undertone of dusky pink to her skin. His hands had done that to her.

  He’d come—hard—in the limo, but he was ready again, curious for the raw freedom of having her in the middle of a bed and letting her respond to his touches with touches of her own.

  No…hell, no, he couldn’t allow it. His cock would be happy to get him into all kinds of trouble with her. Passion could shut down his brain and let his body enjoy, but strategy would reward him with what he planned to take from Atlanta.

  So he stayed in his damn chair, listened to Chelsea and Emma explain the finer points of his contract with Devil’s Music, and instantly frowned when Joshua Drake entered the dining room.

  Chelsea’s reaction to him wasn’t something Dante exactly liked. In fact, his protective and territorial instincts engaged. The look Joshua tossed her before he strode to his wife, cupped her chin, and kissed her was private.

  With the serving staff dismissed for the evening, the table cleared of the remnants of the steak they’d had as a main course, and two bottles of wine remaining on a dessert cart for their indulgence, the four of them wrapped up their conversation.

  “Essentially,” Chelsea said, her voice sounding stripped of feeling, “until the songs are chosen and ready for recording, we own you. The situation calls for this level of caution—we hope you understand.”

  Dante was far from okay with holing up in the small guesthouse on the east side of the property—a glorified prisoner was what he’d be—but he had three demands.

  “Let’s hear them,” Emma said from the dessert cart, filling a glass with Moët and handing it off to Joshua.

  “First, my attorneys need to give this a once-over,” he said firmly.

  “Expected,” Joshua responded as Emma moved behind his chair and began massaging his shoulders. He’d tensed at the contact, but then she brushed a kiss to his cheek and he let her continue. “What else?”

  “I want to meet the singer. If I know who I’m writing for, I can do something unique for her—his?—voice.”

  “The talent we’re looking at is a her. Alexis Lazarus,” Chelsea supplied. “She’s in Louisiana. She said she can’t get the time off from her day job to fly here for a talk, so I’m planning a trip to meet her in a couple of days.”

  “Then make it a trip for two.” He took the Moët and started to pour.

  Chelsea stretched across to still the bottle. “It’s not a great idea for you and me to spend that kind of time together.”

  Dante set the bottle down. “Then maybe now’s the time to negotiate that third demand. If I’m dragging myself out of retirement to write a full album for your next hip-hop superstar, then y’all need to give me something.”

  “We are,” Emma insisted. “Funds. A car. A house. What more do you want?”

  “Just one other benefit to add to that compensation package,” he said. Cavalier words, but he was dead serious. “I want Chelsea.”

  Chapter 6

  Chelsea didn’t want to trust her ears at first, but the atmosphere of the entire dining room and everyone inside it had changed when Dante said those words.

  I want Chelsea.

  The crystal chandeliers were dimmer, the Moët bitter on her tongue, the pristine ivory table runner frayed and faded-looking now. If she could pry her eyes off his to look up at the clear night through the glass dome, she’d find the sky black with opaque clouds when a moment ago it had glittered with stars.

  He made her a commodity—compensation—with that request. He’d reduced her from a leader of this company to a throwin…a perk…a benefit.

  What a bastard.

  “You’re serious?” Chelsea said incredulously.

  “Damn straight,” he said. Inclining his head and gesturing for her to take her hand off the bottle, he finished filling his glass and drained it straightaway. “Anybody want to counter?”

  “I’ll counter,” she said. “You’re out of your mind. And what does that even mean? You want me for what, exactly?”

  He put down the glass and crossed his arms.

  Look at the muscles. Trace the veins on his forearms with your stare. Get distracted by the unimportant things. Relive what he did to you in the limo not even a couple of hours ago.

  She’d better not do any of it. These were crucial moments. He was baiting her.

  “This is where shit stands,” he said. “You called me out to do a job for you, and you’re requiring me to live on this estate and give you my time and focus. You say it’s because you want to keep this project need-to-know, but I think the bigger truth is you want me under your control. There’s no trust in this room.” Now he spared a dark glare for Joshua and Emma. “Y’all don’t trust Jude Bishop’s firstborn—Delilah’s brother—and I sure as shit don’t trust y’all. That’s not the core of the dysfunction, though.”

  “Really,” she said, rolling her eyes. “Do tell, then.”

  “The three of you don’t trust each other.”

  “Careful with the accusations,” she warned. “The owners of this label work together, not against each other. We’re a united front.”

  At least, that’s what they’d agreed to three years ago when it’d become clear that Delilah was as much of a danger to Devil’s Music as she was to herself.

  “There’re liars gathered around this table.” Arms still crossed, expression still stoic, he went on. “Maybe an example will make it clear. Chelsea, you told your friends here that you had an appointment earlier tonight. What you did was show up at the airport in your underwear and then I did you in the limo. Unless everyone here can call that an appointment, I’d say you’re a liar. And I’d call myself one because I went right along with it.”

  Chelsea’s eyes widened. Bastard, bastard, bastard. “That’s personal. You have no right to—”

  “Hey, I’ve got every right to put down the facts. Back to the issue at hand. I want you to be my main point of contact while I’m stuck in this godforsaken hell pit. When I need something, I’ll come to you.”

  “We have a full staff—housekeepers, drivers, IT, security.”

  “I don’t want them. I want you to be available to me. I’m giving you my time and talent. Give me what I want.”

  Joshua intervened, taking Emma’s hands off his shoulders. He swung out of his chair and went to Chelsea, wrapping an arm around her. “What the fuck, man? She’s COO. You’re not going to talk to her like that.”

  “And you’re not going to use her,” Emma added. “You loved Chelsea. We all get it—you’re still mad about what happened with Marquis Redd and South Sounds. But she loved you, too, and that was separate from business. I don’t care that she wronged you and you want to go on being mad at the world. I don’t even care that you two apparently had sex in the limo today, and, now that I think about it, you were clearly talking about ‘eating’ as a euphemism for going down on her. I don’t give a crap about any of it, because I’m the CEO of this fucking company and I won’t let you stand here talking about her like she’s a piece of ass that can be bought.”

  “I’m not looking to buy anything.”

  Of course. Because she wasn’t worth buying. To him, she was in the same league as Clint Jermaine’s “rentals.”

  Chelsea found her voice again. “Dante, in the car I told you that once you sign the contract, we’d communicate on a professional basis only.”

  “That was before I had you begging for me in that car. What’s the point in making a rule you damn well want to break?”

  He’d just demolished her attempt to get the upper hand in this conversation. Whatever she threw at him, he could contradict with the vulnerability she’d shown him once her clothes had come off. She couldn’t help it—she was honest when she was naked.

  “Not once did I outright say I want you available for me to fuck at all times. In fact, I can swear on a Bible or make a b
lood oath that I won’t touch you again,” he clarified. “But that’d bother you more than it would me. I’m saying this—you’re not going to hold me here on the Herst Plantation and avoid me the entire time. That shit’s not going to happen.”

  “It’s not the Herst Plantation,” she said tightly. “That changed before you were born.”

  “Change the name, repurpose the land—none of that erases what happened here before. You know that better than any of us, Chelsea.”

  “That’s my family’s history, not mine,” she said, pretending she wasn’t gutted by the thought of what her ancestors had endured here. “I’m responsible for what I do. I’m going to save this company, and you’re going to help me.”

  “Then we’re going to get nice and close, aren’t we?”

  “Joshua,” said Emma, sounding alarmed, “would you give Dante a tour? It’s been a while since he’s been here. Chelsea and I will meet you in the recording wing with the paperwork.”

  The next few moments crackled with tension, until finally Dante uncrossed his arms and started for the doors, and Joshua stalked after him.

  “You just left two rich, cocky, angry assholes to their own devices,” Chelsea said as the men disappeared through the doors. “I won’t be surprised if a fight breaks out before they make it to the recording wing.”

  “Security can handle it. That’s what we pay them for.” Emma came around and knelt beside her. “I knew this reunion between you and Dante wouldn’t be easy, but Chelsea…what the hell was all of that? And the limo—really?”

  She couldn’t help but nod. “Yeah. It happened.”

  Her friend leaned close and sniffed. “Hmm, you don’t even smell like his cologne.”

  “I tidied up in the housekeeping staff quarters.”

  “Nice, Chelsea.”

  “Well, I didn’t want you or Joshua to call me out for smelling like sex, the way you did the other week.”

  “Point taken.”

  “Emma, I’m sorry for lying about where I was headed. I didn’t intend for it to go that far. I’d wanted to make him feel sorry about giving me up. Because if he felt that, then I’d know there was more between us than anger.”

  “Why do you want something more than anger? Anger kept him away for seven years, and you prospered without him in your life. You moved on, didn’t you? What about Club Promoter and all the others?”

  All the others. There had been many others, and Emma had the tact to not emphasize that.

  “They’re not Dante.” But the man who’d reacted to her with cold detachment tonight wasn’t the Dante Bishop she’d met when she was just starting out with an unpaid internship with South Sounds. When she’d been hired full-time, she recognized how underpaid and undervalued she’d always be, but staying with the label had its blessings. Over time various music industry events had thrown Dante and her together. She had been halfway in love with him before she’d struck up a friendship with his sister—before she and Delilah realized they could capitalize on the potential of Devil’s Music with some delicate business maneuvering. She had lied to Dante profusely and creatively—yes, she could admit to that. She’d done it out of fear that the company would interfere with their relationship…and because she hadn’t wanted him to cost her the career she dreamed about.

  An honorable son and brother, he’d been livid to find out she and Delilah had conspired together, conducted business in private clubs and boardrooms, to weaken South Sounds in order that Devil’s Music could rescue it from ruin.

  Jude Bishop hadn’t been so present in the decision-making in his final months. He’d been grooming his children—both musical talents in their own right—to claim executive offices, and had vacationed often, delegating much power to his proxies. Swaying Devil’s Music board members had been Delilah’s duty; breaking down South Sounds had been Chelsea’s.

  Strangely, the maneuver that had catapulted the Bishops’ legacy to unrivaled glory was viewed as nasty and underhanded, while similar corporate moves were heralded as brilliant business sense. Delilah had suspected it was because a pair of twentysomething women had been the brains behind it.

  Just goes to show it takes serious balls to be a woman in this world.

  “You’ve got to let him go, Chelsea,” Emma said. “He broke up with you and, for God’s sake, he’s engaged to someone else.”

  “That’s over. He doesn’t have anyone.”

  “And he doesn’t want you. Sex in a limo, that’s just a thrill. Obviously it hasn’t made anything better for either of you. He wants you around so you can continue to remember again and again and again how horribly things ended for the two of you.”

  Chelsea sighed. “What the hell am I going to do now?”

  “Continue being the baddest bitch in Atlanta. Don’t let him take that from you.”

  “Then I’m not going to run from his challenge. Requiring that I’m his go-to person? That’s not business. It’s a personal vendetta, and I won’t let him see me hide from it.”

  “But Chelsea, don’t be naive here. He’s single, he’s going to be around, and you had sex with him the minute he walked out of the airport. If you start sleeping with him, are you going to be able to let sex stay sex?”

  “I didn’t have sex with him.” Chelsea stood up and pointlessly swatted at the wrinkles in her romper.

  “Wait, what?”

  “He had sex with me. Trust me, when you’ve got your hands behind your back because he told you not to touch him, or when you’re bent over so he doesn’t have to look at your face, it makes all the difference.”

  Raw compassion flooded Emma’s face. “I’m so sorry.”

  “I’ll bet you can’t fathom what that’s like. You and Joshua probably have eye contact during sex, and every time he makes you feel special.” Sex had to be the only element holding their marriage together. They didn’t have children. Each was wealthy and influential. They argued daily and he’d cheated on her—with her in the room. What were they staying married for, if not extraordinary, toe-curling sex?

  “There’s more to a relationship than that,” Emma said in a small voice. “Don’t model what you want after what you think Joshua and I have.”

  She definitely didn’t want a marriage sullied by yelling voices and infidelity. “You two are in perfect sync when it comes to the business, but how come there’s so much fighting, Emma? It’s almost constant, and neither of you will let me help.”

  Was it that Emma knew about the cheating and took him to task for it? It was hard as hell for Chelsea to believe that a Toledo woman would stand for that. Emma was more likely to have an anvil dropped on his Italian sports car than to quietly accept him doing other women.

  And what about Chelsea’s own place in this friggin’ mess? She knew what Joshua and Delilah had done during the meeting, but she had kept their secret. Where should her morality lead her? To be loyal to Emma, she should take her by the hands and tell her everything she knew. To be loyal to Joshua, she should keep her mouth shut.

  “Joshua and I…we…it’s just that what we have isn’t perfect. But Chelsea…” Emma went over to her, and as she did so, she snorted a faint laugh. “Now that I know what you and Dante did earlier, it’s really obvious. You look like you got laid. You’re a mess.”

  “I washed at a sink and put my hair in a braid. It’ll have to get me by until I go home tonight. What were you going to say just now?”

  “About Joshua and me? The public sees a power couple. You see two people who can’t stop fighting. But there’s not a day that I doubt he loves me. This proves it.” She held up her hand.

  “That’s only a ring. A beautiful one, but it’s a symbol of a promise, right? Promises are just words, so what do you really have?”

  “He loves me, Chelsea.”

  “Okay.” If that was love, she was certain she didn’t want it. She’d rather be screwed like a stranger than tie herself to a man who cheated on her. “It’s your life.”

  “And what are you
going to do with yours?” Emma collected her phone and tablet and started for the exit. “Will you tell Dante to take his challenge and shove it?”

  “I’m going to agree.”

  “Why, Chelsea?”

  “Because he’s right. I am motivated by money. He’s an incredible songwriter, and if I need to dance on his lap to get him to write our album, then I’ll do it.”

  “What about self-respect? Or integrity and personal honor?”

  “Money and honor work at cross-purposes, I’ve found. One pays my bills. The other’s a luxury.”

  “Honor won’t save our record label,” Emma admitted. “Money will.”

  “So let’s go get Dante’s signature.”

  —

  The recording wing had been expanded to accommodate four studios, marked with gold Roman numerals. The original studio—modest by modern standards, with a control room and a closet-size vocal booth—was the only one that put the talent and production staff on full display. Where there had once been a thick door carved into drywall was a glass wall that revealed a darkened interior.

  Dante had grown up learning production and watching artists record in this studio. He could remember being in high school and sneaking girls in to watch him record R&B-style piano solos. Most of them had gotten on their knees to thank him for the privilege. This studio had earned him plenty of blow jobs.

  “Huh,” he said, pointing at the enhanced photographs mounted over Studio I’s entrance. “Granddaddy’s old pictures.”

  “It’s been a while since Platters or Elvis copycats have come through here trying to make a hit, but your sister figured it was important to not forget how all this got started. The history.”

  “Then where is she in any of these pictures?”

  “Should’ve been more clear. When I said history, I meant the early history of Devil’s Music. Not Delilah’s reign—the highlights of that being when she started shit with a label in New York and when she tried to light papers on fire in the boardroom.”

  “Good evening, Mr. Drake.” A dark-skinned woman, distracting in a fitted black suit that called attention to tits as round as her ass, approached carrying a tablet still in its box and a smartphone. She faced Dante, sizing him up with a critical eye. “You must be Mr. Bishop.”