Amina

––––––––

“What do you, mean he’s gone?” I asked Farrah.

The secretary scrolled through her computer on her desk. “He asked me to book him a flight and a car.”

“A flight to where?”

“Vegas. I was going to ask him why he was going, but he was so pissed off he was a little scary.”

It was taking me a minute to register all of this. I pulled out my phone and began to dial. It rang and rang. Bach didn’t answer. Shaking my head, I re-dialed. I started to pace the waiting area as I listened to the incessant ringing. Why would he run off to Vegas? What was happening, what wasn’t he telling me?

The line clicked. “Hello?” Bach sounded like he'd been gargling with rocks.

“Where are you?” I blurted.

“It doesn’t matter. Don’t waste time calling me again.”

“What? Bach, what’s going on, did I do something wrong?”

I heard him inhale sharply on the line. He was quiet for so long that I thought the call had dropped somehow. “Yes,” he whispered. “You did something extremely terrible.”

My body went cold. “What?”

“You offered me something that you weren't supposed to. You made me feel something, taunted me with something, and then you took it away.”

The pain in his voice eroded my heart. “Tell me what’s going on. Don’t hang up, I want to talk to you.”

“Talking is pointless.” He chuckled dryly. “I tried talking and that didn’t fix anything. I’m losing everything. It’s over. Why did I ever think I could be as perfect as him?” The line clicked, signaling he'd hung up.

I pressed the phone to my ear like I could hear him with the distance between us. “Bach? Bach! Dammit.” Facing Farrah, I shook my head frustration. “He wouldn’t tell me where he was or what was going on. I need to see him, this is bad.”

She chewed on her bottom lip, messing up her perfect red lipstick. “I can tell you where he is. I booked his hotel.”

I stood up straighter. “Where?”

“The Hard Rock, right on the strip. He asked to be near all the action.”

“I need you to arrange a flight for me to Vegas right away.” I said it without thinking. Farrah's squint made me realize how bossy I was being to someone who didn't work for me. “Sorry, I meant—if you could, but you don't... have to.”

Her smile was a welcome sight. “Ever fly First Class?”

****

Wandering the Hard Rock sounded like a good plan. In actuality, it was turning into a futile exercise. This hotel was gigantic, and it connected to other casinos and the Strip, giving me too much ground to cover.

It was getting dark out—I'd tried calling Bach ten times since I'd landed. What the hell was I supposed to do next?

“Hey! Don't I know you?” Someone was shouting. I didn't know they were talking to me until they tapped me on the shoulder.

“Santino Rice?” I asked, recognizing the musician. His pictures and name were all over the Strip—apparently, he was performing in Vegas for the next three nights.

“You're that girl.” He snapped his fingers a few times. “Amina! Yeah, you're Bach's new golden egg.”

I was startled at that. “You know Bach?”

“Used to be signed with his company. I got a better ride now, though. You come to Vegas to catch my tour?” He smirked dangerously, and when he leaned in, I smelled beer. “I can fit you into my roadies, if you show me you deserve it.”

My hands came up between us. “No thanks. I'm good.”

Santino recoiled with his eyes narrowed. His whole body swayed as he caught his balance; he really was drunk. “What, you a dyke or something?” he asked loudly.

Some of the people playing the casino games nearby stared at him. It took me a second to recover from his offensive comment. “Excuse me?”

“With that short hair, it's gotta be it.” His frown morphed into a smile that turned my stomach. “Might be you need a good dicking to change your preference.”

“You're disgusting!” I growled.

He made a swipe for me, but I backed away. “Hey! I'm Santino Rice, you don't call me disgusting! Ungrateful little bitch.”

From the corner of my eye, I noticed the crowd was paying close attention. Some were talking on their phones. “Santino,” I warned him, “Go sit somewhere and take a breather. You're making an idiot of yourself.”

“Aw, girlie, I'll do it if you come with me.” Faster than I expected, he caught me around my waist. One of his hands squeezed my ass through my jeans.

That was the last straw.

Rushing forward, I slammed him against one of the Blackjack machines. Santino grunted from the impact. I expected him to release me, but the bastard hung on. “Bitch,” he slurred in my ear. He started to collapse on me, his hands squeezing me again. My insides roiled—was I going to be sick?

All at once his weight vanished. I sighed in relief, expecting to see one of the bystanders, or casino security, had come to my aid. But what I saw instead took the last of the air from my lungs. Bach?

It was him. And it wasn't. The man in front of me was more like an animal, throwing Santino violently to the hard floor of the casino, before lifting him up to do it again. Three times he laid his enemy flat on his back, his arms flexing under the strain.

Santino was heavy, but Bach acted like he was lighter than an empty box. I caught the flicker of fear in Santino's face. “Bach, stop!” I cried, hurrying forward to stop him from seriously injuring Santino. Bach didn't look at me, he just wrapped his fists in the other man's shirt and hoisted him up again. “Bach! Stop, please! Stop it!”

“I saw what you did,” he snarled. His eyes were toxic green as he held Santino close to his face. “You touched her. You don't get to do that. No one gets to do that!”

“Bach,” I whispered, gripping his forearm. “Put him down. I'm fine, I swear!”

There was sweat on his throat, it glistened as he pulled in ragged breaths through his nose. He wasn't wearing a suit-jacket, just an undershirt with his blue tie hanging loose. The man I'd come looking for was a mess. What the hell was going on?

“Move aside!” A police officer shoved through the crowd. He took in the scene with a serious frown. “What's happened here?”

Santino pushed his way out of Bach's grip. Amazingly, he let him go, sending Santino crashing to the floor. “He attacked me! Arrest him, now!”

“No,” I argued, pointing at Santino. “Officer, that man touched me inappropriately! Bach was defending me.”

Santino's eyes flew wide. “Wait, wait, wait!”

With his thick jaw jutting forward, the cop threw Santino against the wall and handcuffed him. “You wanna press charges?” he asked me.

God, but I was tempted. But the last thing I wanted was another minute with Santino. “No,” I sighed. “He's just wasted.”

“Then we'll let him sit it out in the drunk tank.”

Santino struggled as he was led away. “I'll call my lawyer on you! I'm Santino Rice!” I didn't doubt everyone around knew who he was, especially now. I doubted it would help him the way he expected.

“Are you okay?” I asked Bach. He hadn't said a word since the cop arrived.

He pushed his lips together in a hard line, staring at me. Then he turned and began to leave.

“Hey!” I shouted, rounding on him, blocking his exit. “Where are you going? Aren't you even a little surprised to see me?”

His scowl grew massive; he tried to walk past me, but I got in his face. Finally, he looked at me—really looked at me. “Why are you here, Amina.”

“You were acting crazy on the phone! I had to come find you!”

“Except I didn't want to be found,” he muttered. When he moved around me, he stumbled. I made a grab for his arm to help him; he yanked away, leaning on a nearby pillar to steady himself. “Don't touch me.”

That hurt me more than I was ready for. He saw it in my face, and his own pain was mirrored. “You're drunk.”

“Yup.”

“Why won't you tell me what's going on? This isn't like you.”

“This is exactly like me,” he laughed cruelly.

“No, you're better than this!”

“You don't know me.” He pushed off the pillar and strode towards the doors that exited to the Strip. “The people who do are smart enough to let me destroy myself before I drag them down with me.”

He made it through the doors before I gave chase. Breaking out into the warm evening air, I shielded my eyes from the blinding lights of the street traffic. “Bach!” I called, turning in a circle. There! He wasn't far, his pace was sluggish even with his long legs.

I yelled his name, but he never once looked back. I was sure he heard me. If he thought he could ignore me, he was dead wrong. “Bach!” I panted, standing in his path.

His stare was dispassionate. “Why are you wasting your time with me?” he asked.

I glared at him through the fringe of my lashes. “Because you're not the asshole you're trying to make me believe you are.”

“How do you know?”

“You told me yourself!” I inhaled, keeping my voice as calm as I could. People walked by us as we stood in the middle of the sidewalk. I didn't care that I was in their way—this was more important. “'I'll take care of you, provide for you, protect you.' Does that sound familiar?”

Clarity worked its way through the fog in his eyes.

I kept going, but my voice broke on every other word. “You said you'd never betray me because that would betray you! All that stuff about working to be a better man every day, that was from your lips! Yours, Bach.” Hot tears spilled down my cheeks. “Are you trying to make me believe you lied to me this whole time?”

All the strength left his muscles. “No.”

“Then talk to me!” I reached up to cup his jaw—he didn't pull away.

Closing his eyes, he spoke in a gritty whisper. “I don't want to see you fall apart.”

Ice crept up my spine. “What?”

“Amina...” He wrapped his fingers on my wrists. It should have been a welcome touch, but I was too anxious to enjoy it. “Something awful has happened. I ran because this is the only way I know how to handle bad news. I was planning to drink myself into a pit, make you want to run away from a loser like me.”

“What happened?” I asked.

He opened his eyes, exposing a hurt so raw it made me cry again. “Why didn't you tell me about your past with Pickadillie Records?”

The ice in my spine entered the rest of my blood-stream. We were standing in the middle of the hot Vegas Strip and I began to shiver. “I'm sorry. I should have told you. I was just embarrassed.”

“About signing their contract?”

My eyebrows furrowed. “About breaking under the pressure my aunt put on me. What contract?”

“The one that says you can't sign a new one with me until you pay two-million in damages.”

Fuck, I was going to faint. All the lights on the streets and casinos blurred together; Bach helped me stand straight. “Two-million?” I whispered. “How is that possible?”

“Ask your aunt's lawyer.” Groaning, he rubbed his forehead. “Fuck, I need to sober up or get more drunk.”

His voice was far away, smothered by my panic. He was still talking but I couldn't focus on a word. Two-million. I don't have that money. “Bach, what does this mean?”

Wrapping an arm around my middle, he guided me towards the curb to sit. “They have us by the balls. We can't work with you at Beats and Blast. Nothing we've created can be shared until your older contract is cleared.”

I moaned into my fist. “All the music we wrote?” He shook his head sadly. “God, no. This is so unfair.”

“I know,” he whispered. “You don't remember signing their contract?”

“I was fifteen, Bach. I did sign something, but my aunt was my guardian. She controlled everything for me. She was awful... she demanded perfection, or she'd scream at me.” I trembled at the memory. “Running away was wrong. I beat myself up for it this whole time. It's stupid but performing at the gala was this... this turning point. I was so mad at you for making me do that.” I gave him a fragile smile. “Then it was over, and I'd done the one thing I was positive I never could. I performed in front of an audience. I was so sure this was my second chance.” I laughed, sending more tears sliding out. “Guess I was wrong.”

“Maybe not.” He looked like he was going to say more. A passing car's headlights made his skin white as a ghost. “There's two options here. One, my company abandons you. The other... is I pay out to break your old contract.”

“No.” I jumped to my feet, he copied me. “Two-million? Can you even afford that?”

His mouth screwed up, then he smoothed his hair. “Fuck. I really want to lie to you. But you flash those big pretty eyes at me, and I just... no, Amina. I can't afford it. Freeing you from your old contract means selling my entire company.”

I tasted bile in my throat. “How could you even consider doing that? You really are drunk.”

“No, I'm just not the shit-bag I want to pretend to be. I have a damn conscience, all of these wild feelings, for you!” Bach held my hands in his. “I'm not letting you go.”

“What are you saying? You have to let me go!” I laughed, and the sound broke apart in my throat like shards of glass. “I won't let you give up your father's legacy because of me.”

“Amina, you're not going anywhere. I won't allow it. Not for a second, because I...”

NO! Don't say those words, not now!

“I lo—”

“Stop!” I gasped.

He stiffened, his mouth falling open. “Stop what?”

"Stop trying to make it hurt!" I sobbed, the pressure behind my eyes burning.

Bach pulled up short, his mouth crumbling into a useless shape. If he was going to say anything else, he'd waited too long and lost his chance. I needed him to listen to me. "You keep saying I'm here to fix everything, but your actions are completely different. Keeping me will ruin things, not fix them!”

His lips twitched. “I don't care. You mean too much to me.”

“Why? What the hell am I to you?"

Determination made his eyes glow. "My wishing star." It was a name I'd once found endearing. It had pulled me from my shell and demanded I initiate our first kiss. Now, it just hung around my neck like an iron collar.

"Didn't you hear?" I asked. "My chance at being a star died long ago. I can't grant wishes. Especially not yours.”