The next morning, James woke Olivia up with a kiss and breakfast in bed. He was so happy that he kept humming the lyrics of the songs they danced to the night before. And, for the first time ever, the drive back to New York City did not feel like an obligation to him. He would go anywhere, as long as he was together with Olivia.

Not even Rick’s phone call was enough to upset him. The company executives had been made aware of his argument with Michelle Adams and had arranged a meeting in their tower in Manhattan. According to them, signing her was a very big deal. James did not bother himself thinking “why”. He had known them for a long time and they hardly ever agreed. Michelle’s case would be no exception.

The sight that greeted him that afternoon, in the conference room, made him want to burst into laughter. Ryan Peterson was in an executive chair, with Michelle sitting on his lap, giggling so loudly that they could be heard from the hallway outside. His CEO’s son still bore the scar of his brutal assault: a massive bruise on his left cheek.

“Bra-vo.” He gave four sarcastic slaps. “You kids are made for each other. Michelle, you owe me an apology.”

“Shit.” Ryan croaked, turning his attention to him. “That’s the guy from the bar!”

“Shut up, you little piece of shit.” James smirked. “You need another beating?”

“You did that?” Michelle pointed at him. A simple nod served as her answer. “Does your boss know about this?”

“Yeah, he does.” Howard Peterson interjected. “Good job.” He patted James on the back: “a little sloppy, but good.”

“Sloppy?” Ryan squinted at him.

“Yeah,” His father said with a nod. “He should have given you a black eye, too. Now, get the hell out of here. And shut the door behind you.”

“Whatever.” Ryan mumbled.

“I need to apologize for my son.” Howard spoke, a hint of sadness in his hoarse voice. “He can be a real pain in the ass.”

“What are we doing here, Mr. Peterson?” James broke his silence. “This girl is a dancer.” He went on, casting a wary glance at Michelle. “She doesn’t have what it takes to be a real singer. And she still hasn’t apologized for spreading false information yesterday.”

“I’m sorry, Jimmy X.” Michelle murmured. “I deleted those tweets this morning. Too bad, though. They generated a lot of hype.”

“Forget your tactics, Ms. Adams.” Howard attempted a stiff tone, as he glared at her. “Platinum Media Records is a serious, prestigious company. If you want to keep being provocative, I suggest you go somewhere else. We don’t sign posers. Are we clear?”

“Crystal.” She said, dropping her eyes from his intense stare.

“I still don’t understand why you’re interested in her.” Frustration was lingering in James’ voice. “You know who she is. What makes you think she’s talented?”

“Never judge a book by its cover, my friend.” All of a sudden, the strictness in Howard’s tone vanished altogether. He even smiled at James. “I was at a friend’s wedding the other day. The party was pretty boring, to say the least. Then, Michelle here played the piano. Believe it or not, her performance of Adele’s ‘Hello’ was breathtaking.”

“I’m not buying it.” James’ opinion did not go down well with her. A huff of indignation escaped her, as she put her head in her hands.

“Just give her a chance.” Howard made his voice sound sweeter. “I’m sure she’ll surprise you.”

“It’s not about me giving her a chance, Mr. Peterson.” James claimed, lowering his tone. “There’re other things, too. First of all, she’s really angry. Her views on men are very, very immature. Second, the tabloids are going to bury her. I can imagine a magazine cover: ‘Twerker turns singer: The joke of the decade.’ People are going to laugh at her. Last, but definitely not least, I’m risking my reputation here.”

“That’s why I want you to train her.” Howard spoke in a calm, steady voice. “I agree with you; the tabloids are going to tear her apart. People are going to think of her as a bad joke, especially if the change is too quick. Michelle, you need to stop making those videos. Keep a low profile, try not to attract publicity. Jimmy, take as much time as you need with her. We’ll only start recording when she’s ready.”

“This could take months.” James stated. “Do you really want to wait that long?”

“Actually, we don’t have a choice.” Howard said. “Her videos have generated quite a buzz. It’s going to take a while for the dust to settle. Spend some time with her, get to know her a little better, hear her sing. If you still think she doesn’t have what it takes, give me a call.”

“Michelle, give us the room, please.” James politely requested, the number of questions growing in his mind. His boss had never asked him to do anything similar for anybody. He waited long enough for her to leave the conference room, before addressing him again.

“Train her?” He pointed at the door. “Really? I don’t recall training anybody in my life. What’s the deal here? Why is she so special? You wanted me to write an entire album for Laurel Thomas in just a few days and you’re giving me months to write hers? Why?”

“I didn’t care so much if Thomas made it as a singer, God rest her soul. I mean, sure, I’d love to have her on board; we’d been fighting with Atlas Records over her for months, but honestly? I didn’t give a rat’s ass if she succeeded or not. But Michelle…” Howard heaved a long, deep sigh, as his eyes filled with sorrow. “Michelle’s a whole different matter. You see, I knew her old man. We served together in the Gulf war. She never met him; Bob died before she was born. He made me promise to look after her.”

“Wait! What did you just say?” James raised his eyebrow. “You’d been fighting over Laurel?”

“Yeah,” Howard affirmed. “That girl was really talented. She chose us over them because of you.”

“Does anyone from Atlas know my real name?” James inquired, his voice picking up some more volume. His question put his boss in an awkward position. Howard looked away from him, as his mouth tightened. “Do they?” James insisted.

“Our database was hacked, about a month ago.” Howard said, returning his gaze to him. “I’m afraid they do.”

“Damn!” James roared in rage, jumping from his seat. He even kicked a smaller chair close to him.

“Rick told me about the fingerprints.” Howard held tight to his temper. “I’m sorry. Those bastards tried to frame you. It gets worse, though. The cops said they couldn’t trace the hackers. They don’t have any evidence against Atlas.”

“It’s got to be them.” James concluded, shaking his head. “They have motive.”

“Son…” He felt a big hand on his left shoulder. “I can only imagine what you’re going through right now, but I need an answer about Michelle.”

“Tell her I’ll do it.” James groaned, looking down at him over his right shoulder. “Schedule a rehearsal. I’ll be seeing you.”