Amina

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I kept reminding myself it was good that our dance had been interrupted. That I had no right to be disappointed someone had come along and thrown themselves between Bach and me. But all the reminders in the world couldn’t cool the hungry heat.

My shoulders wore invisible imprints from his fingers. Helplessly, I reached up and rubbed my bare skin. For how intensely I felt his absence, there should have been indents in my flesh.

Shuddering, I focused on the scene before me. The stranger—a broad-chested man in a plum suit with tan skin and a widow’s peak—was glowering at Bach. “What did you do to Santino?”

“I’m guessing you’re talking about the chocolate fountain incident, Sherman,” Bach said, yanking out of the guy’s grip.

“He left! Didn’t say a word, just got in his car and drove off!” Sherman said, his face screwed up in rage.

Bach shrugged. “I’m not responsible for what he does anymore.”

“You don’t get it.” Sherman stepped forward, and to his credit, Bach didn’t budge. “Santino was supposed to perform tonight! Thanks to your short temper, he won’t be.”

What did Bach do? I wondered, trying to piece things together. No one else was watching us, they were caught up in the fast-paced music.

Clenching his fists, Bach shot me a look. “Blame your new partner for stealing high-maintenance musicians.”

“I didn't say I was taking Eckland up on his offer.”

“Good for you, keeping those options open. This still has nothing to do with me.”

“It has everything to do with...” Sherman bared his teeth, then shut his eyes like he was calming himself down. “This is so you.”

“What is?”

“Being unable to take responsibility. I don’t know why I expected more from a selfish, no-talent thug.”

“Hey!” I snapped, stepping between them. From the corner of my eye I caught Bach’s eyes widen in surprise. “You can’t talk to him like that!”

Sherman’s scowl pulled tight over his teeth. Then... he squinted, sizing me up, his voice getting softer. “You’re Amina, aren’t you?” He didn’t wait for my answer, he looked over my head at Bach. “I saw you on stage earlier. I was surprised you were working with Beats and Blast.”

I laughed dubiously. “Why would that surprise you? You don’t know me.”

“No, but I know him.” He motioned at Bach, who turned a shade redder. He was ready to pop. “Beats and Blast is a dying label. A talent like yours deserves something better. Here, take my card.” I waited for Bach to intervene. He didn’t. Sherman offered me a stiff, red card with rounded edges. His name was embossed across the front: Sherman Proud. Beneath it, in silver letters, it read: Platinum Record King. He saw me reading it and smiled, saying, “It sounds cocky, but it’s true. I make my artists into millionaires.”

Bach’s stare burned into the side of my face. Licking my bottom lip, I looked up at Sherman. “You’re right. It does sound cocky.” His frown returned instantly. “I think I’ll stick with the devil I know.”

Bach’s hands relaxed at his sides. “You heard her. Go offer your card to some other people, sounds like you’re on the lookout to replace Santino.”

With great patience, Sherman tucked his card into his breast pocket. “Someone should warn you not to burn bridges in this industry,” he said. “Mistakes always, always come back to haunt us.”

As he vanished into the dancing crowd, I experienced a full-body shiver. “What a jerk.” I cast Bach a half-smile. “Are you going to explain the chocolate fountain thing to me, or what?”

I meant to lighten the mood. But Bach didn’t take the bait. I was baffled by how focused he was on me... how every part of his body was taut, ready to explode. Or to pounce. “Why didn’t you take his card?” he asked.

“Why would I?” I laughed. His eyes were fierce. I toyed with the high neckline of my dress, aware of how much I was sweating. “Give me some credit. I told you I would work with you, didn’t I? I signed your contract. You were there, you know this.”

His Adam’s apple shifted when he swallowed. “It’s a no-fault breakable contract. You could walk away if you sensed a better offer.”

“Why would a smart man like you design a contract that could be broken if someone got a sniff of a tastier deal?”

Chuckling without humor, he hung his head. I could still see his hint of a smirk. “That was how Dad always did it. He never wanted to trap a musician, said it would just create bad blood and worse music.” Hesitating, he looked at me with suspicion. “You really didn’t read your own contract.”

“I—well, in my defense, I was distracted at the time.”

“Distracted by what?” he purred, closing in on me.

Unable to speak, I backed up. He followed, his grin getting more predatory. I had a hunch where this was going. I’d had a hunch all damn night. “Wait. I have more questions.”

“Fine, but not here.” His fingers swooped around mine. Without looking back, Bach led me through the crowd. The music faded into the background as he guided us through a building along the edge of the garden. A staircase later, and we’d broken back into the night air. The balcony overlooked the gala below, all the lights becoming jewels on a sea of glitter.

“Wow,” I whispered, pulling from his grip so I could lean over the cool stone wall. “It’s stunning from here.”

The wind blew gently on us both, easing some of the heat I’d built while dancing earlier. Bach came to stand beside me, his chin jutting out, eyes forward on the horizon instead of the party. “What were your questions?”

I straightened up, waiting for him to look at me before I spoke. “You knew that guy, Sherman.”

His lips twisted in a grimace. “He was the one who got my father his first big break.”

“He was Laurence’s agent?”

“Exactly.” Sighing, he put his back on the ledge and stared at the purple-gray sky above. “He’s not my biggest fan, to say the least.”

“What did you do to him?”

“When Dad passed away, Sherman expected to be cut into the will. He assumed he’d own part of Beats and Blast. But Dad left everything to me. All of it.” His chuckle was dry as salt. “I was tempted to run away from the responsibility. Sherman probably hoped I would, then he could swoop in and take over by force. Thank god for Violet. Without her help, nothing would function. Even so, my company has been spiraling for months. I was starting to think all hope was lost, but then... you came along.”

"Please," I laughed in surprise. "Just what am I to you?"

Bach was staring at me, his eyes smoldered until they became nothing but low embers that would flare up with a single breath. I was suddenly aware of his nearness.

He whispered, "You're my wishing star."

The air left my lips in a sudden gush. I knew I was gawking, there was no way to stop it. If anyone else had ever uttered a phrase like he had, I would have thought they were joking.

Bach was dead serious.

Low in my gut, I felt the weight of his words.

A wishing star. The sentiment was powerful, I didn't deserve someone to think of me like that. My voice came out shaky. "You can't mean that."

"I do mean it." His demeanor shifted as he leaned towards me. "When first I saw you, I wished as hard as I could that everything would become right again."

The wind tickled my neck. I imagined it was him, lightly brushing my hair away. He was sweeping me up with his velvet voice. I wondered if he sang, like his father had. Sherman had called him talentless, but I didn’t believe that. Not when he was capable of tugging at my heart with his presence alone.

We were close. Too close. My eyes darted to his mouth—that normally cocky smile—then back to his jungle-green eyes. "I haven't made anything right."

"You have."

"Name one."

"Amina... just by you being here, things feel more right than they have in a long while."

My ears were rippling with the silent roar of white noise. I moved my tongue so that I could try and argue. That was what I was used to—arguing with Bach Devine.

That was easy.

Much easier than falling for him.

No hint of my voice graced the evening air. Just my lips on his, my tongue shaping not for vowels, but for pleasure. The kind of kiss that turned my stomach into bird feathers. And a kiss I'd promised myself would never happen.

Bach was assertive in all aspects of his life.

But it was I who'd made the first move.