Amina

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“I still can't believe you're leaving so soon,” Korine said, parking her car in front of the curb. The departure section of the airport was quiet. Midday on a Tuesday was not exactly the high time for travel.

I'd asked Korine to drop me off since I neither owned a car or could afford an Uber. “Violet offered to fly me out there, how could I say no to an all expenses trip to LA?” I asked, smiling.

“Violet.” She rolled her eyes. “That's the vice president, right? I wonder if she'll play quarterback, keeping you from meeting Mister Big Shot himself.”

Mister Big Shot. She means Bach Devine. After the phone call with Violet, Korine had fluctuated between cheering for me and frantically researching Beats and Blast online. She'd gasped at the news about the founder passing away a few months back. I’d been less shocked. I knew Laurence had died, I’d been a fan of his music since I was small. But I didn’t know he’d owned Beats and Blast.

Korine’s sadness didn’t last long. She took one look at the photos of the new CEO and begun swooning. I'd swooned a little, too.

Bach looked like the kind of action hero who'd slam a motorcycle through a building's windows, rescue a woman in a bikini with one arm, all while flipping the bird at the cops chasing him.

I knew his type uncomfortably well: the quintessential bad boy who liked to play the field. He wa the kind of guy I found myself falling for again... and again... and again, even with Korine working her hardest to keep me from making the same mistakes.

I had a type. I knew I had a type.

But I also had a goal, and as hot as he was, Bach Devine wasn't going to be another Murdoch. No more bad boys or play boys or any kind of boys for me. Dating had to be on hold until I got both my feet planted on the path towards my dreams.

Still, I enjoyed a private thrill at the memory of Bach’s handsome face looking back at me from the paparazzi photos online. The idea of meeting him in person was intimidating. I hoped Korine was right about the VP keeping me away from Bach; avoiding the guy would be easier on my heart.

A car honked behind us and one of the airport security guards motioned impatiently at Korine. “This is it,” I said, gripping my suitcase. I blew out a quick puff of air. “Thanks for covering my shifts for me, Korine. It’s good to know I have a fallback plan if Beats turns me down.”

“Shush,” she said, pulling me in for a fierce hug. “You won't be working at Caffeline ever again, trust me. No one can say no to you, Amina.” Her eyes twinkled. “I bet a lot of singers have to kill themselves just to get noticed, and you did it accidentally.”

I smiled until my eyes watered. “I love your optimism.” With one more hug, I stepped onto the sidewalk. Korine waved at me, shouting as she drove off. “Don’t you dare forget me, Miss Famous!”

Laughing, I shouted back, “I won't!”

Filling my chest with my last taste of Portland air, I hoisted my suitcase and headed towards the airport’s sliding doors. One of the men who'd been waiting by the curbside luggage drop-off chuckled at me. “Famous, huh? You someone I should know?” he asked.

Blushing, I kept walking. “Sorry, no, my friend was just being silly.”

He lifted his bushy eyebrows, watching me until I couldn't see him. His lighthearted question smothered my excitement. I wasn't famous, and the doubt in his face said he didn't think I could be.

Maybe it was an omen. Why would I ever succeed at becoming someone worth knowing? Don't be nervous, I told myself firmly. This is going to be great.

Wasn't I due for some good luck?

After a quick check-in, then waltz through security, I dropped into a chair at my gate. I'm the queen of finding ways to stay busy. I'm always itching for long stretches of nothingness like this. Slipping out a small notebook, the binding worked over so much it flopped open, I began to write.

Jotting down poems or lyrics is a habit of mine.

But this time, after a few minutes, I began to fidget. My mind kept going back to one thing in particular. A gloriously handsome, tattooed thing—Bach Devine. Frowning, I inched my phone out and opened up a browser. I couldn't resist researching him more now that I was alone.

His face filled my screen—my heart filled my throat. For real, he's way too good looking. I could see some similarity to his father, mostly in the shape of his mouth and chin. But they didn't have the same eyes.

Laurence always had a kindness rooting in his deep pupils in the photos I’d seen. It seemed as if you could meet him on the street and he'd give you a hug, even if you were strangers. Bach didn't have that aura.

His energy was... sharp.

I ran my finger over my screen, confirming his picture couldn't cut me.

How could Laurence Devine create such a wild looking son? Searching the internet, I pulled up article after article about Bach. There were lots of character-assassinating blogs about him being a playboy, each filled with near nude photos. But what I found the longer I looked blew my mind.

He didn't just look like trouble, he was trouble.

Bar fights.

Car crashes.

Disorderly conduct.

Property damage.

The list went on and on. Everything was minor enough on its own, but when put together, it painted a scary picture. One article talked about how much money Laurence Devine had spent to get Bach out of prison. Shaking my head in disbelief, I went back to the photos Korine had pulled up earlier. There was Bach in a crisp black suit-jacket with the headline “Bone Cancer Ends Laurence Devine's Life, Son Inherits Music Empire”.

This brute was going to be in charge of my music career?

“Please prepare to board Flight 166 to Los Angeles,” a voice chirped over the loud speaker. Yanked from my conflicting thoughts, I scrambled to grab my suitcase and notebook. I was flustered over the possibility that I was making a huge mistake by meeting with Bach Devine.

Focus, I told myself, hurrying up to the counter with my ticket. Focus. Breathe...

And get on that plane before you talk yourself out of it.

****

The problem with pumping myself up to board the plane...

Was that I forgot my damn phone on a chair at my gate.

Cursing myself, I wandered from desk to desk in LAX. It was one thing to lose my phone, but my flight had also ended up landing an hour late. Some sort of backup had forced us to sit on the tarmac for way, WAY too long.

Someone back at the other airport should be able to find my phone and send it to me! It sounded logical enough. But every person I talked to—each more bored than the last—had no answers. One of them had me fill out a form for lost possessions, insisting that I give her an address where they could return the phone to.

But I didn't have an address.

I don't even know where I'm staying out here! I felt stupid for not taking better precautions. I didn't know Violet's number by heart, or Korine's. How was I going to reach anyone?

Defeated, I scribbled a simple set of words onto the form. Beats and Blast Record Company. The lady didn't scan the paper, so I had no idea if what I put was okay or not. I just took a copy of the slip she handed over, and then... I started to walk.

At least I have my suitcase. In the lobby, I scanned the masses of people for any hint of Violet. I didn't know what she looked like, or if she'd be waiting for me still. She'd said she'd be holding up a sign with my name—but there was no one like that here.

I was two hours late. She probably thought I'd chickened out. But I couldn't chicken out, not even if I wanted to. I had no return ticket, almost no money, and I didn't know anyone in this city.

Holding my head high, I stepped out onto the bustling sidewalk. The parade of taxis gave me many options. I climbed into the nearest one, my fingers crossing in hopes that the driver would know where I wanted to go.

He was a younger man, his teeth too-white as he grinned at me. “Address, Miss?”

“Um.” Fidgeting, I leaned forward. “Look, I don't know the actual address, but do you know where the Beats and Blast building is?”

The momentary twist of his features turned my stomach into a knot. But then he revved the engine, cranking up the radio so the static and rock music could be heard. “Not a problem! Just enjoy the beautiful sights, we'll be there very soon!”

Tension fled my body; I bit back a relieved, almost psychotic laugh. This was the first good news I'd had in a while. Enjoy the ride?

I damn well would.