Bach

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She wasn't the first woman to walk into my kitchen after sun-up. I kept telling myself that, even as my pulse raced the longer she stayed near me. She wasn't even dressed sexy! She'd thrown her wet hair up in a lazy loop, her bare feet leaving damp smudges on my perfectly clean floors.

My eyes drifted over the delightful expression of surprise plastered on her face. I needed her to speak; the silence made me too aware of how the air around us was growing hot and heavy.

She licked her lips, I watched her tongue intently. "You're saying," she began, "That Violet arranged for me to stay in your personal home?"

"It was easier this way. I'm going to need to work closely with you to make sure you're ready."

"Ready for what?"

My glass dripped condensation onto my arm, I ignored it. "Violet didn't tell you?"

"She didn't get a chance to talk to me," she mumbled. "I fell asleep after we got here yesterday. I was pretty exhausted."

So, the responsibility falls to me. Did Violet intend for that? Maybe she suspected the offer would mean more from my lips than hers.

Pulling out one of the stools next to the counter, I motioned Amina closer. She grabbed a blueberry muffin, settling beside me. Briefly, her eyes flicked over my body. That thrilled me; her stare when she'd first seen me this morning hadn't gone unnoticed.

"Amina, it's clear that Beats and Blast—that I—am interested in signing you. I know you know that."

"I wouldn't have flown out here otherwise."

Her honesty was refreshing. "However, as good as you are... and you are good..." The memory of her haunting voice pushed pins into my guts. "There's more to being a top performer than just a great voice."

"Sure," she agreed slowly.

I leaned away, throwing my arm over the back of the stool. "Have you heard of the SoCal Artist Awards?" Her head swung side to side. "It's a gigantic show, and a great opportunity, especially for a new artist."

Her coal-black eyes went wide. "You want me to try and win an award?"

"I need you to win an award."

Anxiety ruined the shape of her mouth. I preferred her easy smile so much more. "You want to sign me with a contingency."

"No. Not at all." Pushing two fingers to my cheek, I watched her closely. "I want to sign you regardless." But if you don't win... I might not have a company left to represent you. So it's as good as a contingency, anyway. I didn't say that.

Amina was twisting the muffin wrapper in her fingers. "That's a lot of pressure either way. But... I don't see the harm in going for it. When's the event?"

If she knew the risk of failing, she wouldn't be so calm. Telling her the reality of the situation would be bad for her nerves, though. Or that was how I justified my lie by omission.

I said, "One month away."

She choked on the bit of food in her mouth. "That's kind of soon."

"It is. Again, having you live with me will guarantee our best shot at winning. Finish up eating, I'll go get changed, then we can get the paperwork out of the way."

"Alright, you got it." She plucked another muffin from the basket. Not that I cared, but I wasn't used to seeing a woman going for seconds. Every industry person I'd met out here had embraced the LA mindset of "suffer for your success."

Models, singers, actresses... and the guys were no different; they all starved themselves in the hope it would impress others, leading them to more wealth. More power.

And here was Amina, just happily chomping at the sugar-stuffed muffins I'd normally ended up donating to the snack table at work. Was she really free of the pressure to be so perfect all the time?

Her eyes caught me staring. "What is it? Crumbs on my face?" She wiped at her mouth, dusting muffin bits onto her yellow shirt.

Inside, I battled with a new wave of lust. I was fucking fascinated by this woman. I could count each crumb where it rested on the swell of her chest. I fought down my urge to bend my head forward and lick the muffin-bits free with my own tongue.

But I also knew the hard truth of the entertainment industry. As much as I was infatuated by her casual attire, messy hair, and unselfconscious habits...

No one else would be.

"You're going to need a makeover," I blurted.

She sat back, eyebrows wrinkling. "Because of some muffin crumbs?"

"The key to selling you to our investors and the masses is going to be making you stand out. There's a certain look that—"

"Sell me?" she laughed, cutting me off. "I'm not a product, Bach. I'm a person."

"In the music world, people are the products." My words held a brutal edge. I regretted them instantly, and that confused me even more. I was only speaking the truth, it was a fact you had to learn out here. And still, I prepped myself for the inevitable sadness in her eyes.

Amina glared at me, her voice all stone. "Fuck that."

I snorted in shock. "What?"

"Fuck," she said pointedly, "That." Jumping off the stool, she ignored the last of the crumbs that drifted to the floor. "I'm not going to agree with what you're saying. Not now, not ever. I'll come find you and that paperwork when I'm ready."

And then she actually walked away from me. From me. I stared after her until she was out of view, her naked heels clunking down the halls. I'd been sworn at before, that wasn't what shocked me.

She thinks she isn't a product? She was wrong. Amina was going to become a shiny, sparkling piece of merchandise, and that was just that. If she didn't, how the hell was I going to make any money off of her?

How was I going to save my empire?

She's got guts, I mused, realizing I was smiling. Anyone else standing up to me like that would have pissed me off. From her, this fire was... enticing.

The heat in my belly had become a partial hard-on. Adjusting myself, I started to head towards my bedroom to get changed. Something stuck to my feet; crumbs.

Even when she wasn't next to me, Amina left an echo of herself.