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Amina
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“Stop!” I cried, struggling in the steel grip of the man who'd yanked me from the stage. There were too many bodies for me to keep count. People chatted on walkies, all while I was dragged along an increasingly empty hallway. “Where are you taking me?”
“The security office,” one of the men said, giving me a shake.
Another set of hands pressed my wrists into my spine until I hissed in pain.
“Isn't this extreme?” a familiar voice asked. I was yanked around as the group turned to face the person talking. Sherman had followed us down the hall, his bright suit out of place in the bland, gray hall. “You don't need three men to hold down one girl,” he scolded.”
Amazingly, they released me. “Mr. Proud! It's just—well, she caused hysteria by intruding on the stage.”
“Hysteria?” he snorted. “She sang a song. If you look at the contestant paperwork, you'd see she's on the list. Things probably got mixed up is all.”
It wasn't a total lie, I had been listed to sing. But the final sets were created this morning, and I hadn't showed up to fill them out in person, so officially, I was out. The security guards didn't know how to verify that; Sherman's authoritative energy was making them back down.
“Sir, if she's a contestant, then what should we do?” one of the men asked.
“I'll take care of this,” Sherman said. “I'd hate for you to lose your jobs over being too aggressive with a celebrity.”
The guards eyeballed me with unease. “Yes, Mr. Sherman. We'll leave this to you,” the leader said. Waving a beefy arm, he marched the guards from the hall, leaving me alone with Sherman.
Rubbing my wrists gingerly, I squinted at him. “Thanks, I guess.”
His face shifted into complete seriousness. “What the hell were you doing out there? Did Bach not tell anyone that Beats and Blast wasn't his anymore? If you wanted to be represented by my company, you needed to meet with me, first.”
“This has nothing to do with Beats and Blast,” I said, my voice seething.
“Then what would possess you to cause such a scene?”
I lifted my head with pride. “Someone gave me some advice a while ago. Something about recognizing my own raw potential.” Sherman's eyes widened at my callback. “I was halfway to the airport yesterday. Ready to go back to Portland, give everything up. Then I thought about all the people who kept pushing me forward. Everyone telling me to chase my dreams. My parents died wanting this for me, my aunt used me, my friend was living vicariously through me. I thought I was doing this for me, except I wasn't. Not until today. Even if I almost got arrested, it was worth it.”
There was compassion in his eyes. My explanation had resonated with him. “You made the right choice, Amina. And that song you performed, it was one of the best I've ever heard. You're not just an amazing performer, you compose music beautifully.”
My heart tightened. “I didn't write that song.”
“What? Then who?”
My fingers clutched at the hem of my dress. “Bach. He—”
“Amina!” Bach burst into the hallway. The wildness in his green eyes locked me to the floor. I couldn't move as he grabbed my shoulders. I was light as a cloud in his grip. If he let go, I'd float up and away and never come back down.
“Amina,” he said again, “Are you okay?” He noticed Sherman and pulled me closer.
“I'm fine. I'm not even in trouble.”
He shook his head at me. “Why are you here? Farrah gave you my letter, you know you didn't have to try and win an award.”
“Did you really think after all my hard work, I'd give up a chance at showing the world what I'm made of?” I was going to say more. I had a whole speech rotating through my brain that I'd arranged last night in the hotel I'd slept in. But when I saw the concern in his eyes, the pure love spilling over, I forgot how to form words. Stretching up, I kissed him with enough enthusiasm that he stumbled off balance.
We came apart, our foreheads touching. “Did you like it?” I whispered. “The song?”
His smile heated me up. “It was incredible.”
“It really was,” Sherman said.
I'd managed to forget about him for a second. Pulling away from Bach, I kept one hand in his as I glared at Sherman. “Why are you still here?”
“Because I'm dying to work with you, Amina. I haven't known an artist with your potential since Laurence.”
I gave a half-hearted laugh. “You stole Beats and Blast from the man I love. I'm not going to abandon him for you.”
Bach's grip tightened on mine, commanding me to look into his surprised face. “You love me?”
His shock was delightfully attractive. “If you try and tell me you didn't know that, I'm going to be pretty pissed off at—” Bach shut me up with a new kiss. I went limp as he tilted me in a back-bend.
I gasped for air when he straightened me up and let me go. “I wanted to tell you I loved you in Vegas,” he said. His eyes were burning with lust... with an energy that he now knew wasn't unrequited. “You stopped me. Those words were slowly dissolving me from the inside out, so to finally get to say them, it's like nothing I've ever experienced.”
Sherman made a polite sound. I glanced at him, wishing he'd just leave already. “I don't care if Bach doesn't have a record company anymore. I'm choosing him over you. I'll always choose him, every time.”
Sherman hesitated. “What if we could both get what we wanted?”
“How is that possible?” Bach asked.
“I never wanted to take Beats and Blast from you,” Sherman said. “Your father... Laurence wasn't just a client, he was one of my closest friends. When he left everything to you, I was shocked.”
“Thanks for reminding me,” Bach scoffed.
“Let me finish, please.” Sherman adjusted the front of his jacket. I had a feeling that this conversation was difficult for him. “Laurence had a sensitive soul. I watched you grow up for years and was sure you didn't. Until tonight. When she sang your song.”
Bach's forehead crinkled. “That's it? You liked my lyrics, and now I'm supposed to forgive you for thinking I was a waste of space this whole time?”
“Bach, I'm trying to say I'm sorry. I misunderstood what you were capable of.”
“That wasn't why we didn't get along,” he growled. “You hated me because you thought I didn't respect my father enough. And I hated you... because deep down, I knew you were right.”
My heart shrank. “Bach, no.”
He looked at me. I could see the pain bloom in his emerald eyes. “I told you, Sherman was right. I never believed in my dad, not until he didn't need my support because he'd proven me wrong. I sank his company. Sherman is better off with it.”
“I'm not suggesting I give it back to you,” Sherman said. He offered his hand. “I'm asking for you to work with me. Become my partner.”
Bach's grip went slack; I squeezed his fingers, unsure what to say. But then, this had nothing to do with me. This was between these two men who had a painful history.
“Why?” Bach asked, his voice brittle. “I don't get why.”
“Because I'm not going to let myself become the man I thought you were,” he said. “You didn't believe in your father, and that haunts you even now. I know that I was wrong about your drive, your talent, and your ability to care for anyone but yourself.” He softened his voice. “You're more like him than either of us guessed. Maybe we can honor his memory by believing in each other.”
I fixated on Bach's emotionless expression. Did he agree with Sherman, like I did, that he was as kind as Laurence? That he obviously cared about others and wanted them to succeed? And that no one could lead Beats and Blast like him?
Bach inhaled until his chest was at capacity. His fingers left mine, closing on Sherman's in a solid handshake. “Dad would have liked that.”