Page 30 of One More Bad Boy

I shook my head in disgust. “You were furious my father didn't leave his company to you, but I never thought you'd sink this low. How much money did Eckland give you for your consultation?”

Something close to guilt flicked through his blue eyes. “They offered a partnership.”

Fuck. It was worse than I thought. “So, you're siphoning off my musicians to help my rivals? Dad would think you're a piece of shit for that.”

“Your father,” he growled, coming closer, his voice hot and low, “Would be aghast to see how you're screwing up what he built! If you'd just listened to me months ago...”

“I did listen, Sherman. You made it crystal clear you wanted Beats and Blast signed over to you.”

“It would have been better for everyone.”

“Don't talk like my empire has already been bled dry,” I said, shooting another quick glare at Santino. “There's still time to see how this all turns out.”

Not waiting for any response, I spun away from the group. The girls started to talk in hushed voices—nothing I could make out. I'd hear about it later once Violet threw the online rumor-mill in my face.

My phone vibrated. I lifted it high, seeing Violet's number flashing. “Hello?” I asked, then added, “Are you both here?”

“We're backstage,” Violet said. “The stagehands are giving us hell, making us get ready in some shadowy corner instead of a proper room. They’re a little upset you dropped this performance on them so last minute.”

“Please, it's free entertainment for the crowd.”

“Bach, we need to talk about your spontaneous decisions. This kind of stuff can't—”

“How is she doing?” I asked, lowering my voice. I'd started walking towards the stage in the distance. The white floor was raised six feet off the ground, and huge curtains of sparkling gold hid the production crew from sight. There were many shows planned for this fundraising event, I hoped Violet had managed to wiggle Amina in at a prime slot.

Violet didn't answer for a minute. “She's nervous.”

“Of course she is.”

She paused again. “Bach... I don't think you should see her before she performs.”

I pulled up short. “Excuse me?”

“You give off an intimidating vibe.”

“You're saying I scare her.”

“To put it mildly.”

Paranoia wriggled through my guts. “Did she ask you to keep me away from her?”

“Just give her space, I've got her slotted to go on third, it won't be long.”

My eyes flew to the stage. Amina was back there, preparing to sing.

And avoiding me.

“Fine,” I snapped, ending the call. I crushed my phone in my grip, hearing the plastic case creak. I was on the verge of breaking the device and I didn’t care.She’s scared of me?God, that rubbed me wrong. Sure, I could be a bit much, but frightening?

The old me was a monster. Amina didn’t know that person.

But she’s scared of me anyway.

Running my thumb over my phone’s screen, I began pacing through the crowd. I’d told Violet I was fine with staying away from Amina. It was an utter lie. What I wanted more than anything was to run behind the stage curtains and touch that woman’s dimples.

I wondered how soft her hair felt.

Had she done it up? Left it loose? What would a properly done-up Amina Richards look like? I ached to be a part of her every experience, being told to keep away was agony.It’s because her success means everything,I told myself, trying to rationalize it.

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