Page 32 of One More Bad Boy

- Chapter Eleven -

Amina

Suffocating.

That's what I was doing.

Why did I agree to this? Why did Bach ask me to do this?

Signing me to his label should have meant spending time prepping in a studio, warming my vocal chords, and training myself to release an album in a safe environment.

But this... this was a madhouse.

People rushed around backstage, all of them shouting. No one looked happy, not even the women who wore plastic smiles. I didn’t belong here. This was my worst nightmare.

Gripping my stomach, I hunched over in the corner. “I’m so screwed,” I whispered. Violet had run off somewhere to make a phone call. She’d asked if I was fine, and I’d assured her I was, but... I wasn’t. I couldn’t be.

I should sneak away,I thought, tempted by the idea. But when I imagined how disappointed everyone would be in me, I lost my courage. There was no winning this one. I couldn’t run, I couldn’t hide; my only option was getting on stage and doing my damnedest to not fail.

But Iwasgoing to fail.

It was my fate.

It always would be.

“Are you Amina?”

I blinked at the bombshell-blonde holding a tray of drinks. “Um, yes?”

She smiled wide, then offered me a glass. “Here, I was told to bring this to you.”

“By who?”

Her head tilted as she gestured off to the side, where the noise of the crowd was coming from behind the curtains. “Mr. Devine sent it. Along with this.” Dipping her fingers in her cleavage, she extended a piece of paper to me.

I took it gingerly. “Thank you.”

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