Page 83 of One More Bad Boy

“You okay, lady?”

“Not at all.” I waved a hand, sinking into the seat. “Please, just drive.”

“You got it.”

Opening my phone, I marveled at how beaten up it seemed next to my new one. But it was still comfortable in my hand, like a pair of old jeans you never wanted to throw away. The screen was black—of course, the battery had died.

The driver glanced at me in his mirror. “Need a charger?” He pointed at the array of wires hanging from the middle console. Unsure what possessed me, I fit one into my old phone. The screen lit up; staring back at me was the website I'd left open before boarding my plane last month.

Bach Devine was still gorgeous, but after being near the real thing, his photo was a poor substitute. I ran my thumb over my screen and remembered all the things I'd worried about while sitting in the airport. No, before that—I'd been terrified since Korine showed me the message on Caffeline's Instagram.

In spite of all those fears... I'd done it.

I'd made it here.

And now it's all over with.Because inside of this envelope was a message from Bach. I already knew what it was—he was ending my contract with him. It was all he could do. What I'd heard Violetbegginghim to do.

Peeling apart the top of the envelope, I blew inside. The air that rebounded smelled like him. The sheet of paper was covered in his handwriting. Shivering, I began to read.

Amina,

You are who you are in your soul.

That means you're a star. But you don't have to be mine, it was wrong of me to put that on you. Hurting you was never my plan.

You once asked me what my father was like. He was caring, and he always put his artists first. I'm nothing like him. But for you, I'll try to be.

He would have paid off your debt. So, I'm going to end your old contract.

I'm not, however, going to ask that you stay with me. You owe me nothing.

You're a free agent.

- Bach

Tiny, rapid breaths escaped my lips. The paper was rattling around in my grip. I saw now that there were two other sheets—one of them was a release from my invalid Beats and Blast contract. The last paper, the writing smaller than the rest, said I was free of all obligations to Summer and Pickadillie Records.

I was free.

The mistake from my past had been fixed.

I should have been happy... relieved.

All I felt was grief.

“You alright back there?”

Sniffling, I scrubbed at my eyes. “I'm fine.”

“Uh, sure. I'll put on some music.”So you can cry without me hearing it,was his subtext.

My driver flicked on the car's radio. The end of a song blasted out, fading as we caught the tail. The host started to chat—a perky girl with an abundance of energy. “Ooookay! That was Four and a Half Headstone's latest single, Georgia Moss! They'll be playing at the SoCal Artist Awards tomorrow, I hope to see you all there! My booth will be right next to Danny Eckland's! Maybe I'll get to talk to some of their stars, or even better, the man behind all the hits, Sherman Proud!”

Sherman.

That man was stealing everything from Bach. Thinking back to the day I'd run into Sherman in the phone store, I scowled.He'd tried to steal me, too.He'd been quick with the compliments. Fluffy words were meaningless, especially coming from someone who only wanted to use me.

If I stop singing, no one can use me anymore.

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