Siren's Heart (Siren's Duet Book 1): Love at first sight

1. Chapter One - Millie

”Kayla!” I shout excitedly when I see my best friend as I turn the corner to the next way-too-gray carpeted corridor of our record label and run up to her.

She turns around, confusion etched into her face, but the wrinkle between her eyebrows smooths out right before I crash into her and fling my arms around her. She stumbles, but finds her balance against one of the bleak walls. ”Oh my God, I missed you! How have you been?”

”It”s barely been a week, Millie,” she chuckles and returns the hug, made awkward since I’m trapping her arms around her torso. ”You act like it”s been months.”

”It might as well have been. We missed you at the family dinner.” I let her go and narrow my eyes as I raise an eyebrow at her. We link arms as we begin to walk down the corridor. Our record label is one of the best around. Why they haven’t managed to hire an interior designer for their offices is beyond me. I’d get depressed if I had to work in these rooms decorated in different shades of gray for longer than a day.

”I”ve been busy,” Kayla says apologetically with a shrug, and I grimace when that movement lifts my arm along and makes my shoulder move unnaturally. With her almost six-foot-frame, she”s quite a bit taller than my five-three, which I tend to forget since I usually wear platform high heels that bring us closer in height. Not today, though. Those things kill my feet, so I”m not about to wear them to a boring meeting with our manager.

My eyes get caught on our reflections as we walk past an empty meeting room with glass walls, and I chuckle. Today, Kayla’s brown hair is gathered up in a messy bun, while my blonde hair is in a braid. She”s wearing jeans and a black pullover, and I”m wearing a pink skirt and a beige, long-armed knitted shirt. She”s even wearing her glasses, which she only needs to read, but she prefers to wear them when she’s out and about, so people have a harder time recognizing her.

We”re polar opposites, and that”s what makes us us. The Siren”s. Pop duo extraordinaire. Beloved and hated by the world at the same time. It”s a weird balance to have when your fans adore you, but there are also a bunch of people out there who hope you disappear from the face of the earth.

”I saw,” I say, feigning annoyance, and roll my eyes. ”Up and about doing scandalous things with Josh. I read it was a ‘touching reunion.’” I add with air quotes, and she bumps me with her hip when I wiggle my eyebrows suggestively, making me giggle and fall out of step with her.

”Those damned roaches.” An exhausted sigh leaves her lips, and her shoulders sag with weariness. ”I don”t know what their fixation is, but I”m so sick of it.”

”Same, but it–”

”Comes with the territory,” she interrupts me, sighing heavily. ”I know. Doesn”t mean I like seeing my private life on the front page of the tabloids.”

”Again, same.” I grimace, and in my periphery, I see her face tighten, a muscle ticking in her jaw, and her fingers dig into my hips as we round a corner. ”At least for you, it’s a ‘touching reunion,’ not ‘sneak around’ or ‘inappropriate meeting.’”

Because that’s the way it is for me. I’m not sure about the exact mechanics of public relations and how this came to be, but the different takes that the media has on Kayla and me meeting men is just unreal. And what’s more, having a private life has become utterly impossible with their persistence.

Every date, every boyfriend, paparazzi latch onto that shit like mosquitoes to my skin in summer. In the beginning, men love the attention, thinking it”s the coolest thing that could happen to them.

They stop thinking that when the speculations begin. Will her current boyfriend propose within two weeks? Is he cheating with his stylist? They were seen together in her store! And who is that brown-haired woman?

I think most of them could have dealt with that kind of attention. Then add to that the headlines that forget he has a name and just call him ‘Millie’s boyfriend.’ Of all the things the media does, that’s where most have drawn the line.

Fair to say that it”s hard to find boyfriends. Or friends in general. Some of my former boyfriends have asked me not to go public with our relationship, but they forgot to consider, that there”s no such thing as a secret in the entertainment industry. Someone always spills the tea, in most cases, someone from their circle of family or friends who sees their five minutes of fame in exposing intimate details about our relationship. More than once, I”ve seen it destroy families when they shift into the focus of attention and argue about their split opinions on our relationship.

My solution? No more dating–done, finished, stick a fork in it. At this point, it’s become more of a hassle than a joy, and it always ends with everyone getting hurt. One day, I’ll find someone worth the trouble. But until then, I’ll try to keep to myself and not give the vultures anything to prey on.

Not that this has stopped any speculation in the media, but I meant what I said. It comes with the territory. As long as nobody innocent is dragged into it, as long as I’m the only one dealing with the lack of privacy and hurtful speculations, they can write whatever they want.

”So, why are we here today?” I clear my throat and change topics, my calves already starting to hurt from walking fast to keep up with Kayla.

”I have no idea. Probably about a new album,” Kayla murmurs and comes to a stop in front of the only door in the hallway, with light protruding from a small gap at the bottom. She lets me go and straightens her back, rolling back her shoulders and taking a deep breath before directing her eyes at me. ”Let”s find out.”

”You want us to do what?” I ask with wide eyes and jump up from my seat, pacing the sterile-looking room as Naroa, our manager, looks between Kayla and me with a proud smile on her face.

She”s a powerhouse of a woman, only slightly taller than me, but her presence and no-bullshit attitude easily make her seem seven-foot tall. Today, her black hair is falling down her shoulders, and she’s wearing a business-casual look with linen pants and a loose blouse; a tell-tale sign that this is an informal meeting. Otherwise, she would be dressed to the nines, her hair in a strict bun with her hair sleeked to her head, her flawless tan skin hidden under subtle, yet noticeable makeup. But today is what I like to call a ”girls” talk meeting,’ where none of us sees the need to dress up, and we can talk freely about what”s happening next, completely off the record.

”I want you to perform at the half-time show of the VIP Charity Match happening next month,” she repeats, biting her lip to stop her smile from breaking her face into two. It”s not a question of whether we want to do the show. She”s stating it as a fact, which means she’s already agreed.

”Why haven”t we heard of this?” Kayla raises her eyebrow, tapping her fingers against the table, an unreadable expression on her face. Either she’s happy as a kid on Christmas morning because, truth be told, it does sound like fun, or irritated it’s happening so soon, and this is the first we’ve ever even heard of it.

”This is the first year they”re doing the match,” Naroa explains, subtly checking the handwritten notes on her pad. ”It”s American football, just to clarify, and celebrities from all niches will participate. Actors, singers, and I think they’ve even got a few agency executives to join. All the players will be divided into two teams, and the winning team gets to choose which charities will receive all of the donations obtained. It’s basically a celebrity Super Bowl for charity.

“Initially, they had Mia for the half-time show, but something came up in her schedule, and she won”t be able to make it.” A chuckle underlines her words, but they punch the air out of my lungs. Wait, what?

I freeze. My foot is half up in the air as I”m in the midst of a step when I slowly turn to Kayla, like a ballerina in a music box, only a lot less graceful, our eyes growing wider and wider once they meet, both of us thinking the exact same thing. Did I hear her right?

”Mia?” Kayla finds her voice first, shock as prevalent in her tone as the static in my ears as I’m trying to come to terms with what Naroa just revealed. Simultaneously, the both of us slowly turn our heads to look at her. ”The Mia? Blonde hair, global superstar, and everyone’s sweetheart?”

”The one and only.” She nods, and Kayla”s head whips back to me, finding me staring at our manager, now with mouth wide agape.

”You”re telling me we”re on the same fucking level as Mia?” My voice is so loud I almost shout, my voice an octave higher than usual, and my heart thumping in my chest like a kick-drum during a rock concert.

Mia is a fucking powerhouse. She has the whole world wrapped around her little finger, selling out shows within seconds, no matter where she goes or how big the venue is. I”m convinced her fans would be able to stop climate change within a week if she asked them nicely enough.

And we”re supposed to replace her at this charity thing? No way in fucking hell. They are going to boo us off that stage. Unless…

”Please tell me she wasn”t announced yet?” Kayla asks exactly what I”m thinking, and I make use of the feeling returning to my limbs and hurry to sit down next to her again.

”She wasn”t.”

The sigh of relief I”m pushing out almost blows away the papers haphazardly lying across the table. ”Thank God.”

”So, what do you say?” Her eyes jump from Kayla to me, and back to Kayla. ”Does that sound like something you”d like to do?”

Even though I’m ninety-nine percent sure that she already booked the spot for us, I appreciate her asking us. Of course, we have a business relationship, but one thing I really value is that she takes clear note of our boundaries and will try to work with them.

The number one thing my parents were apprehensive about when I told them I”d like to get into show business was the fear of being forced to do things I wouldn”t like by a manager who only thinks about money. I don”t know what kind of good deeds Kayla and I did in our past life to deserve Naroa, but I”m so glad she”s our manager.

She”s competent and motivates us when we”re at a low point, and she makes it a point to actually talk to us about taking projects. Like right now. And she never makes us feel bad about saying ‘no.’

I asked her about it one night after our last tour finale, over a shared can of beers in our dressing room. She had looked at me with a poker face, shrugged, and told me she was making enough money off us anyways, and it”d benefit her more to keep us happy in the long term than to make a quick buck. Then, she thankfully added that she considers us friends and enjoys working with us, probably because she saw my face fall, thinking we were only her cash cows.

”It does sound like fun,” Kayla admits, and from the corner of my eyes, I can see a smile tugging at her lips. She turns to me, and I meet her eyes. ”What do you think?”

”I think it”s a yes.” I grin at her widely, my cheeks hurting and fighting the urge to jump up and dance around the room. ”We are going to have to fucking rock this!”

”Wonderful,” Naroa says, clapping her hands together. ”I’ll make sure to pass that right on. The two of you will have about a month to prepare. That means you need to create a remix of your songs and get together with Mike to create your choreography and learn it in and out until the big day. I hope you guys like Philly because you”ll be spending a lot of time there and getting acquainted with the stadium.”

Kayla and I shoot each other another look. Without a word, she raises her hand for a high five, and I happily give her one.

”I said it sounds like fun.” With a satisfied grin, she leans back in her chair and crosses her arms in front of her chest. ”When are we flying out?”

”Alright, so this is your apartment,” Naroa says distractedly, pulling a key card out of the stack of documents she clutches to her chest. After she told us about the Philly match, we had three days to pack and, in my case, make arrangements for someone to water my houseplants before we flew out to Philly.

Our plane only touched down two hours ago, and I can’t wait for Naroa to show us our apartments and get to try out the bed. Traveling always manages to suck the energy right out of me, and I’m more than ready for a nap.

”I tried to find you places that would make you feel right at home. I hope you like it. If not, I’m sure we can arrange something else.” She hands me the card. “Here you go, Millie. The pin for the security system is the same as usual.” I nod, and she turns to face Kayla, handing her a different card. “Kayla, your apartment is five stories further up; I’ll bring you there now. Tomorrow, I”ll get the both of you at ten, and we”ll drive over to the stadium together so you can have a look around.”

”Okay, I got it,” I tell her, with a lazy mock salute, and unlock the door. When the code I type into the small pad works and it opens without a hitch, they turn their backs to me and walk back to the elevators.

“Have a good night!” I shout after them, but my attention is already on my not-so-humble abode for the next few months.

It”s a pretty apartment. Big. With high ceilings and tall windows that face the setting sun, the Delaware River”s waves sparkle in the last rays of evening light. The click of the door falling shut behind me is almost deafening in the giant room, echoing against the high walls adorned with landscape pictures that remind me of the ones at my house. Only mine are a bit higher quality, I think, as I step up to one of them. From this close, I can tell that they”re only prints, not the real deal. What a shame.

Turning around, I”m already in the living room. Thank God, it doesn”t have some kind of bougie-marble ground, but wood graced with fluffy-looking carpets instead. Naroa knows me well. I love to walk around my home barefoot or in socks, but stone turns my feet so cold I’m afraid they’d freeze off. The wood also gives the apartment a cozier vibe, which it desperately needs, considering that all the furniture is either beige, white, or light gray. It’s not the worst apartment I’ve stayed in, but it needs a homey touch.

I make a mental note to buy some colorful blankets when I have the time–maybe some pale pink pillows. I’m also itching to order some plants, but I have no idea where I’d put them at home.

Sighing, I continue my exploration. Looking around the corner, I find the kitchen. Just like the rest of the apartment, it”s giant and has all the appliances you don”t need in your regular life. I mean, come on, a giant, expensive stand mixer? When would I have the time to bake in the few weeks I’m staying here? And is that a rice cooker?

Back in the living room, I continue my investigation in an adjoining hallway. The first door opens to an office-looking room, with a desk facing the window and audio equipment stacked against the wall. There’s a keyboard and guitar right next to several microphones set up in a corner, and there is no doubt in my mind that the computer it’s connected to has the best recording software Kayla and I can operate. I chuckle. So, Naroa wants us to be productive, even at home–got it.

I close the door quietly and walk over to the next and final room. After taking a deep breath, I open it and… I’m underwhelmed. Just like the living room, it”s bright and impersonal, but at least it has a soft-looking carpet next to the queen-sized bed. There”s also a walk-in closet, already filled with the clothes Naroa had me send over beforehand.

Finally, I check out the bathroom. Compared to the rest of the flat, it”s pretty dark, decked in grays and a few bright accents. The shower seems lovely, big and with two heads. Plus, there’s a lot of space for me to put my hair care, which I absolutely need. My hair is even more high maintenance than… well, me.

Then I catch something from the corner of my eyes and slowly turn to the last corner, a smile tugging at my lips when I realize what I’m seeing.

”Oh my God, a whirlpool!” I step closer and let my fingers run over the smooth surface of the jetted bathtub. ”I”m going to spend a lot of time with you.” Giving it a pat, I return to the living room and sink on the couch, laying my head on the backrest and staring at the ceiling.

So this is going to be my home for the next few weeks. That won’t do. It feels lifeless and uninspiring here, definitely not like an apartment I’m looking forward to going home to at the end of the day.

However, one of the advantages of being famous means I have enough money to fix it. Yawning, I pull up the app of my favorite furniture and home décor store and put some items into my cart until it’s completely dark outside, and my eyes threaten to fall shut.

I”ll sleep over it and decide tomorrow what of it I”m going to get.