Chapter One
DISLIKE AT FIRST SIGHT
LYRIC
“ W ell, look who the cat dragged in.” A huge grin spreads across my face as Delightful turns to smile my way. All the worry melts from her beautiful face as I walk closer to where she’s standing at the edge of the room. She’s hiding from FADE after their bad and very public break-up a few months ago.
“Wow, Lyric, you look amazing as usual.” She gives an approving nod at my outfit.
“I know, right?” Preening like the superstar I am, I turn slowly so she and Flower —FADE’s younger sister and CFO of their company, can get a gander of my outfit, which was sure to be on every fashion blog come tomorrow.
It seems my bestie, and I both decided on jumpsuits, my pants are tied like harem pants and every seam has crystal embellishments.
My skin sparkles with diamond dust that accentuates my dark hues. Along with every dip and curve of my deliciously plump body. I always embrace my curves and sex positivity. I know I’m both loved and reviled for my supposed frankness about my life and how I portray it in my art so unapologetically.
Delightful tells me Justice would have been proud of the woman the girl he’d loved since six grade has become. He would have cheered me on with unrestrained pride. I know it and that feeling has carried me for so long. The loneliness I feel sometimes is only alleviated by the thoughts of how far I came alone and why I rather be by myself that settle for less than what he so freely gave.
When I finish my turn, we all giggle at my antics. So many people are so set on never having fun and being stuck up all the time. Not me. After surviving the tragedy of life as a child, I vowed that I would never be made to feel like that again and I would live a life of joy and give as much of that to others as possible.
“Splendid,” Flower smiles, her eyes glowing with warmth. “I think FADE is saving the seat beside him for you.” She nods toward the center of the second row.
I can’t help but notice how Delightful also follows the direction of Flower’s head. Her gaze greedily eating up the tall figure because even from here you can see just how tall he is over some of those assembled.
“I need food first.” I say, moving past them to the bounty set before us.
“You better hurry. The movie starts in five minutes.” Flower warns, looking at her watch.
I hurry over and pile the plate with an assortment of goodies. All gourmet food made to look like fast food. When they just could have had a chain cater it. I mean, the Hot Chicken and burger sliders could have been mom and pop for all I care. Way less pretentious and probably tastes better. That’s one thing I never like about fame. The food is bland. Give me Eagles in Birmingham any day over five-star restaurants in Beverly Hills any day of the week.
When I get to the row I’m supposed to be sitting on, I turn to face the people sitting so I’m not putting the full splendidness of my bottom in their face. Though the seating is stadium like it’s almost like they misjudged the leg room, or is everyone on this row tall as hell?
Kris “The Kronic” Kyrikos is sitting with Miracle right at the end and then further down are FADE’s parents —both tall people, then the Al Rasheed brothers Sadiq and Hassan. They are identical twins, Lovie-Belle waves sandwiched between them though she leans more towards one than the other. They are both gorgeous. Coldly gorgeous with a hint a severity edging their mouths.
“There she is.” FADE waves me closer, indicating I should sit in the seat between him and the twin to the left of Lovie-Belle.
“I’m glad you came,” he says the minute I take my seat.
“I am too, but this seat should be for DiDi,” I tell him, nudging his side with an elbow a little. We both turn to look at the lone figure standing on the far wall.
“You know your ass is wrong for not allowing her to sit with everyone up here.” I give him a little pinch for emphasis.
“Ow, man,” he grumbles. “She didn’t even say she wanted to come until last night. It was last minute as hell.”
“You know that girl wanted to come to the movie she wrote. You be on some weird shit sometimes, I swear.” I fuss at him in low tones. I’m one of the few people in this world who’s not afraid to speak my mind to the billionaire rap mogul. He values that, but it still doesn’t stop the sharp look he casts my why.
“Hm, since when have you become a relationship expert? You’re on your what? Twentieth or thirtieth fake relationship. When the last one was caught with two guys, that should have been enough for you to slow your roll.” Comes the low-key scathing clap back.
“Ow,” he says again when I elbow him hard in his ribs.
“You’re lucky I love your lil ass. Don’t do that shit again, man,” he mutters. Taking a handful of my gourmet caramel corn.
“Anyway.” I sigh, rolling my eyes.
“Have some? Um, I’m sorry I don’t know if you’re Sadiq or Hassan,” I say sheepishly to the twin to my right, offering my tray of food to him.
“No thanks, and it’s the latter.” Comes a deep baritone draped in midnight. It’s then when I look up into the hazel green of his eyes that my breath catches.
He gives me an impersonal, unimpressed sweep of his gaze. In that moment I feel tried, found wanting and convicted with one dismissive sweep of those long lashes.
He turns his face from me, then at something Lovie-Belle whispers to him. Warm tones reach my ears but the change in how he treats her is not lost on me.
Making sure I’m not touching him in the least I keep my food in a little cocoon relenting when FADE reaches over for more, happy I’m sharing my goodies with him.
I don’t relax — not when the movie starts, not when songs play that I wrote and recorded specifically for the soundtrack. I don’t think I breathe until the credits scroll.
Applause surrounds us in a cloak of love. I know it’s mostly industry people and those close with FADE, but I can’t help feeling proud of the work we did here, celebrating his legacy and setting the record straight on his involvement with Justice’s death.
Still, I can’t escape the chill coming off the man next to me. He’s holding his body as if touching me would make him combust, as if I’m the lowest trash. He turns more fully to Lovie-Belle, fully icing me out.
As much as I wanted to enjoy this moment with one of my best and oldest friends. I can’t. I haven’t felt so low since before I left home.
“The press is going to have some questions,” FADE tells me after what seems like endless ovations.
We head out the seating of the screening area into the auditorium to the main stage is where the press gathered pack as tight as vultures over a carcass.
“Hey? You good?” No one reads me better than him, except maybe DiDi and his brother, Ghadi. The concern in his voice eradicates the ruthlessness of his set down earlier now only genuine love and concern are etched on his face.
“I’m great.” Nodding for emphasis because the mean ass motherfucker Hassan is still here, though we are all standing now. I can feel his presence right behind me. I will not be giving him the satisfaction of thinking he hurt my feelings. The thing I know for sure about the person he presented to me a little over two hours ago at the beginning of the movie is they get off on making people feel small — especially women. Powerful women like me who need men for nothing but eye candy and the occasional orgasm are a threat to men like him. Asshole gonna asshole.
“Aight.” FADE looks at me with skepticism, dragging the word out to an infinity.
“Even if I’m not, I am. Got that?” I demand as he tucks me under his arm.
“Yeah, but what happened? One minute you were laying into me about my girl, then you started looking all sad. I don’t like that.” He presses a kiss on the crown of my head.
“Nah, I’m good.” My words are muffled by the near headlock he has me in as we make our way down to the stage of the auditorium to the chairs to answer the questions to the press.
“Okay, let’s do this.” He tells me immediately, turning his charisma on to with a thousand-watt-smile for the masses, offering his arm to me like a perfect gentleman helping me to the stage.
No sooner than we are seated are we fielding questions from everything about the movie to production.
I find it hilarious since FADE and I had the least to do with the movie. That’s the thing about being two of the biggest stars in the world. Our names are what sell. FADE does his part, giving all the questions to Lovie-Belle, Delightful, the Al Rasheed brothers and the actors who play the roles of FADE, Ghad and me in the movie.
“Tell us, Lyric, you have the reputation as an exacting perfectionist. Are the rumors true that you gave the team fits about how you were being portrayed?”
“I will never apologize for wanting to give the best possible product to my fans, but in order to do that, you have to know when to step back and let people who are experts in their field take the lead. I trust Lovie-Belle and Delightful’s vision, and I know they trust the Al Rasheeds. I for one, am very happy and grateful for the care they took with the entire project.” My answer is heartfelt, and it is true. Not that I didn’t know this question was coming. There have been whispers for months I was causing problems. For the life of me, I couldn’t figure out where it stemmed from. Yet, I know after nearly two decades in the entertainment business, if you’re explaining, you’re losing the narrative.
Having nothing to do with the movie other than turn in the song assignments as FADE gave them to me or rework arrangements with Ghad. I had nothing to do with the film. I wonder if that is why Hassan had such a negative reaction towards me earlier?
“I see.” The reported hedges looking around for confirmation from the rest of the cast and lasering on Lovie-Belle for confirmation.
“Lyric was never on the set and did everything we asked. Really Amy, you know better than to heed meritless gossip in this town.” Lovie-Belle titters like the woman is being absurd.
“But so many rumors?—”
“Enough.” A hard command comes from where the Al Rasheeds are sitting among the audience in the front row. “Move on.” The clipped tone brokes no argument. There is a tense moment in which I try and fail not to meet the eyes of the man who came to my rescue.
He looks aggrieved to have even done it. He catches my gaze and I’m locked in like prey in a scope. Hassan looks even more aggravated with me, as if I brought this on myself.
Heat rushes to my face and I’m ever so thankful for my glam squad for perfecting my make-up to the degree that none of the embarrassing flush shines through.
I sit up straighter as if he’s commanded me too. I look straight ahead like I’m back at choir rehearsal at my home church, First Baptist Ensley in Alabama.
For the rest of the interview, I do my best not to look at the man who judged me then came to my defense only to look at me again like I was the biggest problem. I don’t like how he’s making me so off kilter.
My competitive spirit has me wanting to win him over. I know this is my strength as well as a weakness — I’ve always been able to prove my doubters wrong with either my hard work or my personality. Yet something tells me Hassan Al Rasheed never going to like me.
The pulse of the music at the after party strums through my veins. I’m on my second Remi Martin 1738, neat, so I feel mighty fine right now, like my grams used to say before she passed.
FADE and Delightful disappeared over an hour ago. I’m glad that I secured one of the penthouse suits of the five star Waldorf Astoria. I didn’t want to travel back to my place in Malibu since I’ve put it up for sale and the realtor has so many showings with various brokers. I love that house. It’s served its purpose, but I decided after this tour that’s due to kick-off in a couple of months I was going to find another place to stay. My plan is to have my sisters come live me with never panned out. And my Malibu mansion where I’d planned every day to be like a spa day for Kadence, Harmony, Song and me never is way too big and lonely for just little curvy ol’ me.
Rob figured if he could keep them under his thumb, he’d have some control over me. And to an extent he’s right — I send them money, keep up their lifestyle. since he rules everything mom and my sisters do with an iron fist, I can only comply. Boiling angry at myself for still letting that troll get to me makes my tummy twist into knots. Pure evil does not come close to defining that monster.
Justice’s dad, Pastor Carrington and Ms. Grace, his wife, told me to never let hatred rule me and I have tried. Lord knows I have, but if there is one thing I want to do is kill that motherfucker. Him, and his weak ass wife, my mother. She should have left his ass a long time ago — especially when I made it. But no, she was too concerned with what people would say.
“Um, that’s my song.” I say to Fifi by bestie, my everything as soon as the strands of Baddie hit my ears.
“That’s literally your song, hoe.” She fake sneers down at me as I toss back the remains of the liquor and make my way to the dance floor.
She follows because how can she not? I know we make a pair ridiculous or gorgeous. We have been called it all. Me, a shortie in my white jumper hitting all my curves and Fifi that I often shorten to just Fi, also formally known as Felix, her dead name before she transitioned is a nearly six-foot tall light-skinned beauty with a pixie blond body-waved hair. Her tall, lithe form is the perfect opposite to my short curves.
The remix of the song I made especially for the movie drives us into the newly choreographed piece we’ve been practicing for my upcoming world tour.
“Oh, get it girl,” Fifi cheers as I drop low into a move, ignoring the camera flashes as we dance together like to two baddies that we are.
We gyrate and twirl like we have a million times before, and for the first time that night, I allow myself to feel genuine joy. Freedom is its own aphrodisiac and has been my only one for as long as I can remember. Having your choices taken when you are too young to know better or be able to protect yourself makes it so. I revel in the power I hold at being at the top of my game and enjoying with Fi always makes me happy.
No longer do I dwell on the haughty disdain of Hassan Al-Rasheed’s mean ass.
One song turns into two, but then I feel like I need to get my second wind.
“I’m not eighteen anymore.” I remind Fifi.
She quirks a mercurial eye. “You’re not twenty either.”
“You ain’t either.” Sticking my tongue out at her, I go back over to the table where my security is standing.
“Dang, my feet hurt.” Fifi mumbles as we sit back down. Eyeing her as she sneaks a hand under the table to rub her bruised toes, I roll my eyes. “That’s what you get for wearing those high ass heels all the time. Then having the nerve to try to dance in them.”
“Well, everyone can’t be a sneaker head like you.” She scoffs. “You can get away with it. I’d be looking like Big Bird.”
“Well,” Leaning back, I give her a critical eye. “The blond hair ain’t helping.”
She gives me a stunned look for all of two seconds when we both fall out laughing.
We laugh so hard tears crowd the corners of my eyes.
“Oh my goodness.” Grabbing a tissue from her proffered hand, I dab the corners of my eyes.
“Wow, that was cold-blooded.” She shakes her head. Just as she does, my gazes skims past her to the tall figure standing on the opposite side of the room. He’s standing in an alcove alone, sipping a clear liquid.
None of that is surprising. What has the breath arrested in my chest is the fact that he’s looking at me. Not just that he’s looking at me, but the way he’s looking at me.
The green topaz gaze of Hassan Al-Rasheed smolders as he takes me in across the room.
“What, or rather, who are you looking at?” Fifi swivels to look.
“No,” I snap, barely noticing the frown puckering on her flawlessly made-up face.
“Don’t look.” I still can’t take my eyes off him, even as it’s more than clear to him I’m talking about him.
“It’s Hassan,” I say, barely moving my lips, but the quirk of his brow lets me know he read my lips.
I can’t stop the curl of a smirk that gives me away.
“Nooo, I thought you said he was mean.” Grabbing her neck, she gasps, her long lashes adding to the drama of her rounding eyes. “He’s so mean. Fi.” She adds in a baby voice with a pout to boot.
“He was,” I concede, watching as he finishes the drink and handing it to a passing server.
His eyes never leave mine. Slipping one hand in his suit pocket, he takes out what looks like a credit card. A server materializes out of nowhere. He speaks to the man, his eyes still steady on me. With a brief nod, the man disappears. He looks at me seemingly forever.
My heart races. I don’t understand what’s happening. He looks positively feral. Why does that make parts of me that have long lay dormant awaken with a ferocity I haven’t felt since I lost the love of my life — a passion I never got to experience despite the love we shared? I felt like I was too tainted and Justice thought ironically that I was too pure.
“Uh-uh, babe, he ain’t the one.” I barely hear Fi’s ferocious whisper as I watch him slice me with one long, lingering look before he pivots and leaves without a backward look.
I sit back, disappointment bracketing me like a deluge on a hot summer day in Birmingham. Only it’s nowhere near as comforting. Only leaves the ick you feel when hot, steamy clothes cling to you as you bake in the sweltering heat of summer sun.
“He left.” I raise my gaze to her worried one. Being one of the four people who knows my story, she’s fiercely protective of me. Maybe too much sometimes.
He’s not worth it,” she tells me with a steel resolve in her tone, letting me know she’ll fight me on this if need be.
“Babe, you say that about everyone with your cock blocking tail.” I scoff, pulling the near empty Remy towards me but having no desire to drain the rest of the drink.
“Well, we both know I ain’t blocking no cocks, hunnie.” I can’t help breaking into a little giggle at her naughty words.
“You ain’t never lied,” I tell her.
“He’s not a terrible choice.” Slowly turning the glass in slow revolutions, I wonder at his mercurial behavior. A man blowing hot and cold with me is unusual. Most can’t wait to tell the lie about me sexually. There’s no doubt he’s heard about my escapades. I know more than one guy who’s put off by my so-called active sex life, even the NBA player who himself has a notorious reputation for his love life. When we dated one time after I’d set him on a merry chase of conquest, he was so preoccupied with those he thought were my many ex-lovers. He got dumped without even a kiss, bless his heart. I’m too grown to baby men. I don’t speak about my past. No one deserves my story until they have proven themselves worthy of my trust. I know from loving Justice that when I love, I love hard. Lose myself completely in the glow of their adoration. I wanted to breathe Justice in and will never forgive myself for being so close, only to lose it all. Loving me back then cost him his life as much as his mom’s activism.
“His loss.” I tip my glass to my bestie.
“Damn straight.” Glasses clink. I drink down the rest of my Remy, ignoring the twinge of disappointment.
“Excuse me.” Turning, I look into the eyes of the same server Hassan spoke to earlier.
He holds a silver tray in my direction with a black card placed on a linen napkin.
I barely hear Fi scoff, “I know you fucking lying,”