Chapter Three
CHAPTER THREE
Quinn sat on her balcony with her back to the sunrise. She scrolled through the Reddit thread her friend and publicist, Ivy, had sent along with a text which read, Don’t let this ruin your day.
Quinn is booked and busy this Solstice Music Week. Here’s why.
Below the headline were a couple of photos she’d taken with fans. The photos were cropped; everybody’s smiling faces cut out. As a result, Quinn stood alone, smiling broadly, headphones slung around her neck, hair wild, fingers raised in a V, and always wearing some variation of a bikini top and a miniskirt. The subtext was clear: Quinn coasts on her looks .
The replies poured in. Coast to coast, guys had sharp opinions backed by blurry photos taken from the far end of crowds. They picked her apart, painted her as every DJ booker’s wet dream. It was unanimous. Her appearance gave her an unfair advantage in an already rigged game. As if standing around looking pretty could get the job done. Drawing in a crowd wasn’t enough, you had to thrill them, excite them, show them something new – a new song or a new spin on an old track. In a city overflowing with options, you could easily get ignored. Quinn did what she could to stand out, but it didn’t stop there. She was an artist. She could deliver, no matter what she was wearing, a lace bra or a wool jumper.
Back to Ivy and her ‘ Don’t let this ruin your day ’ take on all this. As if Quinn hadn’t worked her arse off to create a signature sound, grow a fan base, build a brand, and stand out in an industry dominated by MEN, only to let a mosquito of a man on Reddit come along and ruin it for her.
Nice try!
After years of playing at private parties in penthouses, mansions, and yachts, Quinn had Summer Solstice to look forward to. The music festival might as well be Oz, a gleaming city on the horizon. Nothing, certainly not some troll, was going to distract her.
Quinn finally looked up and took in the view. Moments like this sharpened her focus. She’d left a loving family behind, moved cities, moved continents, broke hearts, kissed friends goodbye, all to chase a dream. It had paid off. She’d made a name for herself. More than that, she’d made her dreams come true.
Quinn lived in a city that lived for fun, every day a party, which meant she was in her element. That was why she was booked, busy, and in her bag this Music Week.
She tossed her phone aside. Time to crack on with her Sunday routine. She got dressed and took off for bootcamp.
Bootcamp was not the sweet escape she’d counted on. Quinn arrived early and, as always, picked a spot, rolled out a mat, chose her weights, grabbed a towel, and slipped out to the adjoining room to stretch. It was usually quiet there, and Quinn enjoyed the downtime before her class filled up. Not this morning! A young Black woman with braids was giving the punching bag the beating of its life. It was enough to drive her away. She wanted peace and quiet, not whatever show of force this was. She returned to her mat, but the image of the girl lingered. Why did she look so familiar? Quinn was sure she had never seen this person before. She was a stranger – a stranger who could pack a punch.
She chalked the odd feeling to a critical lack of sleep. She’d been working non-stop these past few weeks. Instead of lying in, like a sensible person, she stuck to her routines. A cup of tea on her balcony at dawn, an early workout, breakfast, and a studio session – that was the structure of her mornings. Her nights were chaotic. Her mornings brought her calm.
From squats to push-ups to planks, the feeling of déjà vu stayed with her. Then from nowhere, the memories came rushing back. The braids, the stride, the proud chin, the slurred words, the request. Survivor! This wasn’t even their second encounter. Hadn’t they bumped into each other, earlier last night, in the ladies’ room? There was a moment when … Never mind that. Who was she? Why was she popping up everywhere? Where had she learned to throw punches like that? The better question was: why hadn’t she swung at the guys last night? She’d folded so easily. It was heartbreaking to watch. Though, even in the ladies’ room she’d seemed … off.
After class, Quinn poked around for her. She toured the weight room, Pilates room, and cardio floor, but she was nowhere to be found. She dropped the matter and decided to grab a smoothie at the snack bar. And there she was, standing alone and looking frazzled.
Quinn called out to her. ‘Hey, you!’
She glanced over and instantly went pale. If Quinn weren’t blocking the entrance, she suspected the woman would have bolted.
‘Relax! I don’t bite,’ Quinn said. ‘A little surprised to see you here. That’s all.’
‘I’m not stalking you,’ she said, quickly.
‘It’s fine,’ she said. ‘Sorry about the guys taunting you like that. They’re the worst.’
‘Well, I’m sorry if I offended you.’
‘You didn’t,’ Quinn said. ‘I don’t take requests. It’s that simple. I’m not a wedding DJ. Imagine if I showed up at your job and told you what to do.’
For some reason, she flinched. ‘You’re right. I interrupted you at work and made a scene. It was your event, not my private pity party.’
‘Next time you want to throw one of those, book me. I’ll make it fun.’
‘No, thanks,’ she said. ‘I’ll pass.’
‘My favourite people!’
Hugo Olivera, everybody’s best mate, walked into the snack bar, radiant with a post-workout glow. He drew Survivor Girl into a one-arm hug and planted a kiss on her forehead. So, this was the friend they had in common.
‘Quinn, you’ve finally met my favourite sister,’ Hugo said.
Quinn looked from one to the other, not catching the resemblance.
‘Sister-in-law,’ Survivor Girl said, clearing up the confusion.
‘Kya is Adrian’s little sister, and what’s his is mine,’ Hugo explained. ‘That’s how marriage works.’
Kya … Quinn rolled the name around her mind like a pretty marble.
‘This is Jade Quinn, my DJ friend,’ Hugo continued. ‘The one I told you about.’
They faced each other armed with this new information.
‘Nice to meet you, Jade.’
How nice was it really when Kya sounded so sour? ‘Call me Quinn or I don’t answer,’ she said. A silence passed between them.
‘ Iced lavender matcha latte for Kya! ’
‘That’s me!’ Kya slipped away to retrieve her order. She returned with the drink in hand and an excuse to justify her hasty retreat. ‘I’m going to clear out my locker. See you later, H.’
‘Take your time,’ Hugo said. ‘Adrian should be done with the HIIT class in ten.’
Kya nodded in Quinn’s general direction and walked out, back straight, braids swinging.
‘I didn’t know Adrian had a sister.’
‘Kya lives out west, Silicon Valley. She’s a sweetheart.’
‘That girl is no sweetheart, mate!’
He laughed good-naturedly. ‘Okay! You got me. Kya is a killer. How did you meet?’
‘She requested a song last night.’
‘That doesn’t sound like her,’ Hugo said, frowning. ‘Which song?’
‘Never mind,’ Quinn replied. That was between her and Kya. ‘This was nice, but I’ve gotta run. I have a gig tonight.’
‘Anything fun?’
‘No … This is one of the dull ones to pay the bills.’
‘Have you ever considered marrying rich?’ he asked, teasing.
‘I would, but I’m not the marrying kind!’
Quinn went home, had her breakfast, spent a couple hours in her studio working on a new set, played her gig, went straight to bed, and was up with the sun. Back at the fitness club, she picked a spot, rolled out a mat, chose her weights, grabbed a towel, and slipped out to the adjoining room. She wasn’t seeking Kya out. She was going through the motions of her day. It just so happened it led her straight to Kya.
There she was, moving confidently around the bag. Each punch landed in staccato rhythm. She held her gloved hands close to her face, struck with force, and swayed out of the way. Her long braids, gathered loosely, whirled with each swing. It was not like Quinn to stare, but Kya had a way of commanding attention even as she kept to herself.
Like the day before, Quinn returned to her mat. After class, she did not have to search the fitness club for her. She knew exactly where she’d be, at the smoothie bar, ordering a lavender latte.
She did not panic this time around. She didn’t react in any way. Her dark eyes were inscrutable. Yet overall, she looked more miserable than anyone had a right to be so early in the morning. She picked up her order at the counter and approached Quinn. ‘I was a bitch yesterday,’ she said.
‘A little bit.’
Kya blinked back surprise. ‘All right. See you around.’
She strode away, head high, spine stiff.
Wow. As it turned out, Kya could be a bitch two days in a row.
Quinn ordered a protein shake. On her way out of the snack bar, she encountered Hugo.
‘Have you seen Kya?’ he asked.
‘I have.’
‘Do you know where she went?’
‘I’d be the last one to know.’
All that girl ever did was glare at Quinn, mumble a few words, and storm off.
Hugo tossed a towel over his shoulder. ‘She’s going through something.’
‘Aren’t we all?’
‘Not you,’ he said, grinning. ‘You’re winning, getting gigs, playing at Solstice …’
He was right. Quinn was winning. So, why was she letting this odd girl get under her skin?
‘Kya is not herself.’
‘You might be wrong there,’ Quinn said. ‘I think this is exactly who she is.’
‘Even on her best days, she’s withdrawn. She’s not a people person,’ he explained. ‘You’d be better off messaging her on LinkedIn. That’s where she hangs out.’
‘You’re joking?’
‘She’s super career-driven. That’s part of the problem.’
Quinn had a long-abandoned LinkedIn account; the password was anyone’s guess.
‘Trust me. She’s going through something right now. All I want is for her to have some fun.’
Kya did look quite miserable. ‘Did she at least have fun Saturday night?’
‘No,’ Hugo said. ‘Don’t take it personally. It wasn’t her scene.’
It was hard not to take it personally when it was your job. She was career-driven, too.
‘Why not bring her to Golden Hour later?’ Quinn asked. ‘She might like it better. Moody speakeasies aren’t for everyone.’
Hugo considered the suggestion. ‘We’ll see.’