Chapter 3
Andreas voiceechoes through the club. It completely destroys the armor Ive worked around my heart for so long, making me feel like dust being blown away by the wind.
My gaze remains fixed on her. Its impressive, isnt it? says Jackson from beside me.
I nod in response, silent. He stopped by to make sure that everything went well with the show. In the end, it did.
Behind the curtain, we can both see Andrea, her sweat-peaked forehead bathed in the lights. Her hands are clenched into fists, and her lips are open to allow the strength of her voice to sweep through every single person present in the club.
I never thought such a powerful voice could come from someone so petite, I say, marveling at the contrast between her delicate frame and the force of her singing.
Jackson looks at me. He seems intrigued by the hidden meaning within my words, but says nothing about it.
Instead, he waits while Andrea dedicates the last notes of her concert to the audience. A wave of applause races through the crowd seconds before she spreads a beautiful smile across her lips and wipes away the sweat with one of her hands.
I could never have imagined that someone could make me feel so many things at once.
Jackson pats my shoulder and turns around. Ill go check on our other superstar, my best friend says as he retreats back to the dressing room.
I imagine hes referring to Logan, which I’m not worried about. Instead, I turn my attention back to Andrea.
Watching her emerge from the dressing room as Drea Joy surprised me.
My little mouse entered but the pop sensation exited.
Now, a blonde wig conceals Andreas fiery locks that Ive seen cascade in soft waves around her delicate face, one that now hides behind the industrys mask.
My marketing team plastered her image on every surface they could find, but they captured a persona, not the woman.
Drea Joys allure is undeniable, a crafted beacon of stardom that draws the masses. Yet, my gut clenches because its Andreas raw, unfiltered talent that truly captivates me.
Shes more than this glitzy facade, more than what the crowd craves. And I know it—because Ive been down this road before.
The road where the stage blurs the line between real and performance, where authenticity is traded for applause.
Natalie... her shadow flickers in my thoughts, a haunting silhouette of a past that taught me love and the spotlight dont mix.
I wont dwell on the details, not here, not now. Those wounds have scabbed over, toughened by the lessons they left behind. But the scar tissue tightens around my chest at the sight of Andrea, no, Drea Joy, and the familiar strain of caution tugs at me.
I cant afford another Natalie, cant risk the fall.
Yet, here I am, hovering on the brink with Andrea. Her presence stirs something, a dangerous cocktail of attraction and apprehension.
The tension coils between us, an electric, silent standoff. Shes oblivious to the storm shes reigniting in me, the battle of desire versus defense.
I swallow the knot of mixed emotions, my gaze lingering as she continues her sold-out performance. The beautiful woman at the center of everyones universe for the night.
But its Andrea I want to know. Andrea I want to see when the last note fades and the lights dim. That thought alone is a risk—a risk Im not sure Im ready to take again.
The thunderous applause pulls me from the darkness of thoughts.
Andrea retraces her steps after a wave of cheers and applause, and she waves goodbye to the audience.
You were amazing! says her manager, the first to approach the girl before he hugs her.
I can’t tell whether he notices the expression of discomfort that furrows her face or not, but either way, its clear that this girl doesnt like to be touched right off the bat.
But Andrea restrains herself from making any comments. “Thank you,” she whispers, almost shyly.
It’s a mystery to me how a woman who is able to convey such strength with her voice suddenly becomes such a submissive person. She seems to be like a chameleon.
Her gaze and mine cross for a moment, but she immediately averts hers. Her cheeks, red from her exertion on stage, seem to take on a darker tint as she tries to avoid my gaze.
Well, this is interesting.
Without thinking, I follow Andrea and Brandon to the dressing rooms, guided by the magnetism she exudes.
But as soon as we arrive, Brandon turns and tries to stop me.
Brandons eyebrows knit together, forming a comical V-shape on his forehead. In a voice thats supposed to sound authoritative, he says, Im afraid we have no more use for your company, Mr. McAllister.
I disagree, I say.
My eyes dont waver from her as she catches my stare, her cheeks flushing an even deeper shade of red. Her gaze darts away, but not before I see the faintest glimmer of... something.
Intrigue? Desire?
She bites her lower lip, the action sending a jolt of heat through me. Its a simple, innocent gesture, but on her, its anything but.
My heartbeat quickens, and I know Im in deep. I cant turn away from her light. And I know I won’t be able to let this go.
Actually, Brandon, I say, my eyes flicking to him, my associates are waiting for you in the clubs private area. Some contract details need your... attention. I smirk, my words heavy with innuendo. Id hate for you to keep them... unfulfilled.
Brandons cheeks redden, but he doesnt miss a beat. Of course, Mr. McAllister. Ill... uh, Ill... be right there. He stumbles over his words.
Thats fine, Brandon. You can go. Those deep aquamarine eyes are fixed on me, so deep I feel like I could dive into them.
For a moment, Brandon waits.
Follow the hallway straight ahead. Its the last door on the left, I tell him.
Brandon mumbles something under his breath but quickly leaves once he realizes he has nothing else to do.
Only then does Andrea turn and enter the dressing room. I follow her in.
She removes a glittery jacket. Her pale arms are exposed, and I notice a strange tattoo on her left shoulder blade.
Andrea has the lyrics of one of her songs tattooed on her skin, along with something else. There’s a symbol there that I can barely make out.
Did you like the concert, Mr. McAllister? She drops to the couch, her skin still flustered from performing.
As she says my name, I can tell shes not quite at ease in my company, but I find the way she speaks it strangely appealing.
I nod, vaguely distracted by her fingers running through sweat-soaked red hair as she gathers it into an unruly ponytail.
I nod, unable to tear my eyes from her. I did, I confess, my gaze drawn to her every graceful motion. Then, I lower to the other end of the couch.
The dressing room exuded old Hollywood glamor with its plush couches, oversized vanity, and vintage-style dressing screen, but Andrea is all I see.
She opens one of the water bottles. She sits cross-legged on one of the couches and takes a long sip.
Her intense gaze lands on me. I can see it again, beneath the blue and the submission, the fire that burns deep inside her.
I remind myself that Im not facing a sneaky mouse but a lethal feline prowling its prey.
What was the song you enjoyed the most?
Broken, I answer without hesitation.
Andreas eyebrow arches, and she leans in, her eyes shining with curiosity. Not many people consider that one their favorite.
Im not most people.
Andreas on my mind, a constant loop that wont shut off. I try to focus on the clubs business, the numbers, the deals, but shes there, behind every spreadsheet and phone call.
I replay her concert, her voice wrapping around me, an echo in the otherwise silent room. Melodies that made me sit at my piano for the first time in years. If only to feel closer to her.
Its that one song though, Broken, that haunts me. The raw emotion in her tone, it resonates somewhere deep.
All I have to do is close my eyes, and Im there—the stage, the lights, her. Each note she hits, its like shes reaching out, and damn, how I want to reach back.
The lyrics cut too deep, too real for anyones liking. They clash with her usual innocent, flawless facade in other songs.
Why precisely that song? she asks.
Because I understand what you mean by the lyrics, I admit.
Broken is a song about the force with which we sometimes break ourselves until we feel we cant rebuild ourselves again.
The song shifts to a somber, plaintive melody, painting a vivid picture of a bird that sacrifices its feathers for love. As the music swells and then fades, youre left to wonder if the bird ever regained its wings to soar or if it plummeted into the endless darkness, destined to miss the dawns warmth.
My soul needed it, Andrea admits.
Her serious response and her beginning to play with her hair, braiding a strand and then undoing it repeatedly, make me realize that she’s uncomfortable.
But not with me, but with herself. Something about that song hurts her deeply.
Tell me why you composed it. I sink back into the plush couch, my body heavy with relief as the muffled music from the club below creates a soothing backdrop.
Andrea looks at me, shrugging her shoulders. Because I was broken.
I take in every detail of her: the messy bun atop her head, the faded vintage t-shirt hugging her slender frame, and the way her high-top sneakers peek out from beneath her tucked-up legs. Its a mix of innocence and raw femininity, but its different from anything Ive ever known.
My life usually attracts women who thrive on the high life: designer dresses, expensive shoes, and faces caked in makeup with enhancements to match. Theyre all about flattery, flirting, and mindless sex.
Not conversations about song lyrics.
It was the kind of breaking that made me feel like Id never be put back together again. Like I shattered into a million pieces, and even if I managed to pick up the shards, the cracks would always remain.
Andreas words wrap around my chest, squeezing my heart. I know the feeling. I know the shards and my cracks remain.
What about you? Why do you like the lyrics? Her eyes bore into mine, demanding an answer. A part of me flinches, well-versed in the art of evasion.
Safety lies in silence, but the truth tugs at my heartstrings.
Because Im human. I shrug, trying to make it sound like it doesnt hit too close to home.
People dont think about the shattered parts of men, the way life and love can upend everything they know about themselves. But it happens, even to the best of us. And men arent immune.
One of her eyebrows rises. If she looked interested before, now she’s even more intrigued. Who shattered you? she asks bluntly.
Not who broke your heart.
Not who fucked your best friend.
But who shattered you?
Natalie.
A vivid image materializes in my mind, like a kaleidoscopes vibrant pattern swirling into focus. Clear eyes in the middle of a milky-skinned face, with a mischievous smile and dark hair that frames her face.
The vision quickly blurs. Someone who made me realize that I will never allow myself to be broken again.
You only think that because youre still shattered, she says, her words as blunt as ever. But broken things can heal and become much stronger than when they began.
Andrea rises gracefully, her movements fluid as she glides toward the folding screen nestled discreetly in the corner of the room.
The fabric rustles softly as she moves behind the screen, and I cant help but imagine her undressing, each garment whispering its secrets as it caresses her skin and then falls to the floor.
The mental image of her, bare and beautiful—her beasts, her hips, her thighs—sends a surge of heat through my veins, and I tense, fighting the primal urge to picture her in such a vulnerable state.
The folding screen trembles ever so slightly, a tantalizing dance that teases the outline of her naked form as she dresses on the other side. I clench my fists, fighting the allure of the forbidden fantasies that threaten to consume me, yearning to drown in the depths of her.
When she steps back out, she’s wearing an old concert T-shirt with a vintage Bob Marley t-shirt, leggings, and high-top sneakers complete her look.
A part of me wants to taste her red lips and wrap her tongue around mine.
The urge comes abruptly and unexpectedly, but I restrain myself. I open and close my hands slowly until I’m calm again.
Almost at the same time, footsteps can be heard on the other side of the door, and Brandon bursts hurriedly into the room.
His frightened, nervous gaze darts between Andrea and me at a rapid pace, as if he feared he had left a little lamb alone with a hungry wolf.
Youre not far off the mark, I think.
Ready to go? Brandon asks lightly, mockingly.
Andrea nods and grabs a worn jean jacket from a nearby armrest. Its been a pleasure chatting with you, Mr. McAllister.
Likewise.
On her way to the door, she stumbles. My instincts are quick and catch her before she falls.
Our hands brush for a fleeting second, but its enough to make my skin erupt in goosebumps.
Andreas jaw drops, and she sucks in a sharp breath as if shed just been slapped. The surprise in her eyes is a delicious treat, and I cant help but smirk.
I lean in closer, relishing her discomfort. You should be careful, little lamb, I say in a low purr, whispering in her ear.
Ill remember that.
Lets go, Drea, Brandon grips her arm, and a low growl escapes me.
Brandon loosens his hold, and her cunning eyes lock on mine. She mumbles what sounds like thank you.
I nod, knowing I cant just let her walk away.
She lets go of my hands slowly, almost as if it hurts. Looking down at her, I notice that the hair on her arms has risen as well.
Bye.
See you soon, I say, watching her leave, knowing that my words are not a goodbye.
Instead, I think of them as a promise.