Promiscuous (Tease 2)

I'm sorry about yesterday. If I hurt you, I didn't mean it.

That one had been sent at six this morning. Finally I clicked on the last message, not sure what to expect.

Give me a call when you can. I hope you're okay.

I smiled and lay back in the bed.

***

Around midday I got up and showered. I had a meeting at the recording studio to run over a few ideas for my latest album. That didn’t bother me, but Ivan would be there. I’d spent weeks combing over my contract, looking for a clause to get out, but he was right—if I fired him, he would sue me, and I could lose everything. I didn’t care about my possessions and money; it was the thought of everything going to him that made me angry. No matter which way I looked at this, he won.

I clutched my jacket tightly around my waist as I walked inside. Ivan and Sam, my producer, sat in the corner in a heated discussion over something. Just when I thought I’d made it past them unnoticed, Ivan looked up and caught my eye.

“Well, look who finally decided to show up,” he said mockingly. “I have no idea where all this attitude is coming from, but if you want to actually continue making a name for yourself in this business, you’d better pull yourself together.”

I wanted to slap him. First of all, I was not late. Secondly, he had no idea where this was coming from?

Bull-fucking-shit. You raped me, you piece-of-shit asshole. You forced yourself on me, and ruined my life. Every fucking day I relive what you did to me, over and over.

Shaking, I stalked into the dressing room. I shrugged off my jacket and my bag. Bending over the table with my palms flat on the surface, I closed my eyes and breathed.

In, out. In, out.

I refused to break down. Crying in front of him only showed him how much his words affected me. I would not give him any more pleasure than he’d already taken. And that was exactly what I did every time I took his bait.

I stood up and pulled my hair back into a ponytail, tying a black rubber band around it. You can do this. Show him nothing.

“So, what are we starting with?” I asked, walking back into the room. I directed my question at Sam.

Ivan studied me, searching for any crack in my mask. His eyes penetrated me, almost daring me to react. On the outside I was cool, calm and collected—the complete opposite of the mess I was feeling internally. Being so close to him . . . I wanted to hide. All I could think of was him, all over me and inside me. Oh God, that smell.

I walked toward the sound booth, anticipating Sam’s response. Or at least that’s how I hoped it looked. I just needed to get away from him. He was too damn close.

“Okay, run from the top. We just want to play around with the layout of the tracks.”

One by one, I ran through the tracks on the album. Three of the songs were set for single release.

I’d written all of them. But that was before. The last two months, I hadn't written anything. It was like my creativity had just dried up.

"Can you go a bit higher with that last note?" asked Sam.

I ran for the melody again, trying to stretch my voice higher, but it cracked.

"Give it another go," he suggested.

I nodded, and then had a thought. “I think we should change the order of those last few lines. I can’t get that note, and I’m not going on stage and making a fool of myself.” I sighed, rubbing my forehead to ease the headache I felt coming on.

“That won’t work,” replied Sam, very matter of fact.

“Who wrote the damn song? If I think a few lines should be altered, then decision made.” I hadn’t meant to sound so crabby. I was in a foul mood and just wanted the session to be over.

I saw Ivan lean over and whisper something in Sam's ear. What was he saying? Probably putting me down or trying to wreck my credibility—not that I needed him to do that. I managed it quite well on my own.

"Okay, maybe we'll leave it for now. I can fix the inconsistencies later. But you might want to lay off some of the late nights, considering the live shows you have coming up." He said it nicely, but it still hurt.

I glared at Ivan, positive that he had put the excuse of my lifestyle in Sam's head.

And besides, my live shows were freaking weeks away. My face burned as I nodded stiffly. I didn't like being chastised. And that's how it felt. More than that, I didn't want Ivan interfering in my life any more than he already had.