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- Chapter Twenty-Three -

Bach

“Ithink you're crazy.”

I opened the door to Beats and Blast for Violet. “Insults like that are better than a cup of coffee, thanks,” I said.

She stabbed me in the chest with her nail as she passed. “It wasn't an insult. Just an observation. I mean, how can you sit on Amina's debut CD for another two days?”

“Because I've sat on it for a week already. Plus, dropping it the day after she blows everyone's' minds at the SoCal Artist Awards is going to give us more attention than we'll know what to do with.”

“You'll figure out how to suffer through all that money, I'm sure,” she teased.

Farrah was standing in front of the doorway to the waiting area outside my conference room. If that wasn't concerning enough, the way she was wringing her hands was. “Mr. Devine...”

“What's wrong?” I asked.

Her eyes shot over her shoulder. “There's someone—some people—here to see you.”

Tightening my mouth, I looked through the glass. There were two older women standing by Farrah's desk. One wore a slate-gray suit, the other was dressed in a bright purple and yellow blouse that was buttoned to the point of strangling her pencil-thin neck.

Violet followed my stare. “Who are they?” she asked softly.

“One of them is a lawyer,” Farrah winced as she said the last word.

“It's fine,” I said, ignoring the paranoia starting to scream in my head. “We deal with lawyers for all sorts of things. Get a grip, both of you.” Clinging to my false bravado, I entered the waiting area. Both women turned to face me—neither was smiling. “Hello there. I'm Bach Devine, how can I help you two?”

The woman in the suit extended her hand; her grip was strong, no nonsense. “I'm Dana Marks, the lawyer representing Ms. Summer,” she gestured at the other person, “in her case against Amina Richards.”

“Case? What case?” I asked, drawing myself up.

That woman—Aya Summer—came closer. She looked at me like I was a roach she'd found in her coffee cup. “I was Amina's guardian when her parents passed away. She and I signed a contract with Pickadillie Records when she was fifteen.”

Sweat blossomed along my spine. “Ex-fucking-scuse me?”

Violet cleared her throat as she stood beside me. “Could we see some proof of this?” Dana fished out a packet of papers from a binder under her arm. Violet's sharp eyes scanned it cover to cover, and though she was done in under a minute, I watched her expression shift wildly. From doubt... to distress... to defeat. “This kind of contract is disgusting. And Amina was only a kid when she signed!”