Page 221 of The Morally Grey Billionaires Boxset

Solene

I blink and Karma’s excited features come into view. "Uh, you were saying something about your friend, Isla?"

"Yes, yes." Karma nods with enthusiasm. "She’s not married—or pregnant— unlike the rest of us old farts."

"Wait, you’re pregnant?"

"Not showing yet." She tilts the phone down and pats her belly. "But only eight months more until I officially join the leagues of sleep-deprived but pretending-to-glow-mothers."

My head spins from the info dump.

"Not that I’m old. It's a manner of speaking."

I nod. Best to let Karma exhaust herself… She has to run out of words eventually, right?

“Olivia and I are older than you, and we’re married. Isla isn’t and is going through something similar."

"She’s trying to become a singer?"

Karma scoffs. "No, I mean on the 'matters of the heart' front."

"Ah, sure. Although, I don’t know how useful it’s going to be for us to message each other without meeting face to face."

"I’m sure you two will get along really well."

My phone buzzes:

Harry: You’re going to be awesome today. I can feel it. Can you feel it? Remember best to leave two hours before your appointment time. LA traffic!

Mama mia, why does everyone I meet sound like they belong in a failed American sitcom?

Probably because the characters in the sitcom are based on people like them in the first place.

Also, why is getting from one part of LA to the next an exercise in patience and fancy car maneuvering?

Not that I dare to navigate the traffic. I leave that to Rick.

How I miss the breezy half-hour car rides to any destination, which is all it took to get anywhere in Napoli. Or better still, walking everywhere. A concept that was met with horror from Harry. Welcome to my reality, folks. Guess I’ll have to take his advice and use the treadmill.

Of course, there's the beach, but apparently, celebs don’t use the beach because—paps.

I pointed out I wasn’t a celeb, to which Harry responded I needed to act like one so I would become one.

A logic I don’t quite understand. Either way, he convinced me it's best to use the gym in Declan’s basement, and no, I’m not complaining.

Just adjusting. That’s all. I paste a smile on my lips and wave at the screen. "I've gotta go, girls."

"Okay, I’ll put you in touch with Isla and—" Karma begins, but Olivia cuts her off.

"Solene, you should contact Abby."

"Eh?"

"Abigail Warren. Remember, you two used to keep in touch?"

Abby has a Mafia background like me, and we bonded when we met once on her family’s trip to Italy. We've kept in touch but moving to LA disrupted that.

"I haven’t messaged her since I came to LA," I admit.

"Exactly. And I don’t mean to just pull names out of a hat and insist you friend them. I want to make sure you know you have a virtual circle of women rooting for you."

"We all are." Karma pops her head in front of Olivia. "Can’t wait to see you hit the big time!"

"Thank you so much, you two." Tears prick my eyes. Ridiculous. I’m fine. I’m going to be fine.

I’m living the life I've always wanted. I’m here, trying to make it big in my chosen field.

I’m going to be more than fine. I’m going to be great!

I swallow down the ball of emotion in my throat and blow them a kiss. "I really do need to leave, guys!"

I disconnect the call, drop the phone into my bag, and walk out of the room. Taking the steps two at a time, I head out the front door. Rick has the door of the limo open for me already.

I pause and wrinkle my nose. "Can’t we use a smaller car?" I hold up my palms facing each other and bring them together. "Something more compact?"

He laughs. "This is LA. Everything is bigger than normal. Also, this car is safer for you."

"Safer?"

"It’s bulletproof."

"Oh." I blink rapidly. I come from a space where it’s not uncommon to hear of random shootings, and I remember walking into the kitchen to see my mother sewing up my father’s wounds when he was alive, but to find myself at the receiving end of the protection is disconcerting.

"You sure I need that?"

"Just following orders."

"Ah." So, Declan hasn’t forgotten about me completely? He may not speak with me, but he’s left instructions for my safety.

Is that good or bad? Either way, I’m simply happy I’m able to leave the house.

I’d spent the last few weeks focused on writing and creating music—and Declan helped here, too.

He had Rick show me to a studio he’d set up for me in the basement of his place. All of which is so confusing.

The man cares for me—he has to with everything he’s done—but he’s still avoiding me. I slide into the backseat. Rick shuts the door behind me, then takes the driver’s seat and eases the car forward.

"That was good!" Harry claps from his position behind the producer in the control room of the studio. I slip off the headphones and crack my neck. I’ve been recording, or trying to record, for the last six hours. We’ve stopped for breaks, and the producer has stopped often to steer the direction my voice was taking. Which isn’t something I’m used to.

Singing itself, is not the issue. I’ve been singing since I was five.

It's following his directions as he tries to change the natural trajectory of the melody I’d planned.

Oh, and he's not happy about the lyrics. He finds them too niche. Yep, niche versus mainstream is an argument I’m already becoming too familiar with.

"Was it really?" I scowl at him through the glass wall that separates the recording booth from the rest of the studio.

"Umm, uh, it's better than what you started with," he offers.

"I still don’t understand why you want me to change my lyrics and the arrangement I had in mind."

"Because it’s not—"

"Mainstream enough." Yeah, I got that. The hair on the nape of my neck rises. I glance around the recording booth. Nope, can’t see any cameras in here. So, why does it feel like I’m being watched? Must be my imagination. A chill runs up my spine, and I shudder. "I think I’ve had enough for today."

I place my headphones on the narrow counter then walk out of the live room.

"We’re not done yet," Harry cries.

"We are for now."

"But—"

I walk up to him and plant my palms on my hips. "I really am thankful you’re taking a chance on me. I am. But if I can’t record the song as I imagined it, then I’m not sure I want to do it, anyway."

"I have more than twenty years’ experience in this field. I've built some of the biggest names in this business from scratch. I—"

I hold up my hand. "You’re a genius when it comes to creating stars from singers. I understand. What I’m questioning is if that’s what I want to be."

He stares at me for a few seconds, then bursts out laughing. "Everyone wants to be a star."

"I’m not saying I don’t want it. But I don’t think I want it enough to get it by being something I’m not."

He searches my features, then takes a step back.

"I’ve seen a lot of young girls come here with dreams in their eyes.

I’ve seen most fail. Very, very few succeed.

The ones that do are not always the ones that work the hardest, but it’s the ones that work the cleverest. The ones who know where to focus their efforts.

The ones who know how to play to the lowest common denominator so they're accessible to as many people as possible. "

I narrow my gaze. "You mean, the ones who are eager enough to give up their true selves and change, until they don’t know what they stand for anymore?"

He raises a shoulder. "I’ve heard all the arguments. Ultimately, it’s about what the audience wants—"

"Exactly, and how do you know what they do or don't want if you don’t even try to show something new to them?"

He blows out a gust of breath, and his jaws shake.

With his short stature and pot belly, not to mention, the bald head, he looks like someone’s adorable uncle.

Except for his eyes, which are bright and shrewd…

The look of a man who’s seen a lot. He has the experience to know what works, I’ll grant him that.

Only, I’m not sure if it works for me. I open my mouth to tell him, but he holds up his hand.

"It’s only our first day working together. And perhaps, I pushed you too much—"

"It’s not the hours or the hard work that bothers me. It’s trying to become something I’m not. It doesn’t feel right."

"There are many a principle you’ll have to bend to get to the top," he warns.

"Not from where I am. I had to make enough compromises to become someone I wasn’t growing up. I didn’t leave that only to come here and conform to someone else’s idea of what I should sing or not."

His features soften. "I’m almost touched by the courage of your conviction and your ideals. It’s good to have them. Just know, they may cause you to miss out on a lot of big opportunities."

"Then perhaps those opportunities are not for me."

He half smiles. "It’s late; you’re tired. Sleep on it and see what you make of it tomorrow, huh?"

"But—"

"Trust me on this. Don’t make any decisions when you’re exhausted. Wait until you’ve mulled it over, okay?"

I nod slowly, then grab my bag and leave.

By the time I reach home, I’m both pissed off and upset.

That didn’t go the way I wanted it to at all.

I'm sure Declan’s housekeeper left me food in the fridge, but the thought of another dinner on my own?

Nope, not what I want right now. I head up to my room, pull out my phone and call the person I’ve been meaning to speak to for a few days. The call is answered on the first ring.

"Hello?"

"Abby, it’s me."

"Solene?" She accepts the video call, and her familiar features fill the screen. I swallow down the ball of emotion that clogs my throat. Gosh, I’ve missed her.

It's great to have a sister like Olivia who's so concerned about me, but she's Declan’s friend. Not that she’d empathize with him more, but I'm uncomfortable about keeping Declan and my previous association secret from her.

I appreciate her and Karma putting me in touch with Isla, and I do intend to connect with her, but Abby?

She's not only an old friend, but also neutral territory. If there’s anyone I can unburden myself to, it's her.

"Abby," my voice cracks. I clear my throat. "It’s so good to hear your voice."

"Girl, don’t go disappearing on me like that again.

" She looks around herself and says, "I’m at work.

Let me find a room where I can talk to you.

" She rises from her seat and walks across the floor and into what looks like a conference room.

She shuts the door behind her, then looks into the phone screen.

"Are you okay? Where have you been? I’ve been trying to reach you. "

I wince. "I’m sorry, there’s so much I want to tell you."

"Wait, let me guess. Did you get married?"

"Umm, no."

"But you’ve met someone?"

I hesitate.

"I knew it. Is he the same man who appeared in your room and then got beat up by your brother?" Her face falls a little when she says, "Also, sorry about your brother."

"Me, too." I begin to pace. "You know how Diego was forever shooting his mouth off. He had no restraint. And in his line of work, that doesn’t bode well. It was only a matter of time before he overstepped the line."

"It must still hurt; he was your brother."

I bite the inside of my cheek. "Would it be terrible if I said I'm relieved he is gone? It makes me feel like a free woman."

She nods slowly. "I understand. It’s how I felt when I finally shored up the courage to leave home."

"It’s why you’re my role model. When I grow up, I want to be just like you."

She laughs. "My life is far from perfect. When I turned down my father’s help, I didn’t realize it meant living in a small one-bedroom place, scraping by from paycheck to paycheck."

"But you’re happy."

"Very," she says softly. "I was lucky my father didn’t stop me when I turned eighteen and made my bid for freedom. I was so worried that you wouldn’t get that chance."

"I almost didn’t. If it hadn’t been for Declan, I might never have had the courage to leave, either."

"Declan huh?" Her eyes sparkle. "So that’s his name? And you’re with him now?"

I laugh. "Yes, and yes. I’m in LA—"

"LA huh?” She blinks rapidly, “So, he became an actor after all?"

"Quite a famous one, actually." I bite down on my lower lip and say, "His full name is—"

"Declan Beauchamp?!" she bursts out.

Then, seeing the guilty look on my face, her gaze widens. "OMG, you really are with Declan Beauchamp, the villain in the last Bond Film?"

"Not with him; just staying in his house."

"He asked you to come along to LA, then invited you to stay in his house. You’re with him."

I drag my fingers through my hair. "I’d rather not discuss him with you right now."

"I’d rather not discuss anything else but that with you, but—" She holds up a hand. "I respect your wishes. So, why is it you called?"

"I have this conundrum. Should I perform the songs as I love them, or as my manager thinks I should?"

"What does your gut say?"

"That I sing them the way I imagined them."

She raises a shoulder. "There you go."

I laugh. "He’ll never let me perform them that way."

"The internet," she declares.

"Eh? Not sure what you mean."

"You have a phone, don’t you? Record your song, upload it to the internet, and let your listeners vote with their ears."

"I can do that?"

"Solene, please. I know you’ve been cloistered by your family, but surely, you've had a phone all these years?"

I glance away.

"You didn’t have a phone?"

"The old-fashioned kind, attached to the wall, where everyone in the house can hear you? I had one of those."

I peer up from under my lashes to find she’s looking at me with sympathy. "Shit, and I thought my family was bad."

"They didn’t want me to end up like Olivia."

She draws in a breath. "I’m a PR professional babe, so you came to the right place. I'm gonna tell you exactly how to do it."