Page 1 of Siren's Heart

Millie

"Kayla!" I shout excitedly when I see my best friend as I turn the corner to the next way-too-gray carpeted corridor of our record label and run up to her.

She turns around, confusion etched into her face, but the wrinkle between her eyebrows smooths out right before I crash into her and fling my arms around her. She stumbles, but finds her balance against one of the bleak walls. "Oh my God, I missed you! How have you been?"

"It's barely been a week, Millie," she chuckles and returns the hug, made awkward since I’m trapping her arms around her torso. "You act like it's been months."

"It might as well have been. We missed you at the family dinner." I let her go and narrow my eyes as I raise an eyebrow at her. We link arms as we begin to walk down the corridor. Our record label is one of the best around. Why they haven’t managed to hire an interior designer for their offices is beyond me. I’d get depressed if I had to work in these rooms decorated in different shades of gray for longer than a day.

"I've been busy," Kayla says apologetically with a shrug, and I grimace when that movement lifts my arm along and makes my shoulder move unnaturally. With her almost six-foot-frame, she's quite a bit taller than my five-three, which I tend to forget since I usually wear platform high heels that bring us closer in height. Not today, though. Those things kill my feet, so I'm not about to wear them to a boring meeting with our manager.

My eyes get caught on our reflections as we walk past an empty meeting room with glass walls, and I chuckle. Today, Kayla’s brown hair is gathered up in a messy bun, while my blonde hair is in a braid. She's wearing jeans and a black pullover, and I'm wearing a pink skirt and a beige, long-armed knitted shirt. She's even wearing her glasses, which she only needs to read, but she prefers to wear them when she’s out and about, so people have a harder time recognizing her.

We're polar opposites, and that's what makes us us. The Siren's. Pop duo extraordinaire. Beloved and hated by the world at the same time. It's a weird balance to have when your fans adore you, but there are also a bunch of people out there who hope you disappear from the face of the earth.

"I saw," I say, feigning annoyance, and roll my eyes. "Up and about doing scandalous things with Josh. I read it was a ‘touching reunion.’" I add with air quotes, and she bumps me with her hip when I wiggle my eyebrows suggestively, making me giggle and fall out of step with her.

"Those damned roaches.” An exhausted sigh leaves her lips, and her shoulders sag with weariness. "I don't know what their fixation is, but I'm so sick of it."

"Same, but it–"

"Comes with the territory," she interrupts me, sighing heavily. "I know. Doesn't mean I like seeing my private life on the front page of the tabloids."

"Again, same." I grimace, and in my periphery, I see her face tighten, a muscle ticking in her jaw, and her fingers dig into my hips as we round a corner. "At least for you, it’s a ‘touching reunion,’ not ‘sneak around’ or ‘inappropriate meeting.’”

Because that’s the way it is for me. I’m not sure about the exact mechanics of public relations and how this came to be, but the different takes that the media has on Kayla and me meeting men is just unreal. And what’s more, having a private life has become utterly impossible with their persistence.

Every date, every boyfriend, paparazzi latch onto that shit like mosquitoes to my skin in summer. In the beginning, men love the attention, thinking it's the coolest thing that could happen to them.

They stop thinking that when the speculations begin. Will her current boyfriend propose within two weeks? Is he cheating with his stylist? They were seen together in her store! And who is that brown-haired woman?

I think most of them could have dealt with that kind of attention. Then add to that the headlines that forget he has a name and just call him ‘Millie’s boyfriend.’ Of all the things the media does, that’s where most have drawn the line.

Fair to say that it's hard to find boyfriends. Or friends in general. Some of my former boyfriends have asked me not to go public with our relationship, but they forgot to consider, that there's no such thing as a secret in the entertainment industry. Someone always spills the tea, in most cases, someone from their circle of family or friends who sees their five minutes of fame in exposing intimate details about our relationship. More than once, I've seen it destroy families when they shift into the focus of attention and argue about their split opinions on our relationship.

My solution? No more dating–done, finished, stick a fork in it. At this point, it’s become more of a hassle than a joy, and it always ends with everyone getting hurt. One day, I’ll find someone worth the trouble. But until then, I’ll try to keep to myself and not give the vultures anything to prey on.

Not that this has stopped any speculation in the media, but I meant what I said. It comes with the territory. As long as nobody innocent is dragged into it, as long as I’m the only one dealing with the lack of privacy and hurtful speculations, they can write whatever they want.

"So, why are we here today?" I clear my throat and change topics, my calves already starting to hurt from walking fast to keep up with Kayla.

"I have no idea. Probably about a new album," Kayla murmurs and comes to a stop in front of the only door in the hallway, with light protruding from a small gap at the bottom. She lets me go and straightens her back, rolling back her shoulders and taking a deep breath before directing her eyes at me. "Let's find out."

"You want us to do what?" I ask with wide eyes and jump up from my seat, pacing the sterile-looking room as Naroa, our manager, looks between Kayla and me with a proud smile on her face.

She's a powerhouse of a woman, only slightly taller than me, but her presence and no-bullshit attitude easily make her seem seven-foot tall. Today, her black hair is falling down her shoulders, and she’s wearing a business-casual look with linen pants and a loose blouse; a tell-tale sign that this is an informal meeting. Otherwise, she would be dressed to the nines, her hair in a strict bun with her hair sleeked to her head, her flawless tan skin hidden under subtle, yet noticeable makeup. But today is what I like to call a 'girls' talk meeting,’ where none of us sees the need to dress up, and we can talk freely about what's happening next, completely off the record.

"I want you to perform at the half-time show of the VIP Charity Match happening next month," she repeats, biting her lip to stop her smile from breaking her face into two. It's not a question of whether we want to do the show. She's stating it as a fact, which means she’s already agreed.

"Why haven't we heard of this?" Kayla raises her eyebrow, tapping her fingers against the table, an unreadable expression on her face. Either she’s happy as a kid on Christmas morning because, truth be told, it does sound like fun, or irritated it’s happening so soon, and this is the first we’ve ever even heard of it.

"This is the first year they're doing the match," Naroa explains, subtly checking the handwritten notes on her pad. "It's American football, just to clarify, and celebrities from all niches will participate. Actors, singers, and I think they’ve even got a few agency executives to join. All the players will be divided into two teams, and the winning team gets to choose which charities will receive all of the donations obtained. It’s basically a celebrity Super Bowl for charity.

“Initially, they had Mia for the half-time show, but something came up in her schedule, and she won't be able to make it." A chuckle underlines her words, but they punch the air out of my lungs. Wait, what?

I freeze. My foot is half up in the air as I'm in the midst of a step when I slowly turn to Kayla, like a ballerina in a music box, only a lot less graceful, our eyes growing wider and wider once they meet, both of us thinking the exact same thing. Did I hear her right?

"Mia?" Kayla finds her voice first, shock as prevalent in her tone as the static in my ears as I’m trying to come to terms with what Naroa just revealed. Simultaneously, the both of us slowly turn our heads to look at her. "The Mia? Blonde hair, global superstar, and everyone’s sweetheart?"

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