Page 38 of Her Dark Angel

I swallow hard, my resolve slipping. He looks haunting standing in the darkness like that, his eyes slightly illuminated by the lights shining above the set. I’m convinced the wings tattooed on his back could shoot out from his skin at any second like a fallen angel.

If I’m a little devil, then he’s fucking Satan.

13

NASH

Anytime we get a call from James to say the label wants to see us, usually it could be one of two things. One, they want to discuss the upcoming record and where we’re at with the songs in production, or two, they want to chew our asses out for bad press in the tabloids. With my fake relationship with Kinsley being the most talked about in the media for the past three weeks, I’m hoping it’s the former.

As far as I know, the media and everyone worldwide has bought the fake relationship. Thank fuck. It didn’t take long for photos of the little devil and me to be on the front page of every magazine and newspaper. With headlines reading, Respected actress is dating the lead singer of a problematic rock band. How long will their relationship last? It’s just one bullshit headline after the next.

But the publicity stunt seems to be working, as far as I know. James has told us our record sales are through the roof at the moment. Many fans are demanding more merch, records, and even concerts. It was a pleasant surprise, to say the least, to hear such feedback after only three weeks into the fake relationship. I can only imagine what will happen by the end of the contract.

Our driver has the radio playing softly in the front. Even at this volume, I hear the male reporter mention my name.

“Now, Sonya, I know you’re just as shocked as I am to hear Nash Beck is now a taken man. And by Kinsley May of all people. At first, I couldn’t believe it, given Nash’s track record. But it seems the two are an item and a popular one at that.”

“You’re right, Jerry. Every tabloid magazine has their faces splashed across it. I must admit that it’s good to see Nash on the straight and narrow now. If anyone can change a man like Nash Beck, it’s Kinsley May, Hollywood’s Sweetheart.”

I roll my eyes. It’s not the first time a reporter has said this in the past three weeks. And it probably won’t be the last.

“What do you think the label wants to talk to us about?” Hudson asks from beside me as the limo rolls to a stop out the front of Black Box Record Label.

“Who knows,” Luca says from the seat across from me. He runs his fingers through the ends of his long hair. “It could be anything, really. Although, I doubt we will be getting our asses chewed out.”

Axel frowns beside him. “What makes you think that?”

“Nash’s publicity stunt with Blondie has been going well, no?” Luca comments with a shrug.

“He’s right.” I take a drag from the cherry between my lips. Smoke spills from my lips like a dragon breathing fire. “They must want to see us about the record.”

“How is the last song coming along?” Hudson asks, his gray eyes meeting mine.

I drag my lip ring between my teeth and contemplate my answer. I can’t tell them I’ve made no progress in the song other than finalizing the instrumental because I have no fucking clue what to do about the lyrics. Nothing is coming to me, and it’s driving me insane. I can't force the song because then it’ll turn out shit. I need to let the inspiration come to me. But it’s taking way too long, and it’s frustrating beyond belief.

“Yeah. Fine,” I respond, and take another drag from the cigarette. “Anyway, let’s get inside and get this over with.”

The four of us pile out of the black limousine and head inside the sleek building. When we enter the foyer, all eyes turn to us. The blonde receptionist smiles and waves from the front desk, while everyone else passing by stops to stare at the four men in leather pants, chains, big hair, and black shirts.

They’re acting like they’ve never seen a fucking rock band despite working at a record label.

We head toward the elevator and ride it to the fifteenth floor. The doors open to a large office space with cubicles and offices. Stale smoke mixed with cheap perfume and cologne lingers in the air.

As we walk toward the meeting room where James and our producer are waiting for us, I feel the eyes of the workers watching us as we pass by. It’s not an unusual feeling, to say the least. I hated being watched at first when Dark Angel started to grow in the media, but now it doesn’t bother me in the slightest.

James stands from his chair when we enter the room and gestures for us to take a seat around the rectangular table. Mandy, our producer and head of the label, gives us a warm smile as we take a seat.

I blow out a long breath as I lean back in the leather chair, regarding Mandy from across the table. She’s an older woman with graying hair, wrinkles around her eyes, and the fiercest features known to man. She is the type of woman who could chew your balls and spit them out in your face. I learned very quickly not to fuck with her because she is ruthless and refuses to take my shit. I guess you have to be in this industry.

“How is my favorite band doing?” Mandy asks, although I know she’s not looking for a response. She knows how we’re doing since she speaks to James every day. “Now, there are two things I want to discuss today.”

Great. Here we fucking go.

“One,” Mandy continues, her eyes finding mine across the table, “I want to thank Nash for putting in the effort with the publicity stunt with Miss May. Sales for records and merch have skyrocketed and the fans are demanding more.”

“Nice.” Axel grins. “Couldn’t have done it without our Nashie boy.”

“That’s correct,” Mandy says with a nod. “If it wasn’t for him committing to the deal, then we wouldn’t be able to put on a surprise concert next week at the Memorial Coliseum.”

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