Page 4 of Vita Mia

“They don’t make Vod-Bombs here,” a soft voice spoke to his left.

Ryder glanced over.

Another beauty was at his side. She smiled up at him. He was taken aback by her smile. It was the friendliest he’d seen since he arrived.

“You’re ordering a drink for college kids. Here, you’re supposed to order top-shelf. Say something like Gin and Dubbonet. And if you want to let your nuts hang order what my brothers do. A Hangman’s blood,” she whispered into his ear.

She turned sideways and faced him as she leaned at the bar. He took the time to get a good look at her. She had dark black hair with an Egyptian style cut that went past her shoulders. Her skin was deep and flawless. Maybe it was the track lights from above them and around the bar that made her look more bronze than brown. He wasn’t sure. But she had a refreshing difference to the other women present. She was born to be different. He could tell. And she wore a dress like the singer Lola. Except hers was golden and sleeveless. Her breasts were pushed up nicely and her waist so petite the curve of her hips and ass was any man’s dream. What struck Ryder the most wasn’t her hypnotic beauty. She had an accent. An Italian accent that rivaled her African American appearance. It chimed in her voice and rolled from her tongue so playfully sweet he wanted her to speak again. Ryder pushed his glasses up on his nose.

“You don’t belong here,” she said.

“Why do you say that?” he asked.

“You know why. How did you get in here?” she teased.

He didn’t answer. She had to be his age. How the fuck did she know he didn’t belong? And what exactly would belonging mean?

She leaned in closer. When she did the security goons whose gazes were shielded by dark lenses heads turned, and all attention was reverted to them. It was like their moves were the commands of a puppeteer. You’d see the Secret Service do the same when a commoner stepped to the President. Smooth and lethal. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end. She must have noticed. She glanced back and then again to him.

“They’re watching you,” she whispered.

“Who the fuck are they?” Ryder answered.

“Don’t worry. They only bite if I tell them too.”

“Then who the fuck are you?”

“I’m MiaBella!” She extended her hand. “My friends call me Mia.”

“Ryder,” he said and shook her hand.

“I saw you checking out Lola. She’s good. Isn’t she?”

“Ah, yeah,” Ryder stammered.

“She’s my cousin. I manage her,” Mia said. “Well, sorta. I’m more of her social media agent. My brother has her signed to his record label. But I do all the real work, when I can. I’m in school so it’s hard to keep up with her.” Mia then turned her gaze back to him. “I like that name. Ryder. Where are you from?”

“Atlanta, originally. I moved to New York a few years ago.”

“Is it true what they say of Atlanta? That it’s poppin’, and where all the black people live?”

Ryder frowned. She was black and didn’t know. He wasn’t sure how to answer. When he didn’t answer she chuckled.

“Enjoying yourself?” she asked.

“Huh?” he stammered.

“At the party?”

He nodded. “Yeah, some party. Never seen so many celebrities in my life.”

“Oh, I get it.”

“Get what?”

“You’re an assistant to someone, huh? This is your first?”

“Ah, yeah, my first,” Ryder said.

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