Page 11 of Before the Encore

Bonnie stiffened. Her focus shifted to the well-defined nape, the gentle flex of muscle. Madison’s smooth skin reacted to her every breath, strength rippling across the surface, her steady pulse beating underneath. A delicate rhythm, fragile and powerful. Intimate in a way that had no right to be.

For a moment, Bonnie wondered how it might feel underneath her lips.

Heat warmed her cheeks.

Jesus. She swallowed and looked away. It’d been so long since she’d dated anyone that even Madison Moore had the slightest appeal. “You’re fine.”

She sucked in a steady breath, casting that intrusive thought far away where she could never touch it again. Don’t let her get to you. Bonnie was playing right into Madison’s game.

“Sweet.” Madison straightened, reaching for the door. “Shall we go make some music?”

She nodded, warmth hitting her face as she stepped outside. Her chest tightened, and she forced a lungful of air in through her nose, then back out again.

I am grateful. I am open. I trust in the universe.

But as she followed Madison through the large double doors into the studio, her mantra fizzled away, becoming little more than empty words.

Chapter Four

Bonnie

Thankfully, it didn’t take long for Lipstick Fever to set up in the studio. Their manager, Roberto, had delivered their instruments yesterday; it was their bandmates they couldn’t keep track of. They didn’t hide their relief at Madison’s appearance, quickly chased by confusion of her arrival with Bonnie. But Madison played it off, diffusing the situation, charming their producer, Evan, and reducing Scarlett to a colour matching her name—all without breaking a sweat.

If Madison wasn’t the Antichrist wearing eyeliner, she’d be impressed.

Evan wanted to lay down the drum track for Lipstick Fever’s song first, as Bonnie’s band had already recorded hers for the demo. She only needed Madison’s vocals for the verse and chorus on her track, but they’d agreed yesterday to credit the band as a whole as it was beneficial for their promotion. In return, Lipstick Fever had access to Evan and the studio to record their single, ‘White Smoke’, featuring Bonnie’s vocals.

A win-win for everyone. Pfft.

Bonnie observed Kamaria through the window, black braids flying wild as her hands blurred over the drum kit. Muted thuds bled through the thick glass. Evan bobbed his head inside the control room, fingers sliding over the console. Frank stood beside Bonnie, a line carved between his brows like the worries of the world rested on his bony shoulders. She swore he kept glancing at her, but whenever she looked, he quickly averted his gaze.

She sighed, inhaling Bailey’s suffocating aftershave. With Madison in the lounge, she’d been blessed with the managers droning on about cars and business. Usually, Bonnie would be in the lounge too, but she needed some distance from Madison.

An unsettling feeling pulsed beneath the surface of her mind. A feeling she didn’t want to examine. Because whatever vulnerability Bonnie thought she had glimpsed in Madison that morning had disappeared so quickly, Bonnie must’ve imagined it. Clearly, the woman had some sort of ulterior motive, so she let the chatter of fuel economy and performance distract her.

Recording days were long. Realistically, Bonnie didn’t need to be here until later this morning, but it beat worrying about Lipstick Fever from her house in the Palisades. At least at the studio, she could keep an eye on them. Though one particular member had since kept her distance too.

When Frank replaced Kamaria to lay down the bass, Bonnie padded down the hallway to the lounge, warm light highlighting the framed platinum albums hanging on the white walls. She needed the fresh air; Bailey’s sour scent clung to the inside of her brain, and Madison was next in the booth. Whatever she was doing, she needed to prepare for the recording. Who knew if she’d even learnt the lyrics to Bonnie’s song?

Inside the wood panelled lounge, Madison reclined on one of the brown leather sofas like she owned it. One arm cradled her head as she hummed to a song playing in her earphones. Rich, earthy coffee scented the air, steaming from a mug on the table.

Bonnie couldn’t understand it. Madison’s first time in one of the best studios in the world had been spent alone, away from the magic. Hungover or not, you’d think she’d want to watch.

“The drums are done,” Bonnie said, eyeing Madison’s scuffed Docs bouncing off the edge of the sofa arm. “Frank’s in the booth now.”

When Madison didn’t respond, Bonnie repeated herself, louder this time, before releasing a huff and nudging Madison’s shoulder.

Blue eyes snapped open, pinning her. “What?”

“Frank’s recording the bass now, and then you’re up.”

“Okay. Cool.”

“Cool?” Bonnie couldn’t stop the frown forming between her eyebrows. “How can you be so…blasé about this?”

“I’m rehearsing, listening to your track.” She held up her earphone. “You’re disturbing my creative process.”

Guilt twinged at her, and she took a step back. “Oh, sorry. I’ll—”