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I push open my bedroom door and smile. Three of the four walls are solid white, with the main wall where my bed sits painted with horizontal black and white stripes. The four-poster bed is accented by a large canopy hanging from the ceiling by ropes. In the corner is my desk with a wire chair and fluffy pillow. The desk is blue, matching the blue quilt on my bed. Blue and yellow are speckled throughout the room along with more items in black and white. Like my black dresser with a large yellow-framed mirror hanging above it. It’s different, but it’s my style.
I kick my shoes off and they land on the fluffy white rug. It was important to me to have a large rug to soften the floors since the whole house is hardwood.
I take off my outer shirt, leaving me in a white tank top and jeans. I press the button on my Bluetooth speaker and music begins to play.
Music is the steady drum that beats my heart. Without it I would die.
I guess that’s why I decided to study music production and composition. Growing up so close to the music industry—my dad is a member of one of the most popular bands in theworld, Willow Creek—it was bound to rub off on me.
When I told my dad I wanted to pursue a career in music, but behind the scenes, he told me he was proud but it was onmeto make it happen. He wasn’t going to give me a leg up in the industry.
I admire him for it. I didn’t want it handed to me anyway. I want to make a name for myself and not be known as Joshua Hayes’s daughter who only got where she is based on her last name.
He does let me work at the record company he started in our small town to get hands-on experience, but I’m a coffee bitch, more commonly known as an intern.
We all have to start somewhere and I’m not going to complain.
The door to my bathroom swings open, steam billowing out and I whirl around, my body sliding effortlessly into a fighting stance.
My jaw drops.
“Who the hell are you?” I stare at the gorgeous guy in front of me. His brown hair is damp and shaggy, hanging into impossibly golden colored eyes. His chest is bare and while he’s on the thinner side it’s obvious he works out a lot. He’s muscular and ripped. I swallow thickly, my eyes zeroing in on his bare chest and then sliding down to the towel hanging precariously on his hips.
Mia, stop staring at him! He’s probably homeless and broke into your house. Do something!
“I know jiu-jitsu,” I warn.
His lips tip up into a half-smirk. “Is that so?” His voice is raspy and impossibly sexy.
Snap out of it! You don’t even know who this guy is and he just came out of your bathroom.
“Why are you in my bathroom?” I ask, not losing my fighting stance.
“Uh … I needed a shower … obviously.”
“There are like fifteen bathrooms in this house, why mine?” I ask. Okay, there aren’t fifteen. More like five and a half, but whatever.
“Because I was told by Mrs. Hayes, I could use this one since my friends needed to shower too,” he says in aduhtone, swinging his thumb over his shoulder back toward the bathroom. “Are you going to stay in that position forever?” He flicks his fingers lazily over me.
“Yes,”I seethe. “I don’t know you. You could’ve broken in.”
He crosses his arms over his chest. “I explained to you I wastoldI could shower in this bathroom. If I was told, why would I be a burglar? Also, if I was breaking in, there are a lot more interesting things I could do. I mean … looking at this girly room of yours, I’d say searching for your diary would be far more fun.” He looks me over and I glare, my eyes on fire.
“I don’t have a diary.”
“Oh really Curly Sue?”
“My name is Mia,” I bite out.
“I know.”
“You know? How is it possible you know me, and I don’t knowyou.”
I hate to admit it, but his face is not one I’d be likely to ever forget.
“You’re Hayes’s daughter.”
“You know my dad too?” I seethe.
