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I sighed as I closed the heavy door behind me, fully enclosing me in the sleek, warm, cozy room. The soundboard was lit up, headphones were scattered on the table next to it. Beyond the glass was the booth where there were high-end microphones and instruments left from the last session.
I usually found Jackson here, tinkering away with his latest melodies and beats. But he wasn’t here today. Kind of out of character for him, if I was being honest.
I let myself get lost in the memories that flooded my brain whenever I was here. They were the times when I spent every moment I could, locked in here, making new music, and trying different techniques and sounds. Just wanting to create something,anything. I wanted tobesomething, something big.
It was easy for me to say that the studio was my safe space, where I could simply not worry about anything else and be myself.
“And damn, ain’t that a prize when I can’t even go out in public by myself anymore,” I said to no one. Still, I found myself stretching out on one of the couches, finally having some form of peace.
Unfortunately, it was short-lived.
A sudden force sent the door swinging open loudly, jolting me up from lying down.
“Damian!” Jackson shouted as he strolled in, his dark brown eyes lighting up as he saw me enjoying a little peace and quiet. He was wearing a bright blue oversized hoodie and broke out in some dance that was, in all likelihood, courtesy of social media. Unfortunately, the tall, lanky boy had zero coordination. If I didn’t know Jackson better, I would have thought for sure he was just trying to get a rise out of me; annoy me into starting a fight or something. But we’d known each other for years, and, unfortunately, this was just Jackson’s way of saying hello. He was all energy and light and probably the best person I knew.
“Hiding from your adoring fans and subordinates again, huh?” he teased as he dropped into his chair in front of his equipment.
I barked a laugh as I returned to my reclined position on the leather couch.
“It’s not really calming to have someone always on your tail, you know? They all want something,” I told him, closing my eyes as I took a deep breath. “At least in here, I don’t have to worry about any of that. Nothing at all.”
Jackson chuckled lightly, clearly amused by my stress. At this point, he probably knew me better than anyone else. Making four albums together would do that to two people. Or was it five albums?
“So… youdon’tplan on working on your next album today is what I’m getting from this conversation,” he pointed out, prompting me to open my eyes. He was looking at the boards, and starting to play with different sounds and beats. “You know, you could have stayed home if all you wanted to do was to take a nap and be left alone. You didn’t need to come to bother me in my workplace to do that.”
“Ha ha,” I muttered, letting my head fall back again. Jackson was always a joker. I always told him that if he ever got bored of being the greatest music producer on the planet, he could be a comedian. “If you want to be technical, this is my building. So this is my couch. So I can nap here if I want to.”
“So, that’s a ‘no’ on the music today, then?” I rolled my eyes but didn’t answer. “You know you’re the one who set the deadline for your next album, right?”
Instinctively, I grabbed the nearest pillow on the couch and buried my face in it while I groaned dramatically.
“I know. I know. I know.” My voice was muffled by the pillow but I noticed it got suspiciously quiet.
I dropped the pillow and saw Jackson had turned toward me, leaning back in his chair, staring thoughtfully.
“Well, I guess we can skip today. We don’t have any studio assistants, anyway, and God forbid we move and tune the instruments ourselves, right?” His words were joking, but his tone sounded like he was bored, which was confirmed when Jackson stood up and started pacing. I felt a little guilty since I was the one delaying work.
“I wonder what’s taking Sadie so long? How hard is it to find an assistant in Los Angeles?” Jackson muttered more to himself than to me, but I couldn’t help the chuckle that escaped.
Jackson whipped his head toward me. His eyes narrowed and his eyebrows furrowed. I feigned innocence and shrugged, hands up like I had no idea. Jackson crossed his arms, maintaining his glare.
“I don’t like this,” he said, waving a hand in my direction. “I don’t like this look, Damian. Man, did you fire the new studio assistant already?”
I barked a laugh and shook my head, remembering my encounter with the new hire earlier. Her eyes were filled with an intense burning that had piqued my interest then, and continued to long after I had walked away.
“Honestly? I don’t think she’s the type to leave that easily even if I had fired her. She had…spunk.”
Jackson rolled his eyes and continued to pace as I remembered wild honey-brown eyes that shone with irritation and indignation toward me.
And, getting back to my relaxed position, I realized I couldn’t wait to see her again.
Chapter 3
Damian
IknewexactlywhoI was. Damian Apollo was a name that was known all throughout the world, and there was no pretending about the fame. I didn’t want to be a celebrity who pretended to avoid fame, who presented themselves as down-to-earth and just like everyone else. I learned very quickly that celebrities were very much not like everyone else.
Some people thought my outlook counted as boasting about my success and even if I tried to explain, I wouldn’t be able to change their minds. That was one of the things that made celebrities different; everyone in the world thought theyknewyou. They felt they were owed their assumptions and that their judgment was completely fair because a celebrity invited them into their lives. People either loved or hated celebrities. Rarely was there ever any gray areas.
