without adding the sticky strings of sex to the mix.
“So, I’ve got a few songs from a great writer I’ve worked with before. I’d like you to read over them tonight, get a feel for the flow, then we’ll get started first thing tomorrow morning.”
He was sitting again, not really looking at her but knowing she was there.
“I thought we were having dinner tonight,” she said, then cleared her throat. “I mean, Jason said I’d meet the team tonight at dinner. Doesn’t that include you?”
Akil nodded. “Yes, I’ll be there. But I don’t want you getting it confused with a night on the town in Miami. We’re here to work. I brought you out here because I can focus better in my own space. And for this CD we have a lot to focus on.”
She didn’t like the way he’d said that.
As a matter of fact, Charlene hadn’t liked a thing about Mr. Akil Hutton since the first time she’d met him. Could anybody be as rude and arrogant as him? Probably, but she hadn’t met them yet—which was saying a lot considering her background in L.A. She was finding it hard to swallow these traits from Akil.
She should have expected it, though, she’d told herself repeatedly. He was one of the most sought-after producers on the scene today. She’d been shocked when Jason told her that’s who she’d be working with. Truth be told, this entire situation was still a shock to her.
While she’d always loved to sing, Charlene had never really considered a career in music. Okay, well, that wasn’t exactly true. Else why would she have had a demo CD all ready when Jason asked for one? The recording had taken place more than a year ago when one of her students had written a song and asked her to sing it. When she did he’d offered to record the demo for her. But Charlene had taken those CDs and stuffed them in her dresser drawer, realizing that she’d never have the guts to send them to anyone. As much as she portrayed a strong black woman, with confidence and intelligence, Charlene knew her limitations, her weaknesses, and the main one was her appearance.
She’d never been skinny like Candis, or even petite and curvy like Rachel. That wasn’t who God had meant for her to be, she accepted that. Still, some days she actually did plead with the man upstairs to just reduce her waistline by about five inches, shave off some of her thighs so she could fit in a size fourteen without busting the inner seams. As it stood, today, taking her daily supplements of Levoxyl to help increase the levels of thyroid hormones her body produced, she wore a size sixteen comfortably. And barring any flare-ups she held steady at that size.
So she hadn’t pursued a singing career, hadn’t wanted people staring and gawking at her, possibly talking about her. Teaching was an ideal job because she got the chance to do what she loved and still keep a low profile. However, Rachel and Sofia had convinced her that this was an opportunity she couldn’t pass up, and a small part of her knew they were right. With all her reservations, Charlene knew the smart decision was to at least give it a try. Not every singer received this chance: she’d be awfully ungrateful if she turned it down.
And now here she was, in Miami, standing in the home studio of the famous Akil Hutton wanting nothing more than to either walk out on his rude behind or sink into the floor where he couldn’t notice her—both options held equal appeal at the moment.
Instead, she steeled herself, took a deep breath and pressed on. “We didn’t get a chance to talk a lot about the project in L.A. I’m wondering what type of CD you have in mind.”
Akil didn’t even look up at her as he flicked his hand in her direction and said impatiently, “We’ll get to that later. Just take the songs with you, have Nannette show you to your room and get changed for dinner.”
She’d been dismissed, she was absolutely certain of that fact, and yet she still stood there. Just looking at him.
He wasn’t bad on the eyes, that was also a fact. Smooth tree bark–toned skin, close-cut dark hair and clean-shaven face. He wore slacks and a long-sleeved shirt that melded around taut bicep muscles and, from what she could see, a trim stomach. His hands, she noticed as he continued to work the controls on the board, were medium-size, with long fingers, like a piano player’s. He wore a gold watch but other than that no jewelry, which was outside the norm since most producers were just as jeweled-down as their artists these days.
“Is there something else?” he asked, yanking her out of her “he’s damned good-looking” reverie.
“No,” she said in a clipped tone. “There’s nothing else. See you at dinner.”
And with that she did finally turn, thanking her feet for getting the message, and stalked out of the room.
If this was any indication of how their time working together was going to be, Charlene feared this CD would never see the light of day.
The house was gorgeous, there was absolutely no doubt about that. On the ride in the limo from the airport Charlene had already assumed it would be. They’d only driven on the highway for about forty-five minutes before turning off on a road that seemed to be paved right through a forest. The stately mansion was all white with black bases around each window and a brick-colored shingled roof. It sat nestled between a scenic backdrop of even more trees. It was big and palatial, definitely a home for the enigmatic Akil Hutton.
Nervousness had swamped her as she’d stepped out of the car. The chauffeur, who’d told her at the airport his name was Cliff, had moved quickly to the trunk, unloading the two suitcases she’d brought along with her.
Now, two hours later, in the room Nannette—the pretty Latina housekeeper—had directed her to, she was standing at the window wondering what on earth she was doing. This room faced the back of the house so she had a view of the tennis courts and the corner of the pool where river rocks were piled into a small fountain.
She wasn’t overwhelmed by the space. Her family home in L.A. was just about the size of this one and the homes of some of the people her family had associated with were even bigger. So it wasn’t her surroundings that made her nervous. She attributed that to the man who could make or break her newfound singing career with the snap of a finger.
The low chime of her cell phone disturbed her thoughts and she moved from the window, where she’d probably been standing too long anyway, to get her purse.
“Hello?”
“Hey, Char, thanks for calling to let me know you got to Miami safely.”
Sitting on the bed, Charlene used one hand to smooth down the smoke-gray skirt she planned on wearing to dinner while holding the phone in the other. “Hi, Candis. Sorry, I was sort of caught up the minute I got here.”
“Really?” her older sister, with the sense of humor that skipped Charlene upon her birth, chuckled. “Caught up in what? In the arms of that fine ass Akil Hutton? I still can’t believe he’s going to produce your CD. You have no idea how lucky you are.”
Charlene didn’t even need to close her eyes to see his face again. With a little moan she said, “Girl, please. Akil Hutton isn’t concerned about anything but work. Which is just fine with me because I’d just as soon get this over with.”
“Get it over with? You don’t sound like you’re too happy about this opportunity. Which is plain crazy since you’ve been singing since Mama had you.”
“I know, but I was happy teaching.”
“No.
