Chapter One  

        Walking on stage in a white dress that clung to her sexy curves, Mori Labron’s beautiful smile hid her pain inside. Once she stood in the spotlight, she grabbed the microphone, ready to put the past behind. She aimed to pour her soul into the audience. They had paid hard-earned money for a night of entertainment. And she had paid in her own way, too. For five years she had dreamed of this moment--the one that had been robbed from her.

        A lush saxophone played the intro to the ballad Mori had composed. As the soulful rendition seeped down to her bones, Mori’s heart shaped face expressed both torture and sultriness. Lyrics about a woman done wrong flowed with breathy sweetness, before progressing with a prowess that had many in the audience standing and waving a hand and others shouting, “Sing your song, girl! Sing it!”

        As her penny colored skin shimmered like satin among the club’s candlelight, Mori couldn’t feel her heart racing like it had when she first graced the stage. Neither did she fight the weakness in her legs or tremble in her hands, which followed her to the spotlight. Swept up in the stirring mélange created by the other amazing sounding instruments that joined in, she released all the emotion she had to give.

        Five years earlier, when her so-called friend and fellow songstress, Rasheeda Lee, had betrayed her, destroying her world, Mori’s spirit felt so kicked around and battered, she doubted that a dreamy night like this would ever become reality. Rumbling applause and a standing ovation soon validated her victory. This night played out beyond her fantasies, beyond what she ever expected. All Mori could do was utter a “Thank you”, absorb the magic, close her eyes, and poise her silken pipes for the next haunting melody.

 ?

        His sleek, dark skin bathed in the candlelit ambience of The Mocha Haven, Bryce Richards hadn’t bothered to take a seat. Striding inside the refined, but earthy establishment, adorned with rich woods, russet bricks, and dark velvets, his six-foot-four frame had stopped short nearby the entrance. The songbird mesmerized him.

        A superstar couldn’t have been packaged more exquisitely from his viewpoint. Shoulder length curls framed a face made ultra sensuous because of her exotic eyes, plump lips, and delicately contoured cheeks. And as her body swayed to the slow, seductive rhythm, Bryce observed males in the packed club losing themselves in her hips’ curves. As a record label owner and astute businessman, he acknowledged that this vocalist had the look and stage presence that he always sought in his artists. Above all, she possessed the characteristic that exemplified a true star: the woman could sing!

        A cute, delicious-butt-shaker failed to be enough for Bryce to draw up a lucrative recording contract. A man, who prided himself on acquiring the highest quality of everything, he demanded a total entertainer. The instant the chanteuse’s set concluded, he intended to speak with her.

         Bryce found life so unpredictable. He had visited Madera Beach for pleasure and relaxation, not to check out the talent. In fact, whenever he purposely searched for singers, the showstoppers eluded him.  

        His fiancée, Rasheeda, and he, planned this trip to unwind, enjoy the fruits of their labor, and reconnect with each other. Since her third album had flopped on the record charts, she had been a difficult person to live with, often acting as if she resented him. At this precise moment, she lounged at the hotel. When Bryce attempted to entice her to step out for some nightclub entertainment, she had no interest in basking in another performer’s glory.         
        Much the opposite, he yearned for some live music. Rasheeda begged him to remain in the suite with her. He promised to be back by midnight.

        Bryce had heard spectacular things about the up-and-coming South Carolina getaway, Madera Beach. So far, everything turned out to be true. Seaside cabarets, pristine beaches, golfer’s greenery, water sports, great shopping, and a host of other exciting activities, the vacation paradise lived up to his expectations thus far. If only it could perk up Rasheeda’s spirit. 

         Although with his new fascination with this singer, Bryce predicted more of her gripes and crankiness. Surely, Rasheeda would begrudge his desire to sign another female solo artist. She already complained that he didn’t grant her career enough attention. In any case, Pure Soul Records was his company. He hired whomever he wanted to.

 ?

        Backstage, over an hour later, Mori closed the dressing room door behind the last of fans who visited her after her show. Immediately she spun around and hugged the club’s owner, who stood behind her. When she uncoupled from Jonathan Carare’s broad shoulders, she restrained happy-tears.

        “Jonathan, thank you so much for taking a chance on me. I had so many doubts about driving down here and auditioning. But you’re the reason this trip was not in vain.”

        Jonathan’s dark, sparkling eyes gazed at Mori for a long while before he picked up her hand and brushed it with his lips. “Didn’t I tell you to call me, Jon?”

        “Yes,” Mori said, wishing the curly-haired, muscle man wasn’t such a flirt.

        Possibly then she could have considered going out with the pretty boy. But she had known men like Jonathan Carare years earlier when she sang backup for the girl group Diva Seduction. Because he was gorgeous and knew it, and knew the affect he had on the opposite sex, he came on strong to every woman who crossed his path. He was a headache, an ulcer, and high blood pressure waiting to happen.

        However, Mori had to admit that Jonathan wasn’t all mischief. He took a big chance and bestowed to her a life-changing opportunity. After all, for five years she had shunned singing in front of anyone, and had never sang a solo lead gig even with the group. For his belief in her, she planned to repay his kindness.

        “So call me Jon,” he said, opening the door. “And do think about us having a bite to eat after the crowd leaves tonight, so we can get to know each other.” He winked.

        Mori eyed him playfully rather than take him seriously. Once the door closed, she plopped down on the vanity seat. Instantly, she thought about the audience members who swarmed her dressing room earlier, gushing about her how much they loved her voice. So many days in the past, she had dreamed about her music touching people that way. 

        A one time back up singer, Mori had lacked the vocal power to grant such praise years ago. She sounded nice, not great. Desiring to be great desperately, practicing diligently, and honing her skills, made all the difference in the world.

        Deep in her heart, she had always longed to be a soloist—a real powerhouse soul diva like Gladys Knight, Aretha Franklin, Patti Labelle, and Whitney Houston. This night proved dreams did come true. The rapture of it all made up for so much. At times, the past years had been unbearable. Though, she refused to ponder on that now. She wanted to mingle and let everyone know that she appreciated their patronage.

        Mori stood, and just as she did, a knock on the door startled and excited her.  

        “Bryce Richards, Pure Soul Records,” a male voice spoke through the door.

        A thrill-wave shot through Mori despite her not recognizing the name of the man, or his company, Pure Soul Records. She had refused to read, watch, or listen to anything associated with the music industry since her blacklisting. It hurt too much. That way she avoided hearing her songs on the radio or reading about their success, and knowing the millions in royalties they accumulated went in someone else’s bank account—her so-called friend’s, Rasheeda.

        After the shock of the visitor wore off, Mori glanced in the mirror and smoothed her dress down. She swung the door open, and her head automatically lurched back a fraction. A tall, well-built, handsome man faced her. He made her think umm.

        Approximately thirty-something like her, he had a no nonsense expression. Mori couldn’t help focusing her gaze on the firm set of his mouth. It was outlined with an ultra groomed line of hair, which accentuated one of the sexiest, thin mustaches she had ever seen. She thanked God for the night’s delicious surprises. 

        “Ms. Labron, the owner, Jonathan, said that it was all right for me to speak with you in your dressing room. I hope you don’t mind.”

        Feeling her heart racing, Mori gestured for him to enter the room. “It’s fine. It’s nice to meet you. And call me Mori.”

        “I’m Bryce, then,” he said, stepping in and then turning toward her. “And I’m sure you’ve heard of Pure Soul Records.” 

        Mori shook her head. “No, I haven’t. I’ve stayed away from everything associated with the music scene for the past years. Stuff happened years ago, but I’m ready now.”

        Her statements intrigued Bryce, but he continued his train of thought. “Your voice and singing style blew me away. You can blow! And believe me, if I say you can blow, you can! I don’t give compliments easily. And those songs you wrote were awesome. You’re bad, girl! You probably don’t even know how bad you are! But those of us in the audience were really feeling every word you sang.”

        Glowing from the praise, Mori tugged back a curl that straggled by her eye. “Thank you. Those are some compliments.”

        “I mean it. And I’d like to sit down and talk to you for a while about my company, your plans, and what we can do for each other. I’m interested in offering you a recording contract—that’s if our heads are in the same place.”

        Mori’s heart jumped. “You’re interested in recording me under your label?”
        “Yes, I am, young lady.”

         “Oh my God!” She laid her palm against her cheek and gazed across the room in a near trance. Then suddenly realizing how silly she must have acted, Mori looked up in Bryce’s eyes to see if he looked at her as if she was nuts. His richly brown eyes were seductive and intense. Gently they searched her face.  “You’re not messing with me, are you?” Mori asked.

        “Hey, I’m a businessman. I don’t have time to play games and waste time. Since you aren’t familiar with the music scene lately, let me tell you about some of my artists, and what’s happened in their careers.”

        Sticking his hands in his suit’s pants’ pockets, Bryce ran off a list of names that he claimed recorded platinum CDs under Pure Soul Records. Many of the artists Mori recognized because their careers commenced just as she left the business. Then she heard the name that froze her and altered the energy in the room.

        “Rasheeda Lee?” she repeated.

        “You know her?”

        Faintly Mori nodded, the smile drying from her lips. “Yes, I know her a little better than most.”

        “She’s my fiancée,” Bryce shared, detecting a change in her mood. “Her first two CDs went platinum, but this latest one had trouble. But it’s all right. Every career takes a hit at some time. She’ll be back on top again.”

        To that, Mori’s eyes narrowed and her overall expression changed as sharply as her tone. “But she won’t get there riding my back again!”

        Bryce frowned. “What? Did something happen between you two?”

        “You’re damn right it did!”

        Bryce reared back, studying her rage, wondering what had occurred between Rasheeda and this woman to make her react so harshly. “So tell me what’s going on?”

        Mori’s eyes became tighter. “Why don’t you tell me?”

        “Look, I don’t know what you’re mad about. Don’t have a clue.”

        Mori folded her arms. “Oh, I think you do. Rasheeda ran out of my songs. She ran out of the ones that were selling. So she sent you over here to offer me a little something-something, so she can get rich off more of my work. But you have the wrong lady. I’d rather die than do business with that damn thief you’re going to marry!”

        Bryce stood speechless. Her reversal stunned him so much that it took several seconds before the significant word registered. “Thief?”

        “Yes, Rasheeda Lee is the biggest thief in the world!”

        “What are you calling her a thief for? I really don’t know what went on between you two.”

        “Well, if you really don’t know, I’ll be happy to inform you. I was in the group called Diva Seduction with her. Along with another girl, I was a background singer, while Rasheeda sang lead.”

        “And?”

        “Rasheeda and I also wrote music and were trying to get a record contract with the combination of all of our talents. Rasheeda is a fantastic singer as you know, but her songwriting skills were greatly lacking. And whereas I couldn’t sing as well as I do now, my songwriting skills more than made up for it. I had sure enough hits on my hands.

        “One day Rasheeda and I were at my house at the piano, and I showed her some of the music I had written. I had been writing this music since the age of fourteen when I first started composing music. I showed her twenty-five incredible songs, which I had poured my sweat into creating. Rasheeda loved them and started singing them right off.

        “We decided that we would present them to a record company. So I made tapes of my music and let her take the tapes home to practice. She sang them beautifully, and days later, we went into the studio to make a demo of all the songs. It led to us getting a contract offer with Barrington Records.”

        Bryce dabbed his hanky across his suddenly moist forehead. “Yes, Rasheeda’s first singles were with Barrington. Are you saying this because you couldn’t sing great then and got kicked out of the group? You see, I know all the singers that were in that singing group.”

        Mori’s eyes tightened more at his question, and she fought the fullness in her throat, which grew with recounting her nightmare. “I didn’t get kicked out. The problem occurred when I received a disturbing letter from the copyright office. I had sent my songs to them after we were offered the deal. The letter stated it was impossible for me to copyright the songs. They had been copyrighted already—by Rasheeda. She must have done it that day that I let her take my tape of songs home to practice.  She stole my music, my hard work, and put her name on it! The first two albums were such successes because they were all my songs she sang!”

        In wide-eyed astonishment, Bryce shook his head. “No, way! Rasheeda wouldn’t do something like that! That’s criminal! Hell no.”

        “She did! And there is so much more to this story—so much more. But why bother to tell you when you obviously don’t believe me. But then again, maybe you know all this, and she did send you here to rob me again. Well, I have many new, hit songs, but Rasheeda Lee will not be singing them. Would you please leave, Mr. Richards?”

        “You have me wrong,” Bryce said, grasping the doorknob. “I’m not in some conspiracy with her to steal your music. I was just here to offer you an opportunity that could have changed your life. But baby, you just blew it.”

?

        Bryce strode fast down the backstage hallway and out of the Mocha Haven into the sweltering June air. By the time he rode his hotel’s elevator alone, it dawned on him that everything in his path went unnoticed since he left Mori’s dressing room. His mind had held him captive.

        What Mori Labron revealed haunted him. Of course, the woman had to be a liar—a good one, he thought, remembering how agonized she looked. It’s a damn shame, Bryce thought. A voice like Mori’s gracing a CD produced by his label would have created magic. Combined with her songwriting gift, the talented lady would have definitely brought the platinum and triple platinum sales to Pure Soul in full force.

        Aside from that, Bryce sensed Mori liked befriending the public and handled herself well with them. Her likeable aura had the women clamoring backstage, anxious to talk to her. As for the men, Bryce knew they would have lost their minds if they had even seen her up close as he did. She looked even more beautiful than she did on stage.   

 ?

        Inside the dressing room, Mori stood in the same spot that Bryce Richards left her in a half-an-hour ago. Questions and thoughts paralyzed her. What if he didn’t know that she knew Rasheeda? Had she been too fast to accuse him of trying to swindle her? His denying any treachery sounded truthful. Since her drama with Rasheeda, she listened to her gut to alert of a person’s honesty or not.  Overall, the expression on Bryce Richards’s face obsessed her. There was something about his face that contradicted what she accused him of. There was something about his face that made her incapable of getting it out of her head.

 ?

            Moments later, Rasheeda Lee flung her long, crimped locks out of her face and listened to Bryce’s heavy footfalls approaching their suite’s bedroom. She had checked the clock a few minutes before she heard their penthouse door opening. It read 1:45 am.

            “It’s well after midnight,” she pointed out, sliding upward against the headboard, and then turning on the lamplight.

            Avoiding her face because of the anger he heard in her voice, Bryce slipped his arms out of his suit jacket. “I was checking out a promising act. It took longer than expected. Actually it turned out pretty strange.”

            Rasheeda huffed. “You’re not supposed to be checking out some act. We’re not supposed to be down here thinking about business. You’re supposed to be here in this bed with me, making love, making me forget that the thing I wanted most in life is going down the drain. It’s killing me that my CD flopped like that.”

        “So your career is the one thing you wanted most in life?” he remarked, removing his shirt. “I used to think that I was somewhere in the picture, too.”

        “You know what I mean.”

        “No, I don’t know what you mean.” He headed toward the bathroom. “Lately I never know what you mean.”

        Soon drenching his body in the shower’s warm water, Bryce tried to shake off how irritated Rasheeda made him. He knew she wanted to blame him for her CD bombing, as she did so many times before. Yet he refused to let her lay guilt on him. He had put everything into promoting it, but he also understood why it failed so miserably.

        Rasheeda had written bland songs. They were songs that the producers, musicians, engineers, and he disliked—songs that weren’t at all like the ones on her first two albums. However, she had insisted that Bryce fill the CD with them. She insisted that they were fantastic, guaranteed chart-toppers. The buying public told her otherwise.

        It all lured Bryce’s mind to his encounter with Mori Labron. He didn’t want to believe her and shouldn’t have believed such a thing about his woman. But now, considering the high quality of the older songs and the poor quality of the recently recorded ones, he couldn’t turn the confrontation off in his mind.  

        Returning to the bedroom, Bryce wore only black, silk pajama bottoms. He stood in front of the mirror and rubbed coconut oil over his hair, chest, muscles, and arms. When he slid into bed, turning his back to Rasheeda, she leaned over his side.

        “You’re going to get in bed smelling all good and looking all good and tease me, aren’t you?” A giggle laced through her voice. “You want me to beg you tonight, don’t you? If it means getting all that big, hot stuff, I’ll beg, big daddy.”

        “I want to ask you something, Rasheeda, and I want the truth.”

        Ignoring his words and firm tone, she pecked his glistening, muscled arm, whispering, “Give it to me.”

        When Bryce didn’t turn around and reciprocate her affection as he normally did, she gripped his arm, coaxing him around. He peered at her peculiarly.

        To Rasheeda, it was as if he saw her for the first time. “What’s wrong?”

        Bryce studied her large, long-lashed eyes. There was a time he would lose himself in their seductiveness. “Did you steal songs from a lady named Mori Labron?”

         Rasheeda’s heart jumped. Her mouth hung open, and she straightened her posture, flattening her back against the headboard. “Where the hell did that come from?”

        “From Mori Labron. I met her tonight.”  

        “You met her? You met her?” The question sounded like screeching. “That’s where you were? That’s why you were so late, because you were with that washed-up background singer?” Rasheeda hopped out of bed and stood above him with her hands on her hips. “Here I am trying to give you my love, and you’re asking me about some nobody!”

        Bryce sat up, scrutinizing her. “Answer the question please.”

        “What do you mean answer the question? How dare you ask me something like that? How dare you talk to that woman!” Rasheeda picked up a flower vase and flung it across the room. The vase crashed loudly against a closet, but nothing boomed louder than her voice. “I know that witch said some horrible things about me! And from the way you’re acting, you just listened to her!”

        Bryce reared back, stunned at how mad she was. “I didn’t just listen to her. I defended you. I told her that you couldn’t do such a thing. But now I want to hear you say it.”

        “Oh, this is ridiculous. You’re listening to that jealous, crazy, fool!”

        “Why do you talk like that about her?”

        “Because she’s jealous of me! Always has been! My career took off. The label accepted me. I was the voice and the one with the hit music—the star. She was nothing, and I bet she still is.”

        “Not true. She’s one awesome singer! She’s bad!”

        Rasheeda laughed. It was the only way to hide how much his praise for Mori hurt her. “She’s bad all right. The label threw her out on her butt. She was just a background singer and not nearly the best.”

        “Things change, Rasheeda. Don’t you know that?” Bryce stared intently in her eyes, sending her a message. What they felt for each had changed. 

        Rasheeda refused to heed the meaning in his gaze. Dismissing it, she pressed on, “So you’re not telling me that Mori was the act you were checking out?”

         “She sang at the hottest club here, The Mocha Haven.”

        “She sang all right,” Rasheeda remarked with a smirk. “People must have thrown some of everything at her to run her off the stage.”

        “People loved her. I loved her.”

        Rasheeda caught a trace of a smile on Bryce’s face with his revelation. She recalled Mori’s affect on men, particularly a certain man in their past. She would not have it with her Bryce. “What exactly did you love about her?”

        “She sang her heart out.” Bryce propped pillows against his back, making himself more comfortable. “Over the years, she must have really practiced and worked with that instrument of hers, because each time she finished a song, there was a standing ovation. She was so good that I had to speak with her about a contract.”

        “You did what?” Rasheeda screeched at the top of her lungs.

        “I talked to her about a contract. She turned me down because of you, but I still put it out there.”

         Shaking her head slowly, Rasheeda couldn’t believe what she was hearing. It made her feel as if she couldn’t get enough air. Neither could she suppress the malice in her voice. “Well, you better take that idea right out of your head! Because I’m not sleeping with your sorry behind until you do!”

        She grabbed her pillow and slammed the door on her way into the living room.

 ?

        The next day, Rasheeda refused to speak to Bryce. No matter how many times he asked her to go swimming, or if she wanted to laze on a yacht, or if she yearned for seafood from the local outdoor cafe, her lips remained sealed. As well, her gaze evaded him. Nevertheless, while Bryce dressed in his dark blue Boss suit and mentioned that he headed for The Mocha Haven to see Mori’s show, Rasheeda unbuttoned her lips and argued with him about going. Eventually she realized that forbidding him to leave only made him more defiant. Hence, she shimmied into her sexiest, red dress and joined him.

 ?

        At stage side, Mori peeked out between the curtains to view the audience. Joy and excitement sped up from the pit of her stomach, tilting her lips into her soft smile. Jonathan hadn’t exaggerated when he came to her dressing room moments ago, telling her that she packed the house. She didn’t know whether it was word of mouth about her show or the fact that the club was a top rate establishment, which drew the crowds. In any case, she loved it all.

        Scanning the audience, Mori recognized some of the faces from the previous night. Her heart paused a beat when she caught sight of Bryce Richards, and then . . . Rasheeda. Rasheeda, her mind echoed with her heart now racing and thundering up in her ears. Mori couldn’t get over Rasheeda’s nerve to make an appearance tonight. Even so, one thing was for sure; she wouldn’t stop her show. Mori was determined to show Rasheeda what she had learned about singing over the years.

        Minutes later, Jonathan announced Mori to the patrons. Walking onto the stage in a pink, slinky evening gown with a thigh-high split, she emanated pure elegance and sex appeal. When she opened her mouth, and crooned her first tune, those attributes were accentuated by the raw soul that rang from her. Everyone sat riveted.

        Astonished by Mori’s performance, Rasheeda didn’t realize her mouth hung open until she saw Bryce laughing at her. Closing her mouth, she checked out the audience. Mori had absorbed them. What’s more, since Rasheeda’s last CD failed, people weren’t going out of their way to meet her like they used to. Sure, there were those who wanted a picture with her and an autograph. Yet, there were no crowds practically stalking her like before. Worse, in this setting, Mori had captivated everyone so much that she was tempted to do something attention-grabbing to remind them of the true star in the room.     

        When Mori concluded her first set, Bryce turned to Rasheeda. “Didn’t I tell you she was good?”

        Rasheeda patted her mouth, faking a yawn. “I’m tired. Can we leave now?”

        Bryce looked at her, tickled. It amazed him that Rasheeda would have preferred to eat fire than give the woman a compliment. “I’ll get you a cab. I would like to hang around for her next set. I’m in love with Mori’s voice.”

        At that statement, Rasheeda eyes spewed venom. If Bryce kept up this obsession with hearing Mori sing, he would be asking Mori to sign a contract again. She couldn’t allow that to happen. “Bryce, I want you at the penthouse with me. This isn’t fair. We came here to work on our problems, and you’re here creating another by staying here, giving props to this woman who I can’t stand!” She raised her voice, but lowered it when she noticed patrons glancing her way. “Please, let’s go.”

        Bryce took a deep breath and soon followed her. Once they reached the outside of the entrance however, Rasheeda touched his arm. They halted their steps.

        “Honey, while you wait for the cab, I’m just going to duck back inside to go to the ladies room.”

        “Now? Why didn’t you go when we were inside?”

        “Hey, nature calls when it calls,” she kidded.

        Inside the club, Rasheeda bypassed the Ladies Room and hurried backstage. Spotting Jonathan, she recognized him as the man who introduced Mori. Prancing up to him, her red, glossy mouth curved into a huge smile.

        “Could you tell me where Mori Labron’s dressing room is?”

        Jonathan’s eyes twinkled pleasantly. “Mori expecting you? Or are you one of her growing fan base?”

        “I’m a fan,” Rasheeda replied, making herself chuckle.

        Jonathan pointed the way to the dressing room. Rasheeda rushed toward that direction. She intended to say only a few things to Mori. She wanted to state them quickly, before Bryce wondered what took her so long.

        After Rasheeda knocked on the door, she heard Mori beckon, “Come in.”

        Slowly Mori rose up from a vanity seat, beholding her old, so-called friend, Rasheeda. Five years hadn’t changed Rasheeda’s appearance much, except for the hair. Rasheeda used to wear a short, natural afro. Now, she sported long, crimped locks, which spilled nearby her elbows. “Why are you here?”

        “Just to tell you one thing,” Rasheeda snapped. “My fiancée made a big mistake soliciting you for our label. Listening to you out there tonight, he changed his mind. He said that you’re not all that! And you know I certainly don’t want you on the label. So don’t hound him about a contract, because you’ll make yourself look foolish. Neither of us want you.”

        Amazed at Rasheeda’s nerve after all these years, Mori gaped at her like a Martian had landed in her dressing room. “I didn’t hound him for anything. He came back here to my dressing room, just as you have. And for your information, don’t worry about me signing with his label. There are other record companies.”

        “Please,” Rasheeda snickered. “They won’t be knocking down your door. You’re still not as good as I am. You’re not even in my league.”

        Mori shook her head, wondering what Rasheeda had against her. She never even realized her old friend hated her--or how much she hated her--until she stole her songs. “Is that all you have to say to me after all these years? Insults? What about an apology, Rasheeda?”

        Rasheeda smirked. “An apology for what? It’s not my fault the record company dumped you and nobody else wanted you. And it’s not my fault that Steve dumped you either.”

        Mori’s jaw tightened at the mention of her old love. “Steve didn’t dump me. I just saw he wasn’t the man for me.”

        “He sure wasn’t. He tried to hit on me so many times, but I didn’t want him.”

        “I don’t believe you.”

        “Why is that so hard to believe?” Rasheeda’s expression grew hard with the question. “You think you were the only one who could pull the men? Hell, I sing better than you, and look better than you, and hell, I’m sure I can please a man in bed better, too.”

        “Stop the childishness, Rasheeda! Why won’t you admit what you did and do the right thing?”

        Rasheeda sucked her tooth. “Oh, please, why don’t you grow up? You always thought everything in the world was all perfect because you grew up in the Long Island suburbs with your nice little mommy and daddy in your house with the white picket fence. Well, this girl from the hood in Harlem had to show you the world isn’t like that. This is the world of survivors. We take, and the takers are the one who make it!”

        “So does that mean you stole the songs?” Bryce asked. He appeared at the door, startling them both.