Fireworks 1 and 2

Chapter Four

    Mia chuckled nervously. "My story?"

    "Everyone has one," he stated. "I want to know yours."

    She crossed one leg over the other and rested her hands in her lap. She started speaking after a few moments of hesitation. "Well, I was born in Venezuela, but my family moved to the United States when I was very young," she explained. "We lived in Texas for a few years, but then my father was offered a factory job in the suburbs of Chicago. So we moved there, and things were good. For a long time." She stopped talking.

    He arched his brows at her and gestured for her to continue.

    "That's pretty much it," she said.

    He stared at her for a long time. "No it's not," he countered. "Something happened to you."

    Without thinking, she stood up. "I have to get back to my friends."

    He reached out and gently grabbed her wrist. "Sit down and talk to me."

    "Why?" she asked before she could stop herself.

    Instead of answering the question directly, he said, "After OVOFest, I spend a few days with my family and old friends. Then I'm off to write and record my next album. When I write, I become a hermit. I rarely leave the house. I say this, because I want to invite you to Calabasas. I want you to come to my compound, and write the album with me."

    She blinked. It took several moments for his words to register in her mind. Was one of the most powerful artists in music asking her to help him write his next album? The same album that all of the music magazines were predicting would surpass all of his previous albums in sales numbers? "But...why would you invite me to write with you?" she asked. "You don't even know if I'm good."

    He reached in his pocket and held up his phone. "I'm kind of addicted to this thing," he said. "And after a kid came up and asked you for your autograph, I looked you up."

    She looked startled at that revelation.

    "You're very talented," he commended. "Not to mention, you have the voice of an angel."

    Her face flushed red and she avoided his gaze.

    "You don't have to decide right now," he told her, "but you should at least come out to Calabasas. I can show you around, and I can have Oliver discuss the details of the contract with you."

    She was overwhelmed with a lot of emotions. Shock, disbelief, and curiosity, mostly.

    "Before I invite you to stay in my house, I would like to get a better understanding of who you are as a person," he explained. "And a part of that is knowing what you've been through. So..." He gestured for her to sit down.

    She sat back down slowly.

    "In my experience," he said, "artists usually go through something traumatic, or go through a phase of feeling misunderstood or alone. Most writers I know, myself included, don't come from perfect families or have perfect childhoods. That's not usually how it works. So...what happened?"

    Memories started to fill her head, memories she'd tried to keep out for a long time. "Well...my childhood was great. My parents loved me, and they expressed that as often as they could. I was an only child, but we always had neighbors I could play with. I can't complain about my childhood. Nothing traumatic happened to me, really, until high school." She hesitated and looked at him.

    He could see raw emotion, sadness, and longing in her eyes. Her eyes were also pleading him to not make her continue.

    When he didn't make any attempt to stop her, she took a deep, shaky breath and said, "Both of my parents died. The year before I graduated high school, they got into a nasty, four-car pileup on the highway." She tucked her hair behind her ears. "And I didn't take it well. It hit me really hard. I wasn't able to focus in school. My grades started to show it. It was...a rough time for me."

    "You were grieving," he stated. "That's normal. My parents aren't together anymore. They haven't been for a long time, but I can't imagine losing either one of them. You lost both."

    She nodded. "My aunt came to help take care of me, and helped me get back on track. She made sure I was going to school. She wouldn't let me hang out with people that were bad for me. It's because of her that I was able to go to college. I went to Baylor University, in Texas. Once I was in college, I became very focused. I knew once I got out, I was pretty much on my own. I chose Marketing classes for my elective courses and paid attention in class. I realized what a potential marketing machine social media and channels such as YouTube were, and I used them to my advantage. I don't have goals to be a singer. I sang my songs on my YouTube videos because I didn't know anyone else who would."

    He leaned back on the couch and folded his arms across his chest. "You've been through a lot and you managed to use your experiences creatively. I do the same thing. If something devastating happens to me, I write about it. If something amazing happens to me, I write about it."

    She stared down at her hands. "Writing is my therapy," she said.

    He tilted his head forward in appreciation. "I'm glad you took the time to come out and talk to me," he said quietly. He glanced at an expensive watch laced around his wrist. "I don't want to spoil the evening with talk of tragedy or business. If you're willing to consider my offer, put your number in my phone so I can give you a call once OVOFest is over." He held out a slim, white and gold iPhone to her.

    She looked into his eyes as she accepted the phone from him. She dialed her number into the phone and created a contact profile with her name on it. She handed the phone back to him.

    He looked over the information she'd typed in and pocketed the phone. "Thank you, Ms. Mia Thomas.'

    "You're welcome, Mr. Aubrey Graham," she returned.

    He smiled. "Now that business is out of the way, we should be able to have a little fun." He stood from the couch and offered her his arm.

    She stood and linked her arm with his.