The Beautiful Katastrophe

(X) Darling Nikki

     "Am I interrupting you?"

I sat up straight and leaned back in the chair, hoping my pounding heart wasn't showing itself. "No. What's up?"

Prince invited himself in the room and let the wall support his weight.

He was practically dressed in all black but his gold cross glistened against a white crew shirt that hang loose around his neck under his blouse.

"I volunteered to see if you were okay," he said. The light in the room beautifully brought out his black outlined granola eyes.

"Why wouldn't I be fine?"

"Carl said not to the bother you because you were a little uptight," he said, grinning.

"So, of course, you come and bother me, right?" I felt myself on defense.

"Of course. How are you? You miss L.A. yet?"

"At this point, yes. But anyway, I'm actually glad you're here. I saw your sister last night at my party."

I could tell by the shift of his focus that he didn't want to hear any of it.

"She was with your mother. You should try and see her. She misses you."

Fiddling with the cross around his neck, he gave me back his eyes. "You and Michael fucking yet?" he asked, smoothly.

I had to laugh. Otherwise, I would've jumped over the table and punched him. "I think your band needs you."

"They don't."

"Well, I'm not interested in having a conversation with you."

"But you're interested in riding around town in the car that I bought you."

"Okay," I said standing up. "What the fuck do you want? You want me to argue with you?"

Prince chuckled through his exhale. "I have no energy to argue with you, Kat. You win."

"So, get the fuck out then, because you're picking a fight right now."

"When are you leaving town?" he asked, sticking the holy pendant in his mouth.

I leaned forward and palmed the desk. "Get out."

His heel scraped against the wall and his eyes rolled upward. "I'm sorry," he said before spitting the chain out.

"What do you want?"

He smiled. "I want you to come to my show, here, August 3rd. That is if your boss lets you."

"He's my client."

"With a contract. You left Minneapolis for him."

It felt so weird calling Michael my client.