Page 42 of Brown Sugar
“Don’t you get some sick days?” I ask. “Every job—or any decent job—has them.”
She laughs. “Sick days? Tommy and the label don’t believe in sick days. I’ve performed with a 102 degree fever before.Andwhen I had COVID. The only time I got to take some sick days off was when I sprained my ankle a couple years ago. They had no choice that time.”
“It doesn’t hurt to try. You’re out of the country. The London division isn’t the same, right? Tommy’s not here. Take a day for yourself, princess. You more than deserve it.”
Her sultry brown eyes flick over to me as she gives consideration to what I’ve said.
“Maybe I could ask the British label rep that’s overseeing this visit…” she mutters.
“Call them up.”
Two different phone calls are placed at once.
Kiana places a call to the British label rep to inform them she’s come down with a terrible stomach bug. Then there’s my phone call to the front desk to order us some more room service off the breakfast menu.
We’re celebrating our success twenty minutes later as we toast with mimosas and dig into our plates of eggs, sausages, fruit, and toast.
“I can’t believe it actually worked,” Kiana says, shaking her head in amazement. “They actually gave me the day off! Everything’s been rescheduled for tomorrow.”
“Damn right. You’re their biggest artist. They should be treating you like gold. Not some work horse.”
She smiles at me. “Thanks for advocating for me, Goliath.”
“Always, princess. How’re you spending your day off?”
“You tell me. What are we going to do today?”
My thick brow creases. “You want to spend your day off with me?”
“Why wouldn’t I?” she answers, reaching over the table we’re seated at. Her gentle hand slides along my bearded cheek on a note of affection, her bottom lip caught between her teeth. “I really enjoy spending time with you. Um, don’t you feel the same?”
Fuck yes I do.
“Yeah, princess,” I answer. “You’ve got no idea how much. But it’s against the contract. I’m your bodyguard. We’re not supposed to… be like this.”
“Last night was one of the best nights of my life.”
Mine too.
She sighs, forgetting about her mimosa and plate of breakfast. Instead, her gaze wanders to the hotel window overlooking the heart of London. At the moment, a double decker red bus wanders by and light drizzle falls.
“Tyson, you’ve made me realize how trapped I’ve been. You’ve made me see—probably not intentionally—how soulless my life is. It’s all about making the label happy and putting up this front for everyone. The entire world. The content I’m releasing isn’t even what I like. It’s not the music I’d want to make if I had my say.”
“Is that true, princess? Then why don’t you tell them? Push back against the label?”
She wipes at her eyes, casting me a sad smile. “I’m stuck for now. You mentioned your contract. But I’m under a contract too. I don’t have a choice. They decide it all for me.”
“Fuck… princess… c’mere.”
My hands engulf both of hers as I pull her out of her chair and toward me. She slides into my lap, and I push back her tight curls from her face, holding her watery gaze.
“Listen to me,” I say. “We’re going to figure something out. I’m going to find out who’s after you and eliminate the asshole. Then we’re going to get you your freedom.”
“Goliath…” she murmurs softly before she kisses my lips.
A gesture I eagerly return.
We part seconds after with my thumbs sweeping the curves of her cheeks. “Enough time spent on those assholes, princess. If you’re up for spending the day with me, then let’s do it. I’ll show you a good time around London.”