Heart Tunes

CHAPTER 1 SCARLETT “Michael, you have had enough chances. We had an agreement and you broke it. As of today, I’m exercising my right to buy out your shares. This bar is no longer yours,” I say calmly. Michael looks back at me, his eyes pleading, but he says nothing. I know I have to do this. Being soft and empathetic didn’t get me to where I am today. My persistence did, and I’m not going to let Michael ruin everything with his gambling habits. We’re standing in front of Neon District, our bar. Well… my bar now. Rain from earlier still clings to the streets, making the neon signs reflect against the wet pavement. The familiar purple glow of the club’s sign flickers above us. Friday night is beginning to crawl into the city, and soon the place will be packed with drunk businessmen, college students pretending to be adults, and lonely people looking for temporary distractions. I used to love that about New York but now I just find it exhausting. It's funny how I was excited to move to New York and now I want to go home more than anything. “I’m sorry ma'am. It won’t happen again.” I sigh and shake my head. Michael is going to make this difficult for me. I have given him too many chances, and he never fails to prove me right. There is no changing him. He’ll be on his best behavior for the next two weeks, then fall back into his old habits again. I can't keep reinvesting in the bar out of my profit simply because he can't manage his habits. He is costing the bar most of its profits, and I simply cannot risk it. Of all my properties scattered around New York, this is my favorite. I love the cozy but classic décor. I love the warm lights and leather seats tucked into corners. I love that the bar smells like home. I love that they make the most perfect cocktails ever, but most of all, I love the music. The music is what made me invest in the place in the first place. Upcoming musicians come to play most nights and it becomes magical. I also love the karaoke nights although I don't participate. Some nights I sit in the VIP section after everyone leaves and just listen to the loud, soft music drifting from the speakers. No phone calls. No emails. No investors. Just music floating through the empty room while the bartender cleans glasses and the cleaner mops the floor. It’s pathetic, honestly. A billionaire real estate agent finding emotional stability in a bar but Neon District doesn’t feel like work to me. It feels human and I can’t lose it. “We both know you aren’t going to change. I’ve decided you can still maintain your position as manager, and nobody has to know you don’t own the place anymore if you don’t tell them.” I already know convincing him to stay is pointless. If I don’t let him back in as a partner, he just won’t agree to remain manager. Michael has too much pride for that. His face hardens and he shakes his head. “I appreciate the offer, but I’ll pass.” Although I expected this reaction, I still feel a pang in my chest. We have been partners for years, and even though we aren’t friends, I’m still concerned about his well-being. He has built the bar from scratch and I'd hate for him to loose it. See? Contrary to popular belief, I'm not that much of a mean b***h. “Think about it. You can keep your job, just not the bar.” He is already walking away, but he suddenly turns around, and I can feel fury radiating off him in waves. He steps closer to me and I instinctively take a step back. I discreetly glance around for possible escapes, but unfortunately, there are none. The bouncer is still inside. A couple walks past us without sparing a glance. New Yorkers have mastered the art of ignoring public drama. “It’s easy for women like you to sit on your high thrones and throw orders around because of daddy’s money. I’ll have you know that I built this place from scratch.” He’s trying to rile me up. He knows a reaction is better than my cold indifference, but I won’t be giving him one. “You don’t know what it means to work your way to the top. Daddy will always be there for you.” His lips curve into a taunting smile, and it looks almost sinister beneath the harsh neon lights. I glare at him, refusing to let his words affect me. “I bet you get some of this money by playing mistress to daddy’s friends.” I freeze. There it is. The thing men say when they realize a woman has more power than them. I shouldn’t react. I know I shouldn’t. My father always says emotions are expensive and weak people can’t afford them but something ugly rises inside me anyway. “Shut up!” I spit. “You don’t know anything. Assholes like you go around squandering money without a care in the world, knowing fully well there’ll be consequences. Do you even think about Naya when you do all this?” The words spill out before I can stop them. Naya is his cousin who lives with him. They grew up like siblings, and she’s the only family he has. He always talks about wanting to give her the best life, and I can tell it kills him knowing he can’t provide for her the way he wants to. I don’t feel the satisfaction of my jab for long because he starts approaching me in slow, measured steps, and suddenly he looks terrifying. “Don’t ever bring up Naya again.” He raises his hand to hit me. I close my eyes, preparing for the blow and stupidly assuming preparedness would somehow make it hurt less. “C’mon, Michael. You’re better than that.” The blow never comes. I open my eyes to see a guy standing behind Michael. He lazily strokes a guitar while chewing gum.Gross I recognize him almost immediately. Carter. A few people who care about music know who he is. The internet worships him. Every few weeks there’s another video of him singing in train stations, bars, rooftops, or random streets in Brooklyn(don't ask me how I know). Upcoming artist, they call him but I think he’s bigger than that already. Michael turns back and offers him a sheepish smile. “Thanks, bro. Lost myself for a minute there.” As if he didn’t almost hit me two seconds ago. Carter just nods casually. “I’m sorry,” Michael mutters before walking away. I watch his retreating back, thankful for Carter's intervention. I could've been sporting a purple bruise by now. For a few seconds, neither of us says anything. Carter gives me a quick once-over, and suddenly I feel overdressed in my pencil skirt and neatly pressed button-down shirt. I didn’t even get the chance to take off my stiletto heels after work. He looks unfairly relaxed. Ripped jeans. Black hoodie. Guitar hanging lazily across his shoulder. His curls fall slightly into his face as he tilts his head at me. “Be careful not to piss bad guys off, Red. Not like Michael is a bad guy, but still.” He says it lazily, like the advice is coming out of obligation rather than concern. “Red?” is all I manage to stammer. My voice sounds embarrassingly small. He points at my hair. I forgot about that. Copper-red curls currently pinned into what used to be a neat bun before work stress destroyed it. “Fits you" he murmurs almost to himself then he starts walking toward the entrance of Neon District. “Wait!” The word escapes before I can stop it. He pauses and glances back at me. I suddenly regret opening my mouth. What exactly am I supposed to say now? Hi, thanks for stopping me from getting punched? “My name is Scarlett” I blurt awkwardly. He turns fully this time, one brow raised. “Everybody knows your name. It's all over the papers once in a while.” He doesn't say it with mockery though. It just sounds as though he's stating facts to me. Right. Of course the papers mention me. Scarlett Beaumont. The woman business magazines love calling ruthless. I hate those magazines. “Not everybody knows me" I mutter although I know it's a lie. A grin slowly spreads across his face. It's lazy. Dangerous. Annoyingly attractive. “You’d be surprised" he states simply with a shrug. There’s something irritating about how calm he is. Like nothing in the world can truly stress him out. Meanwhile my therapist once told me I carry, tension in my shoulders so badly that I’ll probably need surgery at forty. I fired her after that. What does she know anyways? “You sing here sometimes?” It's more of a statement than a question. I've seen him here on a few occasions. “Sometimes.” “That’s all?” “What else should I say?” I stare at him in disbelief. “You’re unbelievably blunt" I grumble. He laughs softly, and I hate the way the sound catches me off guard. It’s warm. Real. Not polished and fake like the men I usually spend time around. “Well, Red, some of us aren’t trying to build empires.” “And some of us like stability.” “Stability is overrated.” “That sounds like something poor people say.” The words leave my mouth automatically. The second they do, I want to grab them and shove them back in. His expression changes slightly. Not hurt exactly. Just amused. “Damn,” he says, nodding slowly. “You rich people really hear yourselves?” I cross my arms immediately. “I didn’t mean it like that.” “Maybe you didn't mean it like that but you said it anyways.” I hate that he’s right. A cold breeze passes between us, carrying music from inside the club. Someone is testing the speakers. Noah glances toward the entrance. "You should probably go inside before your employees die from curiosity" he suggests with another of his smiles. I turn to see two bartenders awkwardly pretending not to watch us through the glass doors. Great. Tomorrow there’ll probably be gossip about me standing outside my club with some "hot stranger". Wait. Did I just call Noah hot? f**k no. “Fantastic,” I muttern to myself. “Could’ve been worse" he says, thinking I'm talking to him. “How exactly?” I quip. “You could’ve actually gotten slapped.” I stare at him. He grins again. I officially decide his grin is annoying and not charming. “You always flirt with traumatized women outside bars?” “Who says I’m flirting?” “You called me Red.” “That’s flirting?” “It’s definitely something.” He chuckles softly before pushing the club doors open. Warm air and music immediately spill outside. Before entering, he glances at me over his shoulder. “Well, Scarlett Beaumont, try not to fire anybody else tonight. We don't want anymore.... incidents.” Then he disappears into the bar. And for some ridiculous reason, I follow him with my eyes until I can’t see him anymore. The music inside grows louder as more people begin entering the club. Neon lights flash against the walls while laughter spills into the street. Usually this is my favorite time of night. Usually I walk into Neon District and immediately feel at peace but tonight feels different. Tonight there’s a strange restless feeling sitting in my chest and somehow I know it has everything to do with Carter.