Controlled By The Billionaire

“Easy now.” Tristan’s voice was surprisingly gentle as he eased back from her.

Mel brushed a stray hair out of her face which had escaped from her slick ponytail. Once she was focused and standing on her own two feet, Mel scanned the room. Tristan was there as well as two other men who were behind the control board of the sound booth.

“Gentlemen, this is Mel Fairbanks. We are going to begin recording her album today. I trust you all received the information about her music and are prepared for the session.” Both men nodded at Tristan as he commanded the room. He looked at Mel. “Are you ready?”

She nodded, still a bit flustered from their encounter. The nervousness that had calmed as she made her way away from where she knew Tristan worked came back in a double dose. Why was he here to see her record? That wasn’t a part of his job as CEO. Tristan directed her to the door of the soundproof room. He told her where to sit and how to use the mic. Mel was too thrown by his kind demeanor after their encounter last week that she could only nod that she understood. The guys outside of the window spoke to her through the headphones and explained how they would monitor sound and her voice and record it on their end. She would do two songs a day for two weeks and they would then put the album together after they edited and made sure it was ready for the public’s ears.

“Are you ready?” Tristan asked, sitting with the men outside of her tiny soundproof area.

“Yes,” Mel said with a slight gasp, suddenly realizing her dream was about to come true.

Mel played and sang her heart out, all of the songs she wrote in the last ten years about her loss and her despair and her anguish. The songs were about her abuse, her parents’ deaths and living alone in the world. Some of the songs were so much of her soul being bared that Mel couldn’t help but shed a tear here and there as she sang. Nobody mentioned it, and they only stopped her a few times to make sure her sound was correct. Afterwards she looked up, feeling almost as if she had been asleep and dreaming for an hour.

“Great work, Mel!” The engineer, Louis, said through the headphones.

Mel smiled at him and took the headphones off, slipping her guitar back into the case and strolling out of the soundproof booth.

“You have a wonderful voice,” Louis gushed again and Mel wasn’t sure how to respond.

“Thanks,” she said, sitting on the large, leather couch in the corner for playback.

Tristan appeared out of nowhere, having left some time while she was recording. He had a strange look on his face and Mel looked away from him and waited for Louis, and the producer Rob, to begin playback. Mel felt the couch dip as Tristan sat down next to her. The butterflies began to riot in her belly again and Mel took a deep breath and tried to focus on what Rob was telling her.

Another hour passed before they had successfully completed that part of recording. Tristan sat next to her the whole time, barely speaking and Mel felt strange but knew she couldn’t get up without making him aware of her discomfort. When it was over, she stood, flinging the guitar case back onto her shoulder and headed for the door. As she exited the room, after saying goodbye and shaking hands with Louis and Rob, she felt Tristan’s presence behind her.

“What?” Mel turned on him and said. Exhaustion and hunger made her snap.

Tristan put his hands up as if in surrender. “I was walking you out, Mel.”

Her name on his lips sounded strange because he continually called her Ms. Fairbanks.

“Sorry. I’m just exhausted.” Mel’s stomach growled as if it were punctuation at the end of her sentence.

“And hungry it seems.” Mel nodded.

“I skipped breakfast.” Not sure why she told him that because it wasn’t any of his business when she ate.

“Would you like to get lunch with me?” Tristan stopped her outside of the elevators and asked.

That was a bad idea, but she did make a deal with him. “Uh, sure.”

“Great. There’s a café down the block with wonderful tomato basil soup.” Tristan hopped into the elevator after her.

 Mel tried to scoot as far away from where he stood as possible, which proved difficult because he was so large and standing in the middle of the elevator.

“I won’t bite, Mel. Unless you want me too.” His eyes shone with something Mel recognized from the night before as lust, darkening the ice blue to stormy gray.

Her response died on her lips when Tristan spun around, crashing his mouth into hers and hauling her up against his chest.