Fierce Overture Read online

“And why is that?” Reba’s fork was halfway to her mouth. “Don’t tell me she has a problem with your songs? Surely she has to appreciate the fact that you’re evolving as an artist. As a performer.”

  Claudia entered the room, pulling on a pink sweater. “She probably thinks Noelle is stuck-up and conceited.” She glanced around the countertop. “My pancakes?”

  “Oven. And don’t talk about your sister that way. She pays your way to that fancy school and supports all your expensive habits.”

  “Mom—”

  “It could change in a heartbeat, so we better stick together and support her.” Reba didn’t budge. “Apologize.”

  Claudia obviously knew better than to cross her mother when she sounded so authoritarian. “Sorry, Noey.” She looked at Noelle from under her thick bangs. “I can be rather shi—I mean, I can be a bitch in the morning.”

  “And that’s just to warm up, huh?” Noelle smiled to take the sting out of the tease. Claudia was a pain and could be insufferable, but she was seventeen. I never had to struggle in a famous sibling’s shadow, so what do I know about how it affects her? “What do you say we hit the mall tomorrow morning?” Claudia would recognize the olive branch.

  “Sure. Guess we could take the kid.”

  “Kid. Thanks.” Fifteen-year-old Laurel, low-key and the brightest student of the sisters, sat down and accepted a plate from her mother. She propped her head up with her hand and began to munch on her pancakes. “I wouldn’t mind going. I need stuff for school.”

  “For school?” Claudia rolled her eyes theatrically, clearly finding her stride again. “I’m going to shop for clothes and makeup, and get some of the latest CDs. You’d think that stingy bi—” She glanced at her mother’s quickly darkening face. “You’d think that woman at VMP would give you all their music as a courtesy. You’re supposed to be their biggest star.”

  “I’m one of their bestselling artists. There’s a difference, Claudia.”

  “Still.”

  “I’ll tell her you said so.” Not. “I’m out of here. Thanks, Mom.” Noelle rose and carried her plate over to the sink.

  “Here. Take a few pancakes to Mr. Morris.” Reba handed a plastic box to Noelle. “He spends a lot of time waiting for you. He must get hungry sometimes.”

  “Wish me luck.” Noelle gave her mother a quick kiss and waved to her sisters. “Later.” Off to the dragon’s lair.

  *

  “The receptionist downstairs called. Noelle Laurent is here,” Wanda informed Helena over the intercom.

  “Thank you. Tell her to come right in.” It would take Noelle at least five minutes to cross the large reception area and take the elevator up. Helena began to tidy her desk, but then relented, letting the magazines, papers, and folders flood her desk as usual. She was normally a bit of a neat freak, but her office usually overflowed with documents and work-related items, especially when she’d been on a business trip.

  Helena rolled her shoulders, the constant tension in her neck dissipating some. She was happy with the meetings in London, even if she’d been distracted and succumbed to jet lag and fatigue more than usual. Declining several offers from VMP’s London branch execs to take her out for dinner in the evenings, Helena had opted for long baths and tried to relax and rejuvenate in her hotel room. But her soreness and malaise still persisted here in the U.S. Not even playing with her dog, Soledad, and taking her for long walks along the beach seemed to help. Soledad had pressed against her leg as they strolled instead of running around like possessed and jumping into the water. She seemed to sense Helena’s ambivalence.

  “Ms. Forsythe?”

  A husky voice with a timbre that made Helena shiver interrupted her thoughts. Noelle Laurent stood just inside the door, a large Prada Fairy Bag slung over her left shoulder. Dressed in a dark gray business suit over a purple silk blouse, she looked impeccable, in spite of her extreme hair. Its restraint in a low bun today couldn’t hide the fact that the top layers were dyed white-blond, contrasting wildly with the blue-black hair underneath.

  “Welcome. Please, have a seat. Your manager not joining us?”

  “I thought he was here already. Maybe he’s stuck in traffic.”

  “Perhaps. Can I offer you anything to drink?”

  “No, thank you.” Noelle walked on ridiculously high-heeled pumps over to the leather visitor’s chair, shook Helena’s hand, and quickly let go. She sat down while opening her bag. “Brought my own.” She held up a deep red thermos. “Mom’s chamomile tea.”

  “Really?” Helena had already risen and now stepped over to the counter where a state-of-the-art coffee-center machine stood ready to provide her with any hot beverage she could possibly desire. She pressed the buttons for black espresso and returned her attention to Noelle as the machine ground the coffee beans. “I received a call from one of your producers. Not going so well with the new album, is it?”

  “If you mean I’m not ready to repeat the previous album, I guess you’re right.” Noelle crossed her legs and brushed away invisible lint from her pants.

  “You’ve signed a contract, and we have a deadline.”

  “I’m not debating that. I just don’t want to sound exactly the same or sing exactly the same songs as I did on the last one.”

  “Which was tremendously successful.” Helena forced herself to sound gracious, refusing to let her annoyance with Noelle show. Sugarcoat them, if that’s what it takes. Her mother’s voice permeated Helena’s thoughts. Whatever it takes to get them to sign on the dotted line. Just do it.

  “Yes. But, been there, done that.” Noelle bent forward, showing off her décolletage, deliberate or not. “The thing is, I know I’m capable of so much more. Of sharing so much more with my fans. I can’t see myself singing happy-go-lucky pop songs my whole life.”

  “Nothing wrong with pop music.” Helena spoke shortly, dreading a long song and dance interspersed with words like “creativity,” “inspiration,” and “culture.”

  “Never said there was.” Pausing, Noelle seemed to look for the right word. “What I’m trying to say is…I’ve worked with several producers over the last decade, including David and his crew, always eager to please and be whatever they needed me to be. I’ve been so grateful for the chance of a lifetime, never quite sure I deserved it. But now”—Noelle lifted her shoulders in a barely noticeable shrug—“I’ve finally reached my limit.”

  “Your limit. Can you elaborate?” Helena sat down behind her desk, balancing the small espresso cup.

  “Haven’t you ever felt like you’ve come to a point where you just can’t do it anymore?” Gesturing emphatically with her hands, Noelle gazed at Helena with serious, dark eyes. “When it’s so important that you follow your heart, nothing else matters?”

  Helena couldn’t believe that she, who’d stared down the most intimidating old foxes at numerous board meetings, would feel so cornered by the look in Noelle’s eyes. Annoyed, Helena thought Noelle needed a lesson in boundaries—as in when not to cross them.

  “This isn’t about me,” Helena snapped. “You’ve signed a contract that ensures VMP two albums of your trademark music style. We didn’t sign you to experiment with your fan base, and if you want to do that, you’ll have to wait until you’ve fulfilled your obligations to us.”

  “How can you run a recording company and not be interested in your artists’ creative growth and development?” Noelle looked both hurt and confused. “I’ve proved myself and brought my huge fan base to VMP time and again. You talk about two albums. Don’t forget the six number-one hit singles on the Billboard list, just from the previous album alone. Also the three songs I’ve recorded for the soundtrack of the new Diana Maddox movie. And come to think of it, you’ve bought the rights to eventually rerelease the albums I recorded while on the two previous labels. I’ve fulfilled every single aspect of my contract so far, down to every dorky way to promote it that you’ve sent me on.”

  “Dorky?” Helena could hardly believe her ears. “What the hell are you talking about?”

  “I know I have fans of all ages, but honestly, what did you think you’d achieve by having me as a guest star on Barney and Friends?” Folding her arms, Noelle glowered at Helena.

  “Oh. Well, that was a bit ridiculous.” Helena groaned inwardly at the idiot PR person who’d thought of that.

  “Right.”

  “But that doesn’t mean—” The intercom beeped and Helena pressed a button. “Yes, Wanda?”

  “Mr. Brad Haley is here to join you and Ms. Laurent, ma’am.”

  “Show him in, please.” Perhaps he’d be able to talk some sense into Noelle, though Helena doubted it.

  “Noelle! Ms. Forsythe, how great to see you again.” Brad Haley strode across the room, extending his hand to Helena, pumping hers happily. “I’m sorry I’m late. Total gridlock. No, worse. A parking lot.” He sat down, at Helena’s suggestion, and patted Noelle’s shoulder while getting comfortable. “So what are we talking about? Fill me in?”

  “Your client doesn’t want to fulfill her contract with us.” Helena spoke curtly, feeling edgy and not about to mince words.

  “A mere misunderstanding, I’m sure.” Brad never lost his broad grin. “Honey, what’s going on?” He turned to Noelle.

  “I’m not trying to dodge my contract. I’m ready to start recording, but they want me to sing the same mindless songs I’ve been performing for ten years.”

  “Which is what your contract stipulates.” Helena reclined in her chair, forcing herself to keep her hands neatly folded rather than drum her fingers on the desk.

  Noelle straightened. “My contract stipulates that I deliver two albums in the soul genre.”

  “Soul pop.” Deliberately making her voice steely and unforgiving, Helena saw how
her tone affected Noelle. Her perfect eyebrows knitted and her eyes became slits as Noelle took on the challenge.

  “Soul music has many faces.” She spoke in a low voice, but her anger was obvious in the way she held her chin and regarded Helena with narrowed eyes. “If I can’t grow and develop as a singer, a performer, then what’s the use? Why should I put so much hard work, so many hours into sounding exactly the same, album after album?”

  “Because you do it so well, and because that’s where the money lies,” Helena said quickly.

  “It can’t be all about the money! Music is so much more than that.”

  “You knew what we expected when you signed the contract.” Helena didn’t wait for Noelle to answer, but turned to Brad. “And I’m sure you’ve informed your client of this more than once?”

  “I’m right here,” Noelle said sharply. “No need talking about me like I’m not.”

  “Noelle, a contract is a binding document.” Brad was clearly trying to soothe her, but instead he came off sounding condescending. “We’ve discussed—”

  “For heaven’s sake, Brad. I know what a contract is and what signing it means. Let’s get something straight. You work for me. You do my bidding. You find out my goals, wants, and needs, and you do your best to make them all happen.”

  It wasn’t hard to read between the lines. Noelle was obviously saying, Make it happen, or you don’t work for me anymore.

  Brad cleared his voice, but never lost the shimmer in his smile. “Now, now,” he said. “I’m sure we can reach consensus on this matter.”

  “I’m not so sure,” Helena said. “Noelle seems pretty set on changing genres, and the producers are concerned about her lack of interest in the work they’ve put into finding new songs for her to choose from.”

  “Trust me, they offered the same song, over and over again, so it couldn’t have been that hard on them.” Noelle stood, slinging her Prada bag over her shoulder. “Since neither of you will listen to anything I say, I’ll leave you to it to figure things out. Brad, call me when you have something positive to say.”

  Noelle’s lower lip seemed to tremble as she donned her big sunglasses, but she certainly didn’t hesitate when she rattled off her bitter words and swept through the doors.

  “I’ve never seen Noelle like this,” Brad said, adjusting his tie. “She’s usually such a sweet little thing.”

  “Are you blaming her behavior on me?” Helena tapped her chin. “Not so good from a negotiation standpoint.”

  “No, no, Ms. Forsythe. I never meant to imply that.” Brad looked shocked. “Noelle has never had anything but good to say about VMP and its management until now.”

  “‘Until now’ being the operative words.” Helena pressed her palms against her desk and rose from her chair. “You know my opinion. And even if Ms. Laurent thinks she can throw a temper tantrum and have her way just because she’s a superstar, she’s way off. If she decides to not listen to reason and break her contract, the penalties will be severe. And even if she thinks all the record companies would welcome her with open arms, she might just think twice. She’s not the only superstar out there, and people hold on to their money these days.”

  “Just give her time to cool off. I’ll talk to her, and if I need to, I’ll contact her mother.” Brad stood and extended his hand. “Noelle will come around. I’ll see to it.”

  Something in the man’s voice made Helena wonder what means of persuasion he intended to use. There was something about Brad Haley she didn’t like, and the way he treated Noelle and talked about her made her uncomfortable. It was one thing that Noelle had decided to go all creative and explore—something she should do on her own time and dollar—but Brad’s overbearing manner was not the way to dissuade her. This approach was something he seemed to have in common with David Boyd.

  Helena said good-bye coolly to Brad and sat back down at her desk. The relationship between Noelle and her manager wasn’t her problem, as long as Noelle honored the contract. Browsing through her latest e-mail messages, she couldn’t get the image of Noelle’s look of anger and hurt out of her mind.

  *

  “Home, please, Morris.” Noelle curled up in the backseat of the limo. Morris had scrutinized her with darkening eyes when she returned to the foyer where he patiently waited for her. He knew her so well, and no sunglasses in the world could hide her true emotions from him.

  “You all right?” Morris glanced at her in the rearview mirror.

  “I’m fine.”

  “Not true,” he muttered. “What did that moron agent say this time? Or was it the Forsythe woman?”

  “Both. Never mind that. I have to go home and prepare for Friday evening. I can’t worry about what these money-loving barracudas think.”

  Noelle tried to focus on her upcoming mini-concert on Friday, when she was supposed to sing at a charity function. Annelie Peterson, publisher and Hollywood producer, had approached her personally. Annelie also ran a nonprofit organization for, among other causes, battered-women-and-children shelters.

  Deciding to take the leap, Noelle had not asked Annelie to go through her agent, but made the arrangements herself. She intended to sing her own songs, welcoming the chance to try them out on a live audience without having the Forsythe woman or Brad interfering.

  Just thinking about Helena Forsythe made her press her lips tightly, not letting any rude words escape. Raised to not curse, to always be well-mannered and humble no matter what, she still found it easy to follow her gut reaction and agree with the people who referred to Forsythe as a company shark and a four-star bitch.

  Admittedly, Helena had been just as larger than life as she’d been at her birthday party two years ago. And just as disdainful. She filled the room as if she was physically much larger than she actually was, Noelle guessed Helena to be around 5′5″ tall, about four inches shorter than her. Though Noelle always wore six-inch heels, Helena’s presence was such that Nicole was always left with the impression that they were the same height.

  Helena’s throaty alto voice was probably a real asset when it came to chewing someone off at the ankles or scaring her business opposition to death. But surprisingly, Helena’s golden brown hair, cut just beneath her jawline, looked like silk, and the soft colors of her makeup not only lent her a classic beauty, but also softened her features.

  “We’re here, Noelle.” Morris pulled out of traffic and stopped outside the condominium complex. As a doorman hurried toward the limo and opened the door, a scattered group of paparazzi buzzed around the vehicle. Noelle made sure her sunglasses were safely in place before she exited the car.

  She hurried through the small crowd to the sound of whirring cameras and voices calling for her attention. The doorman ushered her into the building and she tipped him generously. As she rode the elevator up to her condo, she did her best to look happy, to not alert her sisters or their mother to anything amiss. She had promised her father that she would look out for them and never forget where they came from, and a promise was a promise.

  Chapter Two

  Noelle tucked her sheet music into her folder and double-checked her appearance in the mirror. She looked a little pale, but she could easily remedy that with something from her sizable beauty box, which she always carried with her. Her long black dress hung in its protective bag on her bedroom door, which now opened as her mother poked her head in.

  “You ready, darling? Morris has already tapped his watch four times.”

  “As if that helps.” Noelle wrinkled her nose. “I’m never late. I just always cut it close.”

  “There never was a truer word.” Reba glanced at the briefcase. “So you’re going with your own material after all?” She looked concerned now.

  “Yes.” Noelle didn’t want to get into a discussion, or she’d lose her nerve.

  “Why now, when you’re in the middle of a minor crisis at VMP?”

  “Because I really want to sing these songs to a live audience and…” She shrugged.

  “I don’t want you to think I’m not being loyal, but what would it hurt to give in and do one more album in the same style as before?” Reba touched Noelle’s arm gently.

  “That’s not the issue.” Noelle didn’t withdraw her arm, but she did grow tense. “I’ve sung these songs for ten years and dreamed for ten years of doing other things, other songs, my songs. That’s a long time. I’ve earned this chance.”