The air in Los Angeles was thin and sweet, smelling of night-blooming jasmine and the salt spray of the Pacific. As the matte-black Maserati wound its way up the narrow roads of the Hollywood Hills, Aubrey sat in the back, his fingers tracing the edges of his yellow legal pad. In Houston, the air was heavy with humidity and secrets; here, everything was transparent, made of glass and gold, but far more dangerous.
The car pulled up to a fortress of white stone and floor-to-ceiling windows. This was Robyn's world. The Rated R era. She was transitioning from a pop star into a global icon, and the energy around her was electric.
Aubrey stepped out of the car, adjusting his black hoodie. He felt like a shadow in a room full of light. Inside, the party was a blur of A-list excess. Famous actors and fashion moguls hovered in the corners, but Aubrey's eyes were searching for only one person.
Then, he saw her.
Robyn was standing on a glass balcony overlooking an infinity pool that seemed to spill directly into the LA skyline. She was wearing a vintage black lace dress—sheer, daring, and intricate. It revealed the tattoos on her ribs and the flawless, amber glow of her skin. She held a glass of dark liquor, watching the crowd with the bored, regal intensity of a queen who had seen it all.
When her eyes landed on Aubrey, she didn't wave. She just tilted her head, a small, knowing smirk playing on her lips.
Aubrey walked toward her, his heart hammering against his ribs. As he stepped onto the balcony, the noise of the party faded into a muffled throb.
"The Canadian," she said, her Bajan lilt wrapping around his name like a silk cord. "You're smaller in person. But your voice... your voice is big. It sounds like a man who knows how to keep a secret."
"I've had a lot of practice," Aubrey replied, stepping close enough to see the pulse jumping in her neck.
She leaned in, her scent—hibiscus and something spicy—filling his lungs. She reached out, her long, dark nails grazing the collar of his hoodie, lingering just a second too long at his throat. "Everyone in that room wants to sign you, Aubrey. They want to own those words in your notebook. They think they can buy you."
"I'm not for sale," he said, his voice dropping to a low, confident register.
"Everyone has a price," she whispered, her eyes searching his. She leaned closer, her lips inches from his ear, her breath warm. "I just want to see if yours is worth paying."
She didn't kiss him. Instead, she pulled back just as the tension reached a breaking point, leaving him breathless. She grabbed his hand and led him away from the balcony, through a set of heavy mahogany doors into a private library.
The library was dim, lit only by a few flickering candles. She didn't push him against a wall or lock the door. She sat on the edge of a massive, emerald-velvet desk, crossing her legs, the sheer lace of her dress shifting over her skin.
"Prove to me you're not just another rapper Wayne is trying to hype up," she said, her tone shifting to something more professional, yet still dripping with flirtation. "Show me a line. Something you haven't recorded yet."
Aubrey opened his notebook. He felt the weight of the moment. He began to read a few bars—something vulnerable, something about the "secret life" he was living.
As he read, Robyn watched him with an intensity that made the room feel smaller. She stood up and walked toward him, circling him like a predator. She stopped behind him, her hand resting lightly on his shoulder, her thumb grazing the back of his neck.
"It's good," she murmured, her voice vibrating against his spine. "It's honest. But it's safe."
She moved to his front, her fingers finding the hem of his hoodie, tugging at it playfully. "I don't work with 'safe,' Aubrey. I want the part of you that you're afraid to put on paper."
Aubrey reached out, his hand hovering near her waist, but she sidestepped him with a playful laugh, walking toward the door.
"Meet me at the studio at noon tomorrow," she said, looking back over her shoulder. Her dark eyes sparkled with a challenge. "And don't be late. I don't like to wait for boys who can't keep up."
She opened the door and vanished back into the party, leaving Aubrey alone in the quiet library. He was electrified, his heart racing, his body humming with a hunger he hadn't felt in Houston. She had given him everything and nothing all at once.
He sat in the emerald chair, picking up his pen. He looked at the list. He wasn't just a soldier anymore. He was a hunter.
Robyn - Los Angeles. The one who makes the top of the mountain look like a climb I'm finally ready for.
He checked his phone. One new message from Wayne.
"Stay sharp. Don't let the gold blind you."
Aubrey smiled, staring at the empty doorway where she had just been.