Nova

"Hello? Will you point me in the direction of studio 7, please?" I asked the receptionist, who looked at me and continued her phone conversation.

rude bitch

Fuck it, I'll find it myself. I should have never worn these heels to work. I need sneakers today. Shit. I'm gonna fall and break my neck in this place.

The hallway was eerily quiet, with a sleek black and chrome design reflecting the dim overhead lights. The floor was so shiny that it looked like you could ice skate on it if you didn't watch your step. Each door had a silver plate with the room number etched into it, giving off a cool vibe that was intimidating for a newbie like me. I finally saw the number 7 in bold letters at the end of the corridor. Studio 7 is the holy grail of this fortress of sound. I took a deep breath and pushed the door open, ready to face whatever was waiting for me on the other side.

The door creaked open. Bathed in a deep red light that seemed to pulse with the bass of the music blasting through the monstrous speakers. The walls were lined with gold and platinum records, a testament to the greatness that had been created within these four walls. The scent of weed and leather filled the air, a signature aroma of a place where legends were made. My eyes took a moment to adjust to the dimness, and when they did, I froze.

There he was, Artis 'Swim' Greer, the man whose voice had sent chills down my spine and whose beats had made me bob my head countless times. But he wasn't mixing a track or speaking into a microphone, commanding the room with his presence. Instead, he was hunched over a soundboard, his hand moving rapidly in his lap. He must have heard the door or caught my scent because he instantly jerked upright, his eyes wide with surprise and something else—desire?

A thunderous expression took over his face. "What the fuck you doin' in here?" he bellowed, his voice echoing off the soundproof walls. The anger in his eyes was palpable, and I could feel the heat of his embarrassment burning through the air. I should have felt more embarrassed than him, having walked in on my boss in such a ....private moment, but instead, I just felt...excited? Maybe it was the adrenaline or the thrill of seeing a man like Artis so...human.

He quickly adjusted himself, tucking whatever he had been doing back into his pants. His chest heaved as he tried to calm his breathing, and I couldn't help but notice the way his muscles rippled beneath his tight black shirt.

He was a mountain of a man with long, thick dreads that hung over his broad shoulders, the tips kissing his elbows. His skin was like dark chocolate, and his smile was the kind that could melt a woman's panties at fifty paces—when he chose to smile, that is. Right now, that smile was nowhere to be seen. "I-I ...have your lunch order." I stuttered. "When you see the red light, DO NOT interrupt me!" He yelled.

He grabbed the menu off the table and threw it at me, the pages fluttering in the air like the wings of a dying bird. "Now, get out!" he roared, his deep voice reverberating through the studio. I took a step back, my heart racing, but my mouth had other plans. "you shouldn't be stroking that thang in public anyway," I said, trying to keep the smirk from my lips. "What the fuck did you just say?" he said. So I repeated myself, staring into his eyes, " I said...You shouldn't be stroking that thang in public any-way, Mr. Greer," I said, my voice strong and unwavering.

Artis stared at me, his jaw clenched, and for a second, I thought he might actually fire me on the spot. But then, something changed. The corner of his mouth twitched, and he covered his face with one of his large hands, trying to stifle a smile. The room seemed to hold its breath as we locked eyes, the tension thick enough to cut with a knife. I didn't miss a beat, turning to exit with the same sass that had gotten me into this situation. "Yo. What's your name, lil' mama?" he called out, his voice now a low rumble that seemed to resonate through the floorboards.

I didn't look back, but I heard the smirk in his voice as clearly as if he were standing right beside me. "Nova," I called back over my shoulder without breaking my stride. The sound of my heels clacking against the floor was the only response I gave him as I strutted out of the studio, my heart racing from the encounter. The door swung shut behind me, and the music faded away as I stepped back into the pristine hallway. My cheeks were flushed, and my chest was heaving with a mix of nerves and something else—excitement? I had no idea what had just happened, but I knew that my relationship with Artis Greer was going to be anything but ordinary.

I made my way back to the reception area, my thoughts racing faster than a freight train. What was I going to say to him tomorrow? Would he remember me as the girl who walked in on him with his hand in his pants, or would he see me as the engineer with potential? I couldn't let this one moment define me. I worked too hard to get here, and I wasn't about to throw it all away because I had seen my boss's... "thang." I laughed to myself, shaking my head. Only in the music industry could you start your first week with a Grammy-winning producer and end it with a scandal.

The rest of the day was a blur. I avoided the studios like the plague, focusing on setting up my workstation and familiarizing myself with the other engineers. They were all friendly, but I could feel their eyes on me, whispering about the new girl. It was a lot of lip-licking and hooded eyes from the guys, and I knew I had to tone all this sexiness down if I wanted to be taken seriously in this male-dominated industry. I chuckled to myself, thinking about the absurdity of it all. Here I was, a woman with a degree in sound engineering, and I was being ogled like a piece of meat. But I wasn't about to let that define me.

As the day wound down, I grabbed my purse and coat from the rec area, preparing to make a swift exit. That's when I saw him again—Artis, walking with a young man who looked like he had just stepped off the cover of a magazine. They were deep in conversation, but Artis' eyes found mine, and for a split second, I saw the same spark of interest that hadn't been there earlier. He said nothing, just nodded in my direction before continuing his stride.

The young man looked at me with a mix of confusion and curiosity, but I didn't have time to deal with that. I had to get out of there before I did something stupid—like march over and ask Artis if he wanted to go another round, this time with me on the receiving end of that furious hand.

The cool New Jersey air hit me like a slap in the face as I stepped outside. I took a deep breath, trying to clear my head. The studio was located in a bustling part of town, with neon lights and the murmur of the city providing a stark contrast to the hushed tension I had just left behind.

I decided to walk to the nearby diner for some much-needed greasy food and a chance to unwind. As I strolled down the sidewalk, my thoughts drifted to Artis. Who was that guy with him? A new artist? A rival producer? And why did the sight of them together make me feel like I had been punched in the gut?