DEJONAE
“Mama Moira’s in town. Do you want to swing by the farmhouse after school?” Vanya’s voice surges through my earbuds.
“Are you kidding?” I squeal. “I’ve been waiting ages for an invite.”
She chuckles, but there’s something off about it. “I’m glad you’re interested,” she says.
“What earned me the golden ticket?”
“No reason. It’s just… been a while since I’ve met up with everyone.”
“Is that why you want me there?” I swipe my ID card over the scanner and enter the library. “To take the heat off you?”
“No, of course not.”
I stop in the middle of the Greek Theology aisle. “I have one condition.”
“Name it.”
“I want fry jacks.”
“Can’t guarantee that. Mama Moira cooks when she feels like it. Or when the kids beg. Which is often—ah!” The sound of something shattering erupts on her end of the line.
I gasp and turn back to the exits, ready to charge over to Vanya and Hadyn’s place. “Are you okay, Van?”
“Damn it. I dropped something.”
Baby Ollie starts bawling in the background.
“Babe, what happened?” Hadyn’s voice leaks into my ear. “Be careful. Let me clean that up.”
“Let me. I made the mess,” Vanya insists.
“Baby, I got it. Why don’t you wait in the living room? I’ll calm Ollie and clean this up.”
The worry in Hadyn’s voice makes my heart tighten. As an aspiring songwriter, I’m sensitive to the way vocal tones convey feeling. Whatever’s going on seems more urgent than Vanya stepping on broken glass.
“Is everything good over there?” I ask.
“Yes,” Vanya says with a little more force than necessary.
“Like… in general?” I pass the memoir section of the library.
“In general? Life is different. I’m a new mom. My hormones are crazy and I don’t know what I’m doing half the time.” She laughs it off. “But what can I say? It’s… yeah, motherhood is a lot, but it’s great.”
The sound of her breathing changes and I assume she’s walking into another room.
“Enough about me,” Vanya says. “What happened with you and Sazuki yesterday?”
My muscles tighten on impact. “Don’t mention that man to me.”
“Now that sounds like a story.”
I stop in the music theory section and tuck my finger into the spine of a book. “He offered me a job, but in the most Pride and Prejudice way ever.”
“Pride and Prejudice?”
“The book by Jane Austen.”
“Not much of a reader,” she answers.
“Blasphemy.”
I find the reference text I’m searching for in the music aisle and tuck it into the crook of my arm. “I’ll correct that later,” I warn her. “But there’s a part in the book where Mr. Darcy confesses his love to Elizabeth.”
“Sazuki confessed his love to you?”
“No.” I frown at the thought. “The point of the scene isn’t that Darcy confessed. It’s that he went on and on about how he loved Elizabeth ‘against his better judgement’.”
“Still not seeing the point.”
I slap the book closed and the thud earns me a stinky look from the librarian.
“Sorry,” I mouth. In a quieter voice, I explain, “If you want something from someone, you say ‘hey, I think you’re great. Let’s do something together’. You don’t barge your way in, tell them how things are going to be and then emphasize that you’re giving them a chance ‘against your better judgement’. Who the hell is supposed to say yes to that?”
“I’m guessing Sazuki’s job offer didn’t lay on the flattery,” Vanya says.
I slide my fingers down the book’s table of contents until I find ‘Beethoven’s Hearing Loss’. Thumbing to the right page, I tell Vanya, “He made sure to outline how my lacking background and poor education meant that I don’t deserve the position, but since he’s the patron saint of goodness, he’s giving me an opportunity.”
“No.” She laughs.
“He told me to start tomorrow. And then,” my voice climbs, “he warned me that any ‘differences of opinion’ won’t be tolerated in the office. All this before I’ve even accepted the job!”
“Sh!” The angry librarian scowls at me.
I place a finger to my lips and nod.
“Men.” Vanya scoffs.
I roll my eyes and dig into my backpack. When I find my notebook, I lay it on the table.
“So what did you do?”
“I wrote him an equally professional email.”
“Damn.” She chuckles. “Is it weird that I want to see it?”
“I’ll forward it to you later.”
“Thanks.”
“Babe, can we talk?” Hadyn says.
Vanya’s voice gets tight. “I need to go, Deej. I’ll see you at the farmhouse later.”
I tap my headphones twice to end the call and chew on my bottom lip.
Is something going on with her and Hadyn?
I quickly trash the thought. Hadyn adores Vanya. The first time I saw them together, Hadyn was following her around, unable to take his eyes off her. Whatever’s going on, I’m sure he’ll get to the bottom of it.
I peruse the textbook and jot down notes for my graduation thesis until my phone vibrates on the table.
Class is starting in ten minutes.
Time to get a move on.
When I leave the library, I notice a fleet of black SUVs lined up near the quad. A woman climbs out and heads straight for me. She’s tall and lean, pale as a vampire, and has her hair scraped back into a severe bun.
Whoever she is, I’m sure she has no business with me.
“Ms. Williams.”
I jump when my name leaves her lips in a crisp accent.
“Me?”
“Mr. Sazuki would like to speak to you.” She gestures to the car. It’s impossible to see her eyes behind the dark shades she’s wearing, but I can only assume that she’s waiting expectantly for me to obey.
Oh hell no. I scowl at her. “Tell him I’m not here.”
“He can see you,” she says in a bland voice.
“By the time you get back to the car and report to him, I’ll be gone.” My smile is quick and cold. “Good day, ma’am.”
I start to walk off, and she steps in front of me.
Annoyance sparks to life in my chest. “Tell Sazuki I said everything I needed to in the email. If he still doesn’t understand, he can use Google translate.”
The tall woman motions in my direction. On cue, the doors of all the SUVs burst open and a line of bodyguards climb out.
My eyes widen.
Before I can think to run, the guards surround me.
I get a flashback to that night at the Belle’s Beauty gala when my piano performance was interrupted in the same manner. Only then, I was so scared and awestruck that I couldn’t stand my ground when Sazuki entered the circle.
This time, I’m ready for him.
The chain of broad, suit-clad backs opens to admit Sazuki. His cold beauty takes my breath away. The man is as regal as he is sharp. He walks in calmly, like he’s shooting a cologne ad and not doing what I’m pretty sure is kidnapping-adjacent.
I get into a fighting stance. “Touch me and you die.”
Bold words, I know. I’m currently surrounded by a legion of beefy Asian bodybuilders in suits.
But I have nothing if not eternal optimism.
“Ms. Williams.” Sazuki’s eyes are cold. Everything about him is cold. Prickly. I’m starting to think I imagined the dimples he flashed yesterday.
“I don’t know how you conducted business in Japan, but here in America, you can’t force conversations by kidnapping innocent people.”
“Kidnapping? We are simply having a little chat.”
Is he joking? “You have twenty goons trapping me in place so I can’t get to my next class. I’m sure that’s breaking at least one law.”
He shakes his head. “We are here to escort you to your class. While we walk, we can talk.”
“What?” I screech.
He catches the eye of the pretty vampire. When the woman nods, the guards shuffle forward. I search for a way to break out of the circle, but there are none. These guys are like human handcuffs.
Sazuki gestures for me to continue on the path.
I grit my teeth. I could stay here and fight with him, but I can’t afford to be late. I’ve got Music 206 now, which is Ear Training Theory. Mr. Howell locks the classroom door precisely on the dot. It’s my last semester and if I plan on graduating, I can’t flunk my music electives.
“Your email seemed to indicate a misunderstanding between us. It appears you think I’m asking you to work with me. On the contrary, I am not.”
His words are delivered so smoothly, so elegantly, that I almost miss the threat in them.
When it hits me, I stop walking.
The guards stop too.
Sazuki turns to me, his face impassive. “Name your price, Miss Williams. What I have is money. The only thing I do not have is time.” He walks toward me. “And especially time to waste.”
A hint of his cologne wafts through the air. Why does such a terrible person smell so good?
He arches an eyebrow, waiting for me to respond.
“Are you trying to insinuate that my time is less valuable than yours?” I spit. “Or that I’m so beneath you that I don’t deserve the basic right of choice?”
“You do have a choice. The key is that all those choices lead to one place.”
There has to be something wrong with him. No one is born this self-absorbed.
“What if I make the choice to slap you right now?” I lift a hand. “Where does that choice lead me?”
He doesn’t bat an eyelash. “The probability that you will be able to hit me before one of my men stops you is quite low.”
“I’ll take my chances.”
He steps so close to me that his Armani shoes kiss my dusty sneakers. Lowering his face until it’s almost on top of mine, he gives me a look of challenge.
I stare into his eyes and my insides do a somersault.
Standing in the middle of the circle, surrounded by his lavish display of power and wealth, it’s hard to remain brave.
Sazuki lowers my arm until it swings loosely at my sides. Next, he lifts a hand and checks his watch.
“Your class begins in five minutes. You will be late if you dawdle.”
“Is this how you got your first album released?” I walk angrily ahead to hide my sudden nerves. “You go around intimidating people to get what you want?”
“My first album was produced for a friend. And I do not usually work this hard to hear a yes.” He slides a hand into his pocket. “Fortunately, I am willing to work hard to get what I want.”
“Just say you’re willing to play dirty. That would be more honest,” I grumble.
We pass the concert hall and turn left. Sazuki studies me. “For someone so young, you’re proving to be a handful.”
“It’s my way of thanking you for your tyranny.”
There.
A flash of dimples craters both cheeks, but it’s gone before I can blink.
We get to my building, but Sazuki doesn’t stop walking.
“Where are you going?” I hiss.
We’ve been getting attention the entire way. Whispers have steadily increased since the quad. Plus I can see sneakers, socks and sandals gathering if I peer between the legs of the suits.
The entire campus is on alert. Which makes sense. It’s not every day a fleet of SUVs take up all the parking spots and spit out beefy Asian men in suits.
And it’s definitely not every day that those beefy guards blow through the quad like they’re protecting a dignitary.
But I need this circus to be over.
Now.
It’s one thing to be seen making a spectacle in the quad.
It’s another thing entirely to walk into class with an annoying music prodigy and his not-so-subtle secret service.
I turn abruptly to Sazuki and stop him before he places one Armani-clad foot on the steps. “You’ve escorted me to my classroom. I’ve heard you out. That is way more than you deserve given your…” I glare at the suits, “tactics.”
“I’m walking you to class, Miss Williams. That was the agreement.”
“No, to have an agreement, you have to get both parties to say yes.” I hold up a finger right under his nose. “Only one side okayed this. Therefore, there was no agreement.”
He thinks it over and then nods. “A very good point.”
“Great. Bye now. Let’s not do this again.” I breathe out, certain that Sazuki and his team will now disappear from my life as quickly as they’d arrived.
And I’m half right.
Sazuki waves at the tall woman and she gives a command in Japanese. Immediately, the suits line up and march back to the quad.
The woman draws close to Sazuki’s side. I still can’t see her eyes behind the sunglasses, but I can tell by her stance that she’s looking around, ready to protect him.
“Why didn’t you go with them?” I ask.
“I realized it would be distracting to have them follow us inside. I do not wish to surprise your teacher with twenty extra students. That would be impolite.” He blinks steadily.
“And you don’t think hijacking me on my way to class is impolite?” I screech.
His eyebrows knot as if he’s genuinely thinking about it.
I throw my hands up. “Look, I don’t care if you go or stay. Just keep away from… gah!”
My words are cut off when a crowd of students suddenly bombard us. They surge toward Sazuki, screaming his name, taking pictures, and hurling pens at him so he can give them an autograph.
“We should not have let the security go,” the tall woman says to Sazuki while struggling to keep the kids away.
“Hey, watch it!” I fight the tide of people racing toward him.
One particularly hefty guy knocks into my shoulder. I lose my balance and fall backward.
Panicked, I reach out, desperately grabbing onto anything to try and keep me on my feet.
Warm, slender fingers wrap around my wrist. With a powerful tug, I switch directions and land straight against a wall of muscle covered in a thin white shirt.
Sazuki’s scent fills my nose and I glance up slowly.
Our eyes lock.
His heartbeat quickens under my palm.
Mine clamors at an even faster pace.
I push him away and he sets me aside at the same time.
Sazuki brushes his shirt down and in a severe voice, he orders, “Stay behind me.”
I want to argue, but I’d rather not be trampled.
Sazuki’s protection team trot around the corner and flank us on both sides. The crowd gets considerably less rowdy, but the air is still charged with excitement.
To my surprise, Sazuki humors his fans. He signs his name over a hundred times, leans in for selfies, and flashes his dimples in front of cameras.
While he’s having a good time, I’m late for class and getting angrier by the second.
When will this end?
The students all have something to say to Sazuki. Some express how much they love his family’s music while others ask questions about his latest performance.
Sazuki takes his time, patiently answering everyone.
I’m sure he’s doing it just to spite me.
By the time he’s had enough and the protection team clears a path so we can enter the building, I’m steaming through my ears.
Sazuki checks his watch. “Good. You will only be a little late.”
I level him a warning glare.
He pulls his lips in as if he’s trying to hide a chuckle and that sends my temper through the roof.
“Is this funny to you? I’m super late and now the door will be locked—”
The classroom door bangs open in direct defiance of my statement.
“It is you!” My music professor, Mr. Howel, dances out of the classroom like a burlesque performer. One leg prances out first, followed by the other. His eyes are glazed with unbridled excitement. “Mr. Sazuki.” He bends low at the waist, face to the ground. His bald spot reflects the light like a disco ball.
Why are they acting like he’s the King of England?
“I’m honored.” Mr. Howel is still speaking to the floor. He straightens and bows again. “Absolutely honored to have you join our class.”
Sazuki arches both eyebrows smugly in my direction. If my professor and twenty bodyguards weren’t watching, I’d probably smack him.
“Come in, come in,” Mr. Howel offers.
The vampire woman slides close to Sazuki and whispers in his ear. He nods and then speaks to Mr. Howell. “Unfortunately, I have another appointment, but I will leave Dejonae in your care.”
Mr. Howel looks so shocked that I could probably knock him over with a feather. “D-Dejonae? You two know each other?”
“No, we don’t,” I say.
“Yes, we do,” Sazuki says. “She will be working closely with me.”
“Over my dead body,” I say under my breath.
Sazuki spares me an amused glance. Fixing his face into a stern expression, he says, “Take great care of her.”
“Yes, of course. She’s a promising student. Worthy of your support.” Mr. Howel booms out a laugh.
My fingers curl into fists. I flash Sazuki another scowl.
His eyes sparkle and I realize that there’s a sick, twisted part of him that actually enjoys seeing me squirm.
“Miss Williams.” Sazuki gestures for me to go inside.
I turn with a huff and stalk into the lecture hall just as Professor Howel asks Sazuki, “When you have time, would you mind signing my album cover…”
I let the door slam shut behind me.
The moment I enter the classroom, I’m immediately surrounded. My eyes dart back and forth between all the eager faces. We’re not a particularly friendly class and I’ve kept to myself while on campus, so all the staring is new.
And unwelcome.
I stumble to my seat, sinking in low.
A girl takes the chair next to me. She’s got her hair dyed blue, but the color actually fits her peaches-and-cream complexion. Her eyes are a big, expressive brown and she smiles at me as I sink into my chair.
“That’s enough breathing down her neck, you vultures. Give the girl some room.”
A few students step back, but not far enough for my taste.
The girl grins at me. “Darlene, right?”
“Uh, no. It’s Dejonae.”
“Right. Right.” She smacks her lips like we haven’t been taking the same class all semester.
“I’m Taylor.”
I nod and slip my ear buds in, hoping that’ll deter Taylor and the others. My stomach’s still burning from Sazuki’s surprise visit today and I’m not really in the mood to talk to anyone.
“How do you know Sazuki?” Taylor asks.
“I don’t.”
“Come on. You expect us to believe that one of the most reclusive celebrities in the world just randomly decided to walk you to class?”
“I don’t really care if you believe it or not. It’s the truth.”
The friendly facade drops and she gives me a frigid stare. “What kind of relationship do you have with Sazuki?”
I keep quiet.
She leans closer and whispers, “Are you his drug dealer?”
The cap on my temper pops and hot lava pours from my mouth. “What is that supposed to mean?”
“There’s only a few reasons he’d be hanging around you. And it’s not like you’d be his sugar baby.” She scrunches her nose. “You don’t look like Sazuki’s type.”
My jaw opens and closes. I don’t know if I should be grateful that I don’t ‘look like a sugar baby’—whatever that means—or if I should be outraged that she doesn’t consider me to be Sazuki’s ‘type’.
“Are you saying Sazuki wouldn’t want me sexually because I’m black. Or that since I’m black, the only reason he would seek me out would be that I sell drugs?”
“This isn’t a black or white thing, Deidra. I just want the truth.”
“It’s Dee-jon-ae!” I hiss. “And why the hell are you entitled to my business? You think saying you want the truth will make you seem less nosy and condescending? You think I’m so insecure that I’d jump at the chance to be friends with you because you now deem it appropriate to talk to me?”
She rolls her eyes. “Geez. You’re totally overreacting.”
“No, I’m expressing my emotions!” I want to throw my purse at her. “Don’t minimize my feelings by calling me aggressive or loud or whatever other stereotype you can pull out of your ignorant brain. I’m responding appropriately. You were rude for insinuating that I’m Sazuki’s drug dealer. You were rude for suggesting that I’m not attractive. And you’re a hypocrite for acting friendly with me to try and squeeze out information on a celebrity. So you know what? Screw you.” I flip her off because I don’t have it in me to be politically correct today.
Snatching my bag off the floor, I storm down to the exits and smash the door open.
Has the entire world gone mad? Damn!
“Miss Williams.” A mousy woman spots me in the hallway and motions to me. “The dean would like to speak to you.”
I nearly groan. What is this now?
She turns sharply. “Follow me.”
I let my bag slide down my shoulder and tip my head to the ceiling. I have a really bad feeling about this.
“Come in. Come in. Have a seat.” The dean waves me forward. “Coffee? Soda? A little something to wet the throat?”
Ew. “No, I’m good.”
He bobs his head. Dean Ferguson is a short, portly man—exactly what one would expect in the administration of academia: faded, brown jacket, balding head, wrinkles from years of breaking up catty, inter-department fights and meeting the needs of pushy parents.
“I checked and you don’t have another lecture until this afternoon.” He rounds his giant desk that’s cluttered with files, binders, and family photographs. “I planned to ask Mr. Howel to let you out early because I just couldn’t wait to speak to you. I’m glad we were able to nab you without issue.”
“Can I ask what this is about?” I remain standing at the door.
He motions me forward. “Sit. Sit.”
I dig my fingers into my backpack and approach the chair tentatively. It’s one of those tall, wingback chairs that are more about looks than comfort. I squirm, trying to find a good position. After a few seconds, I give up and sit with my back ramrod straight.
The dean folds his hands together. “Dejonae, you have been an exemplary student during your three years with us. I understand that, on top of your scholarship, you also worked part time at a café near the university?”
“I did,” I say warily.
“Exemplary. Truly. So many young people choose to blame their circumstances or their environment for their lack of productivity and bad choices. It is so inspirational to see someone like you take the opportunities given and make something of it.”
Is that supposed to be a compliment? “What do you mean someone like me?”
“I just meant,” his mouth opens and closes, “someone who receives financial aid.” His cheeks turn blotchy. “Truly, Dejonae, I meant no disrespect.”
He looks genuine and I realize I might be on edge thanks to Taylor’s interrogation. I relax a bit. “You still haven’t told me what this discussion is about.”
“Right, well, I have very exciting news. The timeline for your graduation project has been tweaked. Rather than waiting until the end of the year to receive your credits, you may be awarded in early spring.”
“Are you kidding? That’s fantastic! But… how? I thought our final grades would be decided at the end-of-the-year concert? I’ve been researching my thesis for months.” I think about my time in the library this morning. “I actually just settled on the direction of my report.”
“You submitted a general thesis outline already, correct?” He flips on his glasses and shakes his mouse to wake up his hibernating computer.
“Yes. I chose the topic of music and the deaf community.”
“I see that here.” He whips off his glasses and a giant smile crosses his face. “Well, this is just perfect. Since your thesis is such an impactful one, we’d like to make a special provision for you.”
“What kind of provision?” I break out into a sweat.
His ruddy cheeks gleam. “After much deliberation, the final grade for your end-of-year project will be decided by none other than…”
My heart starts racing. Don’t say it. Don’t say it.
“… Mr. Ryotaro Sazuki.”
“I object!” I bounce out of my chair as if my legs are made of springs.
The dean looks around. “Miss Williams, this isn’t a courtroom.”
“Why is Sazuki deciding my grade?” I demand.
“He’s a decorated musician, descended from a family of musical legends. There is no one more qualified than Sazuki. And, to make the deal even sweeter, Sazuki has agreed to let you work closely alongside him at his foundation. It would be a paid internship position.”
I feel a clamp around my head and it just keeps squeezing and squeezing. So this was the real reason Sazuki came to my school. Cornering me on my way to class was just a torrid little bonus.
“Do you know how valuable it would be to your future career to have studied with a Sazuki? Doors will fly open for you, Miss Williams. You put the Sazuki name on your resume and you become unstoppable. This is a golden opportunity that any other student would die for.”
“Then give it to them!”
The dean purses his lips. “Are you saying you will not accept the internship?”
“Yes. That.” I point to him. “That’s exactly what I’m saying.”
He rubs his temple and sighs. “Well, this is unexpected.”
“The best things in life are,” I mumble.
The dean reaches for his glasses, slowly fixes it on his nose and looks at me. “I apologize, Miss Williams, but this path is non-negotiable. You either study under Mr. Sazuki or you will not be graduating this year.”
My heart bursts like a balloon. “What?”
“Naturally, your scholarship will be revoked due to failure to meet your academic minimum and the penalty fee will be double that of the scholarship.”
“Failure to meet… you’d be the one blocking me from meeting it!”
“That is one way to look at it.”
“You’re threatening me with my own education. Do you know how twisted that is?”
“Perhaps, but…”
I curl my fingers into fists. “What did he promise you? Money? A new school wing?”
“Mr. Sazuki will introduce us to the International Music Board. It’s a highly exclusive membership group that will allow us to raise our music accreditation. We’ll be able to offer a Masters or Doctorate degree in music. It’s a very prestigious opportunity.”
“But you have to sacrifice me to get it.”
“I wouldn’t think of it as a sacrifice.” He taps his fingers together. “Miss Williams, I would not have agreed if I didn’t think it would be a win for everyone involved. There is no downside to working with Mr. Sazuki.”
“That’s not your decision to make,” I snap.
“Either way, it’s been made. These are your choices.”
Sazuki’s words from earlier echo back to me. ‘You do have a choice, but all those choices lead to one place.’
I’m trapped. If I go home without a degree, everything I worked so hard for will be for nothing. All the long hours of practicing the piano, the late nights studying, the extra shifts at the café to pay my bills, it’ll all go down the drain.
“Fine,” I spit out harshly.
The dean brightens. “You’re making the best choice, Miss Williams. Truly.”
“But I want it in writing that the school is the one who came up with this idea. And I’d like an opportunity to participate in the showcase if my agreement with Mr. Sazuki falls apart.”
“I can do that.”
When I leave the dean’s office, I stick my face into my backpack and scream my head off.
Normally, I can go weeks or months without getting angry. There’s not a lot that ruffles my feathers. I grew up with a sister who never let her limitations stop her from doing what she wanted. Yaya taught me not to take myself too seriously and to roll with the punches. But this punch is determined to keep me on the ground.
I leave the admin building and try my best to forget that Sazuki exists. Unfortunately, word has spread around the school and random people keep approaching me.
By the time I’m finished with my last class, I’m eager to get to Sunny and Darrel Hastings’ farmhouse and pretend today never happened.
I pick up a box of chocolates at a grocery store and then catch a taxi to the farmhouse. My mother taught me to never visit someone’s house empty-handed, but I’m a poor college student so chocolates are the best I can do.
With a deep breath, I knock on the door.
Footsteps patter.
The door flies open.
Niko launches herself at me and wraps her arms around my waist. I’m shocked to see her and hug her back enthusiastically.
“Pretty girl.” I run a hand down her long, curly hair. “What are you doing here?”
Prickles of awareness run over my skin.
I glance up and fall into a pair of sharp brown eyes.
Sazuki.
