This Girl Is On Fire

Chapter 2 - Not Everything's Perfect

Not everything's perfect, especially in the beginning. ― Sarah Dessen, Lock and Key

Slamming the door to his penthouse, Darcy headed straight for his bar. After pouring a healthy double scotch, he tossed it back quickly. He felt rattled. Rarely had he let his temper get the better of him, but he had this evening. What had the woman expected him to do when she put him on the spot? Lie? Apologize? For what? For simply telling the truth?

He ran a hand through his hair in frustration. If she couldn't learn to take constructive criticism and take it in stride, the industry would tear her apart. The public was notoriously cruel. Paparazzi stalked the famous just waiting for a slip up. How many times had he watched stronger, more experienced singers crash and burn or turn to destructive crutches to deal with the evil side of fame?

Elizabeth Bennet was just a naive woman with a pair of incredibly innocent eyes.

She'd be eaten alive.

Well if she was, it wouldn't be his problem!

Serving himself another splash of scotch, Darcy reflected that this night should've never had happened. What had he been thinking, going to that dive not once but twice? He was above such things. He should've sent Richard to waste his time.

Irrationally, Darcy blamed her.

After all, Elizabeth should have called him as expected. He would've made an appointment for her at the studio. At the very least, she would have a keepsake and a story to tell her friends. Darcy had even considered, only as a favor to his sister, stopping in personally at the studio to hear how she sounded, maybe give her pointers. Normally, he left such things up to the studio manager.

As the days passed after their initial meeting, her silence confounded him. Grated on him. Nagged. Distracted. Usually, if he gave a woman his card, they wouldn't wait a day before calling him. Most couldn't wait an hour. But, Elizabeth had waited. It had been over a week, and not one single phone call. In fact, he was quite certain Maggie, his personal assistant, had thought he'd quite lost his mind when he asked several times a day if there was any messages from her. At least now he knew why she hadn't made contact.

Yes, mystery solved. Well done, Will.

Instead of pouring himself another drink, which he desperately wanted, Darcy put his glass in the sink and headed for his bedroom. He was too keyed up to sleep. Wound up. He considered and rejected calling several women who he knew might help him with his current problem knowing he had an early day on the morrow. Meetings completely dominated his schedule, and he needed a clear head. Selecting random on his iPod, John Mayer's iconic blues came through the speaker system.

Moving to his bedroom and slipping out of his clothes, Darcy acknowledged he felt guilty and embarrassed. Unfamiliar territory for him. What had she expected eavesdropping? No one ever heard positive things when they did. Didn't she know that?

And, what did she mean rejecting him? It rankled that she did it with the certainty of someone who received offers every day. Thanks, but no thanks! She'd never in her life receive a better proposition. She was too inexperienced to even know that! The woman had no business in the music business. She was out of her league, out of her depths.

As he showered, Darcy scrubbed his body with more enthusiasm than necessary, trying to wipe out the lingering memory of his visit to The Hole and the frustrating Elizabeth Bennet.

"I think you've managed to insult me in every possible way. So, if you are quite through, I think you should leave."

Toweling off, Darcy told himself that she should've thanked him for his free advice. Wasn't it better she learned now what the business was truly like?It was purely about dollars and cents. No one in his position could survive long without fiscal responsibility. With singers, it was about packaging. Plain and Simple. Would the public buy her? No, she would not be universally accepted the ways he was. Though, he had to admit after seeing her a second time, he could no longer remember exactly on what his initial assessment had been based. It was a damn shame the woman allowed her vanity to interfere with what might have been a profitable partnership. She was clearly a fool! Lord knew he already had enough of them on payroll.

As he brushed his teeth, he reminded himself, he didn't need her. He was William Darcy of Darcy Records.He rinsed and wiped his mouth. Everyone in New York seemed to be a singer or an actress or both, and they all seemed to want something. Just this week, he'd been propositioned by numerous women, all younger than Ms. Bennet, all with perfect figures and perfect voices who would've taken his criticism and his offer and thanked him.

Some would have been rather demonstrative in thanking him! He frowned. This evening would had definitely ended quite differently if she had expressed her gratitude in the usual way. An imagine of Elizabeth swam before him. One where she was letting her hair down before winding her hands around his neck pulling him low for a kiss. He shook his head to clear it. He refused to dwell on how soft her full, pillowy lips would likely feel under his.

Clearly, he needed to get laid. It had been too long since he had sank himself fully into a woman. Nearly two weeks. Perhaps, he would call Sarah or Meagan. Or, both. After all, they did impress on him that they did like to share. Grinning, he replaced the towel at his waist with clean pajama bottoms. The delightful image of him being pleasured by two women at the same time gave way to one of Elizabeth glaring at him in her dressing room.

It was her loss.

Look what he had done for that jack nab Justin. Elizabeth had infinitely more talent in one eyelash than the English twit, Salvadore. He had just gone double platinum. Irritated that his favorite music was not giving him the solace it usually did, he slapped off the dock. Just thinking about the music they could have made together made him surely.

Darcy turned off the lamp on his nightstand. He was lucky to have escaped an association with her. If he had signed her to a contract, it would've been exhausting to keep comforting her each and every time someone insulted her or hurt her tender feelings. He was a busy man with a demanding schedule. He didn't have that kind of free time to devote to one needy artist. Even if that needy artist had eyes that could pierce your soul.

He groaned as his mind conjured her up before him. Her brown curls swinging freely and those bedroom eyes. Screwing his eyes shut tightly, Darcy rolled on his side willing sleep to catch up with him.

But, he soon found, in the quiet of his bedroom, in the darkness of the night, there was no escape. The radio in his mind auto tuned to her. As it had with increasing frequency since their fateful introduction, he heard the soft velvet of Elizabeth Bennet's voice caress his mind. Her smiling image from the stage now joined that voice. A strangely delightful marriage of sound and vision. Punching a pillow, he tried to get comfortable but no matter what he tried, the memory of her would not release him from its cloying grasp.

Darcy's resistance lasted a week before he returned to The Hole for a third time.

A short, bald African American man with a bow tie took the money he held out for the cover charge. The man looked up at him, and for one paranoid moment, Darcy wondered if he was going to be denied admission to the establishment. After hesitating briefly, the man stamped his hand, and he was ushered inside with all the other patrons.

Instead of sitting up close as he had on his previous two visits, he selected a seat in the back far corner where the dim lighting would better conceal his presence. Never in his life had Darcy resorted to skulking in shadows. After being use to VIP treatment his entire life, he felt the degradation of this hiding keenly.

The cocktail waitress stopped by his table. She clearly recognized him. "I see you came back, handsome."

He noted the badge she wore on her Metallica shirt. "Yes, Daisy," she smiled at his use of her name, "I find I really like the drinks."

"Double scotch, right?"

At his nod, she squeezed between two closely packed tables to retrieve his order from the bar. A quick glance confirmed the club was better attended than on his previous visits. Unfortunately, the lineup had not improved. It was real punishment to sit impatiently through two unremarkable acts. For a man who was never kept waiting, it seemed unbearable. To pass the time, he dealt with some emails and sent last minute instructions to Maggie.

Done with what he could accomplish, he reflected on the first time he had come to The Hole. He'd been in mind-numbing meetings most of that day and had looked forward to a quiet dinner with his sister. Unusually insistent, Georgiana introduced the subject of Elizabeth Bennet and would not let the idea of seeing her go. They had to go that very evening. Right then. Nothing would discourage her. She'd been so excited to introduce him to the woman that she was convinced would be his next big star. Never had he been able to deny Georgie what she most desired so he'd caved in the face of her enthusiasm.

But as they drove to the bar, his annoyance quickly fanned into anger when Georgiana shared with him the story about Jane. His first thought was this Elizabeth Bennet must've done her homework. Her beloved sister having cancer and her dying wish was for her to go to New York and chase her dream of a music career? It was a little too over the top, like the plot of one of those horribly cliché Lifetime movies. Knowing that his sweet sister had practically eaten it up with a spoon and that someone was using such a story to prey upon her tender heart made him see red. He'd nearly lost Georgie, and she was now only in remission. How had this woman even learned of it?

Anger morphed into rage when he finally arrived at The Hole. That his sister had been traveling with her friends to a bar like this without security made him livid. After going through so many unpleasant emotions in such quick secession, he'd arrived in a state disinclined to enjoy anyone or anything he saw. In such a mood, the woman could have looked like Elin Nordegren and sung like Whitney Houston and he would have found flaws.

Really, he'd only begun to thaw when they'd gone to the café right before he was going to leave. After Elizabeth returned from freshening her makeup, she had laughed at something his sister had said. The sound of it resonated with him. Darcy had just denounced the woman to his little sister, but suddenly there was a vibrancy to her. When she met his gaze fully for the first time all evening, he noticed her eyes. Laughing, teasing eyes. Even though he had just told his sister he had to leave, he found himself lingering. If he were being honest with himself, he'd even felt a momentary twinge of disappointment when Elizabeth refused his offer of a second drink.

When she had not called him, Darcy had returned a second time to The Hole to give Elizabeth a fair assessment not clouded by anger and annoyance. Within the dying notes of her first song, he knew that his sister's instincts were correct. How had he not noticed on that first night how magical she was on stage? How she held her audience in her thrall? The emotion that played out across her face - delight, sorrow, happiness. She was a sensational performer. She climbed into a song, wore it, wrung it out. He agreed with Georgie. If he didn't sign Elizabeth to a contract soon, someone else would stumble across her, and he'd regret letting her slip through his fingers. When her set was finished, he had to remind himself to play it cool - he couldn't let her know how desperately he wanted her for his label.

He was roused from his memories of that second disastrous trip when the bass player announced, "And now back to The Hole's stage, Elizabeth Bennet. Everyone make her feel welcome, and let her know how much you've missed her." The applause for her was generous.

Elizabeth took the stage looking as if she knew a secret no one else in the room knew. She was as he remembered, but different at the same time. More. Her costume tonight was the same plain blue dress she'd worn the night they'd met. A dress, which he would have sworn was unflattering, seemed anything but now. It clung possessively to her curves — her large breasts, round hips, and a generous bottom— a womanly shape that had never previously attracted him. He'd always preferred slender, fit, athletic women.

Really, his eyes slowly traced her body, she wasn't that heavy. Yes, she could stand to lose weight. Though, not as much as he originally thought. She was all sultry playfulness and lush feminine bounty. He found he was disappointed to see that her brown curls were tightly imprisoned in a severe updo. Those marvelous curls had surprised him when she released them from that ridiculous twist in her dressing room. The air had simply evaporated from his lungs. Her hair was lovely, wild.

The three brunettes he had taken out since his last visit had not satisfied whatever this urge was inside of him. They had each been glorious - small bones, small breasted Venuses but taking pleasure in their flesh had not satisfied him for long.

He picked up his cell phone and quickly sent an email to Suzzanne Valentine, one of the personal stylists whose consulting services he used occasionally, to ask about her availability. He let her know that he had a very special project and he would like her personal assistance. Yes, Suzzanne would know what would work best highlight Elizabeth's attributes.

When the first note of her voice reached him, all thoughts of business or anything else were swept from his mind. His attention auto-focused on her. Half way through her rendition of Red Light Special, Darcy had to loosen his tie and undo the top button of his dress shirt. The air conditioning in the dump must have failed because it felt as if the temperature in the bar had risen fifteen degrees.

When a man in the crowd near the stage catcalled out to her and Elizabeth playfully shimmied, Darcy was not amused. It was an amateur's move. She'd have to be trained to deal with the audience's enthusiasm; it could be dangerous to encourage the wrong sort of man. There were several more rowdy comments from some of the other appreciative men in the audience. He brushed imaginary lint from his sleeve, reminding himself for the tenth time why he hated these low life establishments.

Really, could they not just shut up and let everyone enjoy her song?

As she spoke cheerfully to the crowd while the band swapped out instruments and set up for her next song, he admitted her face was not classically beautiful. She had good bone structure though, a fantastic smile and those expressive eyes. And, there was something more. Her welcoming and inviting presence just drew you in — no, he corrected himself — it damn near hypnotized. As many artists he saw perform, he'd never seen anyone like her. She was special.

Tonight, if she wanted, Elizabeth could sell ice cubes to an Eskimo.

But, none of these startling epiphanies mattered.

She had begun to sing again and he shut his eyes to concentrate. It was that voice. It had been clawing around his mind, haunting his every quiet moment. It was what had brought him to heel, made him crawl back here as if she were a mythical siren. It was quite unforgettable. Something deep within him snapped awake at the mere whisper of it.

Her next song was new. Newly written by her, she had informed the crowd, with that inviting but shy smile of hers. She hoped they would like it. Darcy never had a doubt. As talented as she was vocally, it was a pleasant bonus to find she was an equally gifted songwriter. Listening with a critical ear, he admitted that her arrangements were a tad bit sophomoric. But, Dear Lord, there was a solid foundation. Her talent was impossible to deny. Her lyrics were smart, playful, surprising. Good bones, his mother would have said. What could he do with them? With her? An ache of longing settled within him. What sweet music they could make together!

Her final song, of her too short set, was an original too, but from the reaction of those around him, clearly was one she had sung for them before. The women at the table next to him were singing the chorus with her. It was a song written about losing a loved one. Had it been written for her sister? Some man? Darcy found suddenly a burning desire to know.

Then, it was over. She said goodbye to the audience, who clearly felt the same way he did. They were not ready to release her. Following her retreat through the curtain that separated the stage from the stairs to the dressing rooms with his eyes, he knew it would be a simple thing to ask to speak with her again. Instinctively, he glanced around for the man with the boa who had helped him previously, and the sudden surge of desire to be in her presence again was fierce. The startling intensity of it was what brought him back to reality.

What the hell was he doing? Chasing after an artist? Had he lost his mind completely? Coming here was bad enough. Speaking to her again was out of the question. He quickly left before he acted on the strong compulsion to talk to her again.

In his opinion, he decided two nights later on his fourth visit, the business model at The Hole was entirely wrong. As their best performer, Elizabeth's set should be expanded. The audience had to suffer far too long with other singers who couldn't hold a candle to her. Daisy saw him, brought him his drink without his asking, took his money and her generous tip, and left him to enjoy his solitude.

Elizabeth's performance brought minimal relief. The gnawing impatience he felt as soon as she finished her set was intolerable. He was not alone. There was grumbling from the masses — it was not his imagination—demanding an encore. It seemed louder tonight than previously and as Darcy took in the congregation, he noted that it was twice as crowded as the night Georgie had first brought him.

Blushing at the overwhelming response, Elizabeth laughed at the idea of remaining with them. Darcy stood, unsatisfied and disgusted, and left the club before the next act even had time to setup.

The following week, business out of town kept him away from The Hole geography, but Elizabeth performed graphically and tantalizing out of reach every night in his dreams. The night he returned to New York, Darcy instructed Sal, his driver, to take him straight from the airport to the bar feeling like an addict who needed a fix. He needed to hear the real Elizabeth perform.

When they pulled up, the street was strangely deserted. The building was quiet and secured. Closed, said the sign in bright mocking letters, every Sunday and Monday. As he cursed at the large doors, another sign caught his eye which indicated that The Hole now could be followed on Facebook and Twitter.

Oh, Good God!

As Sal drove him back uptown to his penthouse, Darcy accessed both websites with his cell. There were no videos of Elizabeth and frustrating little biographical information about her at either site, but there were several photos of her. Pictures of her performing on stage, several others post performance with the band and a few with people he assumed were fans. He paused on one taken in her dressing room where she stood like a goddess in a sea of roses from her admiring public. There were hundreds of comments. Some were complimentary, but he was dismayed to read some of the comments which bordered on lewd. If the webmaster for The Hole couldn't be bothered to monitor their own website for such things, why even put up a comment sections?

By Tuesday, his taciturn behavior could not be ignored. Nothing pleased him. His cousin, Richard, who served as his senior legal counsel, suggested Darcy might need to get laid. Maggie had actually threatened to retire if he did not change his attitude toward her. Georgie did not seem to want to talk with him on the phone. So caustic was his behavior, his best friend, Charles Bingley hinted that he might need to seek some sort of psychological help.

Sex hadn't helped to purge the woman either. And, he had tried. He had exhausted his normal playbook. Usually he could work out any frustration within the soft folds of a woman's body, but no matter how many women he took to bed it did not work. The only thing that staved off this growing feeling within him was to be in her presence, hear her sing. The animal inside of him was soothed entirely, bewitched by her voice.

When he arrived at The Hole after the week's separation, the line was so long he actually feared he might not be admitted—there were occupancy laws, after all. This time when Darcy reached the door, the man with the boa was taking the cover and there could be no question that he was recognized by the sting he felt when his hand was stamped with more enthusiasm than necessary. Rubbing the injury, he took his familiar spot in Daisy's section against the far wall. She waved cheerfully from the bar, and he gave her a salute back before checking his watch. Relaxing, Elizabeth should be going on in fifteen or twenty minutes.

Killing time by working, Darcy responded to a few last minute details and didn't look up when the drink was delivered. As usual, his money was on the table to avoid any unnecessary interaction with the waitress. A male throat cleared, and Darcy glanced up absently. Instead of Daisy, he met the eyes of a distinctly unhappy man he recognized from The Hole's Facebook page as the owner. This was Phillip Masters, and the boa wearing man outside was his boyfriend, Malcolm DuRone. Clearly, Mr. Masters was no more of a fan of his than his partner.

The man leaned down close to his ear, "Mr. Darcy, with all due respect, you'll need to be getting your drinks somewhere else after tonight." He looked over his shoulder, where two large imposing men stood.

Nodding his understanding, because what else could he do, Darcy picked up his drink. As they left his table, he glanced about hotly until his eyes landed on Malcolm. The man flipped him a middle finger before flouncing back out the front door. He was infuriated and insulted. Didn't they know he could buy and sell them both a hundred times over? He could snub The Hole out of existence like a discarded cigarette? The owner had called him Mr. Darcy but did he know who he was really?For one brief moment, he considered leaving. But then Elizabeth was announced, and the urge to leave evaporated. He could bear this slight to his pride. He'd gone too long without seeing her.

Tonight, Elizabeth wore tight black jeans, a matching leather bomber and an emerald green blouse that did not seem to have enough buttons done up to suit him. Her tousled mane was loose, waving past her shoulders to rest half way down her back.

As usual, her set was over far too soon for his liking. Someone in the audience yelled out for an encore. The call rippled across the audience, louder tonight than on his previous visits. As Elizabeth uncharacteristically hesitated, looking toward the bar, hope rose in him.

He saw Mr. Masters give her the thumbs up. Climbing up on a high back stool brought up to the stage by one of the hands, she crossed her legs, settling herself. A bass materialized in her hands while one of the band members adjusted a microphone stand in front of her.

Her voice was like velvet as she chatted up her audience. "This is one of my all-time favorite songs. I just learned it this week with Max's help. I hope you enjoy it half as much as I enjoyed learning to play it for you." Darcy did not like the naughty smile she gave the musician next to her. "Supermassive Black Hole by Muse."

The bassist began a soft countdown for them, and they started the distinctive riffs of the song, two dueling basses in perfect time. At first, when she started singing, Darcy wasn't sure he liked the song choice. The genre was so far from what she had performed in the past. He looked to the audience to see their collective reaction—heads were bouncing, arms waived in the front, others were clapping in time with the music, and several were singing along with her. Presence. This was not contrived or scripted, but true energy and creativity.

As if he had needed any further convincing Elizabeth was the real deal, she flubbed the bass solo in the middle of the song. Instead of falling apart, she scrunched up her nose, laughed and recovered her rhythm, all while nailing her vocals. Usually a perfectionist, Darcy was even that much more surprised to find himself utterly charmed by her reaction to her mistake.

When Supermassive concluded abruptly, the audience immediately begged her for another. But she was not to be persuaded and left the stage as usual. As he stood to leave, Darcy knew he wanted more.

He simply had to have more of the enchanting Ms. Bennet.

Unfortunately, now there was only one way to get that. It was painfully clear that he would have to swallow his pride and resort to the one thing he never did. Beg.

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