Author's Note: Here's the second chapter guys. Let us know what you think. And thank you all for the continued response. It has excited and inspired the writing of this fic. Hugs and love to you all. Smiles as well. I'd give you guys a peace sign but that's bordering almost on cheesy (laugh out loud). You guys are fantastic! Hugs. And Please R&R! Angel422 and Undiscovered91.

Jude…

"Was that...?" A voice began behind me as I clutched at the business card in my hand indecisively before turning around to face a very curious Spiederman.

"Tom Quincy? Yeah," I finished for him as he looked over my shoulder at the man now standing against a wall across the room once again. Spied frowned.

"What did he want?" Spied asked as I just shrugged—slipping the card into my pocket as I brushed by him back towards the stage. I could feel Spied's presence as he followed me insistently.

"He offered me a job," I replied simply as Spied processed that statement a moment before grabbing my elbow and pulling me up short.

"And you said..." He asked slowly as I just shrugged again—making that the second time in about two minutes that I had brushed off his question. Spied's mouth dropped open in astonishment as he pulled my chin up so that our eyes were in direct contact with each other.

"You can't seriously be thinking of...dude, he was a boy-bander!" Spied exclaimed with disgust in his tone as I pulled my chin firmly out of his grasp.

"Who happens to have produced some major artists, Spied, and all of them were rock musicians. I'd say he must have some knowledge of that genre," I stated in a low tone before glancing up suddenly at the back of the room. Tom Quincy was still standing there—gazing across the room at me with a small, satisfied smile as if he knew he had won. I almost laughed. I may be young at seventeen, but I was also one hell of a fighter and he had no idea what he was up against. I tipped my head at him confidently and noticed his smile slip a little.

"I'm not making any big life-changing decisions right now, so don't worry about it," I remarked simply while turning back towards Spiederman as he shook his head--almost in resignation. I wasn't. Was I?

On location at a commercial shoot a few days later…

"Harrison, don't start with me," Darius growled, the seriousness of the threat evident in his tone as he balled his fists determinedly at his sides. I compressed my lips firmly together in futile resistance.

Darius Mills was angry. At me. And angry didn't even begin to describe the emotions that flitted across his face at the moment. Well, I was pissed, too, and I thought I had a much more substantial reason to be mad than he did. He wasn't the one who was supposed to wear a skimpy, practically non-existent bikini for a commercial promoting a new body wash by a huge lingerie company of all things. And to make matters worse, this bikini was pink--bright pink. Seriously, even Barbie would be intimidated by the neon hue of the so-called bathing suit that I was expected to wear. You could be blinded for life if you looked at it without wearing sunglasses or some kind of protective eyewear.

Okay, it's not really that bad, but you get the point--I was not going to wear that thing.

"Look, Darius, I'm not going to wear that. If I had wanted to model for Victoria's Secret, I wouldn't have gone into music. And, for God's sake, what does me lying on a beach almost naked have to do with soap? Tell them to find me a different outfit to wear, or I'm walking," I threatened, knowing even as the words escaped from my mouth that this was not the right way to approach the situation. What can I say? I've always been an impulsive person; that whole 'think before you speak' lesson never quite registered in my brain.

"You will wear whatever they tell you to wear and you will do whatever they tell you to do. I don't care if you don't like it, you're going to do it. Got it?" Darius yelled as several people along the shorelines of Toronto's Eastern beaches stopped to stare. I think they had even filmed an episode of Degrassi here—the one where Sean returns home after the Rick shooting. I smiled sheepishly at the passers-by.You'd think that after two years, Darius would've figured out that I despise being told what I can and cannot do. Obviously not, since he was already turning to walk away—dismissing the fact that I might actually challenge him on this.

"And if I don't, D?" I asked coldly—a veil of resistance dripping like venom from my lips. That stopped him dead in his tracks. Could I possibly be the first one to blatantly refuse one of his orders?

"That's not an option. You will, end of story." Darius roared. I didn't even flinch.

"I don't like being told what to do, Darius—you should know that by now. I never signed anything with this company, so don't think I won't get in my car and drive home right now, because I will." I mimicked, knowing that the comment would get a rise out of him. The last statement was enough to make Darius storm across the sand before getting right up into my face, keeping his voice level but making sure the venom was dripping. We were both all about venom today. A snake would even shudder.

"You may not have signed anything, but I did. And if you walk off of this beach without finishing the filming of this damn commercial, then I will get my ass sued and you will get your ass dropped from the label. So get back over there and finish this thing—wearing whatever the hell they give you." Darius ground out bewteen clenched teeth as he turned once again to walk away, but, and excuse my willfulness, I just couldn't keep my mouth shut. I'm so bad at not knowing when to just let it go—to walk away and restrain this stubborn habit of mine of having to have the last word, and it didn't look like I was going to break that habit anytime soon.

"It's not like I couldn't find another studio to sign with..." I half muttered, half hissed—knowing that Darius could hear every word clearly just from the way he froze in place—the way his shoulders tensed underneath his t-shirt.

"Be careful, Jude—you just might get what you wish for. And you tend to forget just how much power I have in this industry. My black list is definitely not something you want to be on." He reiterated, and with that he strode away—knowing that I would go back and finish the shoot just like he had told me to. What I hated even more was the confidence he seemed to have in my compliance—that even upon his absence I would obey his command--not worried about any further arising problems.

Still infuriated, I grabbed my cell phone from my purse—which was laying nearby—and began scrolling through my contacts until I reached one that I had programmed in there earlier that very morning reluctantly before throwing away 'his' business card. A couple of seconds later, and I was hearing a steady ring while I waited for 'him' to pick up. What was I doing? Anger sometimes made me impulsive—a little foolish.

"Quincy." A voice answered casually--almost in a bored tone.

That's how he answered his phone? The second I heard his voice I knew I was just digging myself into an even deeper hole, consequently known as my life.

"Hi, Tom. It's Jude...Harrison," I added quickly, not really sure how common my name really was. I almost slapped my head in utter idiocy. Of course he knew my name! He had sought me out for his own studio. It would be bad for business if he didn't at least know his artists' names.

I could practically see the arrogant smile that spread across his face as he recognized who I was and the probable reason behind why I was calling.

"Well, I see that didn't take long." He uttered arrogantly as I winced. Talk about assumption.

"And I see you're quick to assume that you know everything, including the reason I'm calling," I retorted, somewhat thrown off by realizing the sheer size of Tom's ego. I figured I'd have to help shrink his inflated head before his neck managed to snap from the weight of its velocity.

"Would I be wrong to say that you contacted me because of the offer I made the other night at the charity concert?" He countered, obviously enjoying the banter.

"Maybe I was just calling to get some more information on my calorie intake, since you seemed so interested in it then." I replied as I dug my toes into the sand beneath my feet. I could him almost chuckle in the background. He didn't!

"That could be. Why don't you just tell me the real reason you called, and then we can see where we go from here." Tom remarked as I glanced out over at the ocean. Okay, so we both knew why I actually called, but I still think his ego needed some major downsizing.

"I called...to ask you something." I replied softly as I lowered my voice several levels—almost as if I was afraid of being overheard.

"Ask away." He stated simply in a wry, unwavering tone.

"Why did you offer me a contract with your studio? I didn't see you handing your card out to anyone else at the concert. Any particular reason I was singled out?" I asked indifferently as if his response didn't matter. There was momentary silence.

I could sense the smile on his face when he finally spoke. He knew that wasn't what I actually wanted to ask him.

"It's not like you even need me to tell you, Jude Harrison. You've hit the top of the charts numerous times in the past few months, and some people would say that you're currently the biggest artist in Canada. I've seen you perform live, and I know you can rock the audience, no matter what you're singing. You write your own stuff, which means that I wouldn't have to bring in a song writer for you. Darius doesn't sign anybody he thinks won't make it. And if that's not enough, you have something that makes you stand out from everyone else. I can't put my finger on it, at least not yet anyway, but its there. Happy?" He finished fiercely as I just stared at my end of the phone before taking a deep breath. I was very happy, although I'm not really sure why. I think I was as equally unnerved as I was happy at his response.

"Somewhat. Look, I've got to go..." I trailed off, still thinking about what he had just said.

"Alright. But Jude?" He asked me quietly—his voice finally turning serious, and I was curious as to the reason for the change in his tone.

"Yeah?" I answered, unsure if I actually wanted to hear what he had to say.

"Think about what I said."