The Right Note (BWWM Interracial Romance) by Naima DaCosta Page A

she actually wanted any part of the business of live music. Besides that, there was the terrible stage fright she had never gotten over.
    She never had a problem playing to small groups of people, but for some reason whenever she was on an actual stage with a large crowd of people in the audience, she was so sick with anxiety she was barely was able to finish her set. She never felt she had played anywhere near her best under those conditions She made friends easily wherever she found herself. partly because of her friendly enthusiasm and partly due to her easy humor.
    When not joking around she kept an easygoing, unassuming demeanor. The only time she came fully alive was in social situations where music was being discussed or played. On those occasions she simply couldn't help herself from becoming the center of attention, talking animatedly about her favorite artists and giving little demonstrations of her latest work that invariably impressed the hell out of anyone who heard her. Her male friends liked her because they could nerd out together about music. Other women liked her because she didn't really try to compete with them for men. In fact she had dated very little.
    A boyfriend or two in high school and a few flings in college had taught her that she wasn't all that well suited for romantic relationships. she was always too absorbed in her music to understand why she was supposed to pay such close attention to these guys who all seemed to want to put her on a pedestal. She enjoyed sex though, those odd times when it was actually good. She liked remembering those times when she was bored, waiting in line, or sitting on the subway. The feeling of rough hands on her shoulders, the sounds of heavy masculine breathing, the sight of a man's chest and abdomen flexing as he moved his body in a hard steady rhythm while pushing inside her. The delicious sensation of having her small dark nipples teased and sucked on.
    These things were all well and good but having a guy texting her all the time telling her how much he loved her was more annoying than anything else. Hayley heard someone clear their throat pointedly behind her. Startled out of her narcissistic reverie, she turned to see a comically short Punjabi man, most likely one of the local merchants, glaring at her. Apparently he was convinced that she had some sinister interest in the vehicle she had spent the last two minutes using as her personal mirror. She tried to smile a friendly smile at him and indicate she was moving on now, but he seemed determined to be as unforgiving as possible. she shook her head and turned away to continue walking. I probably should have seen that coming, she thought, reflecting on the fact of her being the only black person visible on the whole street.
    The neighborhood was mostly made up of Italians and Greeks with a few Mexicans and assorted middle easterners, who were mostly concentrated farther south. She turned the corner off of main onto a side street heading into what appeared to be a light industrial area She began to run over in her mind everything she knew about the man she was going to meet in a few minutes. His name was Jack Davis. He was one of the most respected and consistently successful pop songwriters working today. He had written songs for artists in every genre and several of his songs had been hits more than once with different versions. this was something usually only happened with songs of the very highest caliber.
    After all, Most pop songs tended to fade away altogether almost as fast as they fell from the charts. He was known, not just for writing, but also arranging his hits.
    His work was hard to classify. As soon as a couple of his singles in a row could be said to have a signature sound, he invariably came up with something completely different for his next success, as if he enjoyed baffling everyone in the industry. As a man he was said to be cold. he was known to be very tough about money. he had consistently