Chapter 5 : Meeting the Artist

*Trinity's POV*

I sat down to eat my measly dinner when my phone began to ring again. Assuming it was my sisters again, I didn't even bother to look at the screen as I answered.

"Missed me already?" I asked, expecting to hear Arielle's voice.

Instead, I heard a very different voice come over the phone.

"I don't believe that's appropriate, Ms. Trinity," Mr. Withers' voice came through. It sounded cool and aloof, even on the phone.

I was so embarrassed that I didn't even realize that he had called me by my name. Instead, I stammered out a quick apology, even though I knew that he didn't like them.

"Oh, uh, Mr. Withers, I apologize! I thought you were my older sister, I just got off the phone with her and thought she was calling back." I tried to explain.

"Did it sound like I have time for a life story?"

God, he really made it hard to like him. I bit on the inside of my cheek to hold myself back and took a few deep breaths.

"Uhm, no. What can I do for you?" I asked, trying hard not to sound as peeved as I felt.

"I need you to bring coffee to Recording Booth A as soon as possible," he announced, not even asking. "No longer than 30 minutes, though."

"What?" I couldn't help but ask. "But I'm off work, and it's Friday evening."

"And I'm asking you to assist. You are a personal assistant, right?" I could almost see the obnoxious eyebrow raise at his tone. "Let's be honest, what else does a pregnant lady have to do on a Friday night?"

"Excuse me?" My voice was at least an octave higher at this. He was making it difficult to contain my anger.

"Okay, fine, I will take away your first warning if you make it here now," he continued without care. "And you will get on-call hours, which are double time." Damn. That was hard to pass up. Mr. Withers seemed to take my silence as a sign of agreement. "I'll text you the order."

And with that, he hung up. Without a thought, I left my pathetic dinner, grabbed my purse, and jumped in my car. I was backing up before I had even received the order.

I had another reason to be glad that I had called my sisters, because if it was a normal day after work, my bra and pants would have already been off and in a pile by my bed. But instead, I was still dressed and ready to go.

Once I had received the coffee order, I called ahead to the cafe and got the order to go, so as soon as I pulled up, it was already ready for me. I had begun doing this the last few days and was extremely impressed with the timeliness.

After grabbing the two coffees that were ordered, I took back off. When I parked in the employee parking garage, I was shocked that it had already only been 15 minutes out of my 30 minute timeline. Even I was impressed.

Maybe Arielle was right, and I simply needed to prove myself. It did make me feel pretty good…

I walked into the building and to the elevator. While on my tour during the first day of work, I was shown the entire building, so I easily hit the button for the floor that housed all the recording booths.

The elevator doors opened to the second to the top floor, and I was just as impressed at the high end rooms as I was the first time I saw them. I quickly found the booth that had the letter 'A' on the door and stepped inside. With a quick glance, I saw that I had somehow managed to pull it off in less than 20 minutes.

I expected to see Mr. Withers in the room, but it wasn't him that I found on the other side of the door.

Instead, it was an average height guy who was probably only around 5'9" with full dark brown hair. I could see the tattoos that covered his arms, but then realized as he turned to look at me exactly who he was.

It was Brett MacCovy, the hot new artist that the company had signed. I had spent the time after my first day of work researching this guy and could easily recognize him from the pictures I had seen on the internet. He let out a crooked smile as he looked at me, and I thought that he looked nothing like what I would expect a popular rapper to look like.

"Hello," he said. "My name's Brett. You must be…Mrs. Mathers."

He held out his hand to me, so I quickly set the coffees down on the small stand next to us and shook his hand. His hand was soft in mine and very warm. Another surprise.

"Uhm, Ms.," I noted, correcting him while forcing a friendly smile onto my face. “But please, call me Trinity.”

"Oh, I apologize,” Brett replied, letting go of my hand. “I'm assuming that this coffee is for me?" he asked as he picked up the cup with an order different from Mr. Withers’ usual. "Sorry to make you go and get it for me, it just sounded so good, and warm coffee is the only thing I can get to relax my throat."

"It wasn't a problem," I nodded, brushing off his excuse. I was getting paid double due to his craving, and I wasn’t complaining.

"Well, Trinity,” Brett began as he leaned against the mixing table. “Since you’re here, why don't you tell me a little about yourself?" he asked, not taking his eyes off me. "Do you listen to music?"

"Of course I do," I replied, feeling nervous as his eyes remained on me while he sipped his coffee.

"Good. I would have been worried if you worked at a record company and didn't even listen to music."

At this, I laughed lightly, which surprised even me. "I will be honest, though, my music knowledge is pretty limited," I shrugged. "It’s basically either 90s pop or 60s classics.”

Brett chuckled at my response and shook his head. "Don't worry about it; I get what you mean. I only really listened to what my parents did when I was growing up too, so I was also fairly limited.”

“What’s your poison?” I questioned, finding myself relaxing a little more. It was nice to have a casual conversation with someone here that didn’t involve yelling.

Brett took another sip of his drink and swallowed, answering as he did. “Soul.”

Soul music. I initially smiled when I thought about it, but then my smile faded. I had a lot of great memories with soul music. But a lot, if not all, of them, included Nate.

I was instantly taken back to just a little under a year ago when Nate put on one of his albums and pulled me close to dance with him. It wasn’t any special occasion, and I hadn't had to ask him; he had just done it on his own.

That's how Nate was; he was a romantic.

I tried to hide the sadness on my face and blinked before the tears could even think of starting to form. However, Brett wasn't oblivious and still noticed, despite my best efforts. He was just opening his mouth, no doubt to say something nice, but we were both distracted by the door opening up behind me.

Of course, it was Mr. Withers walking through the door. As if my mood couldn't get any worse. He glanced between Brett and me in concern as if he was worried that I might be ruining his company's chances with the newly signed artist.

"There you are, Trinity. I must have missed you in passing coming up the elevator. I just had to step away for a quick meeting." He walked forward and grabbed the other coffee off the stand with his exact order. "I see you got the coffee, though. Thank you."

I stared at him in surprise.

He had said my name. My actual name. And that wasn't all.

Did this wicked man just say thank you? I didn't believe it. I must’ve been hallucinating. The only explanation was that Brett was still standing there, and as the CEO of the company, he most likely still wanted to make a great impression on the new artist.

But the kindness was still throwing me for a loop.

"You’re, uh, welcome," I finally responded, deciding to stay cordial like the true professional I was. "I better let you guys get back to business then."

"No, please, stay," Brett stated, surprising Mr. Withers and me. "You can stick around and listen to the new track. The more ears, the better, right, Withers?"

I felt my eyebrow furrow in confusion and quickly tried to conceal it. What was happening here? Was I being…hit on? No, there was no way.

But when I looked at Mr. Withers, I realized he must’ve been thinking along the same lines because he also stared at Brett with a weird look before turning his gaze to me. He stared me up and down as if trying to decipher what Brett saw in me. I felt my cheeks flush warmly when he landed on my stomach.

I knew I was decently pretty and seemed to be aging well. However, the past six months and the grief itself had done a number on me, and I knew I looked nowhere near how I used to.

"I'm sorry, Brett, but Trinity cannot stay. She has another errand to run for me since she's already out and about," Mr. Withers said.

Normally, I’d be somewhat frustrated—truthfully, I knew this was my job, but it was well past working hours and even with the overtime pay, I wanted nothing more than to return home and relax. It hurt to be on my feet so often at this stage. Yet, for some reason, I still felt fine with him giving me an excuse to escape the situation.

"O-Oh, yes," I replied, quick to agree with him. It’s not that I didn’t find the attention flattering, but I wasn’t even remotely ready to entertain something close to a relationship yet. Not now, and not especially with a client.

Mr. Withers gave a nod of affirmation and continued. "I had Amber drop off my dry cleaning at the normal location, and I need you to go pick it up and drop it off at my home for me. I won’t be home till late. I’ll text you the address. After that, you’re free to leave.”

I nodded. That was easy enough.

Without acknowledgement, Mr. Withers turned back to Brett, but Brett did not turn away from me quite yet.

He held out his hand and shook mine once more. "It was a pleasure meeting you, Trinity, and I look forward to seeing you again soon," Brett said with a small smile.

My eyes flickered to Mr. Withers, who did not seem impressed. Then, I looked back to Brett.

"Thank you," I smiled, trying to prove to Mr. Withers that I could play the game despite the clear overstepping of his client. "I look forward to seeing you again soon as well, and I know you are in great hands with my boss here."

I let go of Brett’s hand, and my eye was quick to capture the stone-cold look on Mr. Withers’ face. Only this one wasn’t like his usual. Rather, it was straight-laced, with just a hint of intrigue. Was he truly that surprised that men could still find me attractive in this state, or was he impressed with my professionalism?

Either way, I didn’t care. Brett flashed me one more soft grin and then turned back to the studio. I took that as my cue to leave.

Once I was out in the hall, I headed to the elevator and rode it down to the parking garage. In my car, I groaned and let my head fall against the headrest. I turned on the car, and the radio started playing. As the song faded out, the announcer began to speak, and I couldn’t help but let out a small chuckle as he spoke Brett’s name.

What in the world was happening?

Almost as if on cue, my phone buzzed in my pocket, and I pulled it out to see the address that Mr. Withers had sent. Alright, back to work it was. Just one more thing, and I could go home. I could feel the baby moving restlessly in my stomach. We were both exhausted by the sounds of it.

I placed my phone in the cup holder and put my car into drive.

This time, I paid extra attention to the clothes I picked up, and once I was satisfied that none of the shirts were pink, I gathered all the garments and put them into my back seat, hooking them on one of the handles above the door.

I drove to the address in silence as I listened to the instructions from Google Maps herself.

The buildings started to grow bigger and bigger the closer into the city I drove, and I began to feel overwhelmed as I passed by.

I turned into the sky-rise parking lot and was greeted by a man in a crisp, red-suit at a booth.

“Name,” he commanded without looking at me. I hesitated. What? I had no idea I’d need to give my name. When I didn’t respond, he looked at me with clear annoyance in his eyes. “Not your name. The name of the tenant you’re here to see.”

“Oh,” I replied, finally finding my voice. “Uh, Mr—” I stopped myself. “I mean, Matthew Withers.”

It felt odd saying his first name, but I brushed it off. The man at the booth sighed and looked at his computer, and then nodded. “Alright. Says he approved a visit from a ‘Trinity Mathers’. Got ID?”

I nodded and quickly rummaged through my purse before pulling out my driver’s license and handing it to the man. He glanced it over and then nodded. “Ok, you’re going to drive straight ahead, make a left, then a right and go straight down. Mr. Withers’ level is over there.”

Garage? He had his own personal level? I didn’t ask questions. Rather, I thanked the man, took my license, and continued on my way.

When I reached the landing, I rolled my car up to another security checkpoint and gave another man my name and ID again. As his eyes scanned over my driver’s license and then my face, I note of the weapon in his pocket. When he gave it back to me and nodded for me to move ahead, I complied.

As the garage fully came into view, I let out an audible gasp. This was unlike anything I had ever seen, and upon entering, I realized the purpose of all of the security checkpoints. The level was lined with at least 10 luxury cars ranging from sports vehicles to detailed trucks and high-end jeep models. It was mindblowing.

I pulled my 2017 SUV into the spot labelled ‘visitors’ and put it in park. I needed a minute to take this all in. The wealth he had was undeniable, and just being around it made me feel insecure within myself. I wasn’t living paycheck to paycheck—Nate had a steady income when he passed, and it afforded me the time I needed to grieve and then some—but we lived nowhere close to this.

I couldn’t imagine ever owning this much money or even begin to think about what I would do with it. I glanced over at the car next to me. It was a matte black convertible with rims that shone in the now rising moonlight.

I could almost hear Nate’s voice screaming excitedly in the back of my mind, and I smiled softly to myself, thinking of how he would’ve geeked out over seeing this garage.

Tears then began to form in my eyes. Nate. He was always there, no matter what I did or saw. I tried to hard to listen to everyone else—to move forward in life—but it was so fucking hard. I felt like I was stuck in a mud hole, and every time I tried to pull myself out, I kept sinking deeper in.

But this job seemed to give me the branch to get myself out. Despite how much I despised it at the moment, it was a stepping stone to greater things. I just needed to hold on.

So, I undid my seatbelt, grabbed the dry cleaning out of the backseat, and headed into Mr. Withers’ apartment.