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Jerrica's office smelled of cigarette smoke and expensive cologne, a suffocating blend that now clung to the walls of Starlight Music like a second skin.
It hadn’t always smelled like this.
Back when her father had still been alive - when it had been his office, it had carried the crisp scent of coffee and lemon cleaner, and always a bit of mint from the candy bowl he kept by the door for the cleaning staff to have if they wished. It had always smelled safe, to Jerrica.
Now it smelled like Raymond.
Jerrica sat behind her father’s desk - or, no, her desk now. Papers lay scattered across the surface in an angry sprawl, unpaid invoices, unreturned demo tapes, legal documents with her name on them. She hadn’t organized anything. Couldn’t. The mess and work had been piling up ever since her father's funeral, and she barely had the heart to even try to address it.
She had so much on her plate with Starlight House and Starlight Music, and it was all piling up with no sign of stopping.
The late afternoon sun sliced through the blinds in harsh slats, carving the room into bars of light and shadow. It looked like she was sitting inside a cage. And today, it truly felt like it.
Jerrica felt like she was about to cry.
She was nineteen, barely a woman, and she was already crumbling under the weight of a legacy she wasn’t ready to carry, a young girl drowning in a world built for sharks.
The door swung open, suddenly, without a knock.
Of course it did.
Eric Raymond strode in like he owned the place - gray suit perfectly pressed, his red tie as stark as a slash of blood against the monochrome.
He carried a smirk like a weapon as he walked into the room, one he’d honed over years of bending people to his will - and one that had become less and less comforting to Jerrica as the weeks passed following her father's funeral. It was as if a mask had come off of Eric after her father's death, and Jerrica did not like what she was seeing underneath.
That smirk used to make her stomach flutter.
Now it made her sick.
Her stomach twisted as Eric grinned at her, a familiar ache she hated herself for feeling. She’d been seventeen when she first noticed it - those sharp cheekbones, that careless confidence, the way he acted like he could have anything in the world just by flashing his bright smile.
It had been a schoolgirl crush, stupid and fleeting.
But now, with her father gone and the world closing in, it felt like a wound that wouldn’t heal.
"Jerrica," he drawled, voice smooth and sharp like broken glass in syrup. "Forgive me, but you look like hell. Are you coming down with something, darkling?"
She straightened automatically, tugging at the rumpled hem of the dress she’d slept in the night before. "I’m fine, Eric. Just tired." She looked up as she ran a hand through her hair, desperately trying to tame the mess, before giving up with a sigh. "What do you want?" It sounded rude, but Jerrica found herself too exhausted to care.
She motioned to the chairs across the desk from her, but he didn’t sit.
Of course he didn't.
"Busy, you mean." His gaze flicked to the cluttered desk, to the smudged mug of coffee, to the phone half-dangling from its cradle. He didn’t sit. Of course not. Instead, he strolled around to her side of the desk and leaned against it - close, too close - his knee brushing against her thigh as he leaned into her space.
She flinched but didn’t pull away.
Not yet.
"Busy really doesn’t suit you, Jerrica." His voice dipped, almost pitying. "You’re too pretty to be buried under all this... mess."
He waved a hand at the chaos like a man commenting on the weather, then let his fingers rest on the corner of the desk - fingertips barely touching the stacks of paperwork she’d tried so hard to keep from collapsing.
"I always told your father that, you know. You had other talents that would be more useful for Starlight Music. You should’ve gone into PR. Or maybe modeling." His grin widened, a smile that was not reflected in his dark eyes. “Something fun. More appropriate, for a girl like you.”
Jerrica bit the inside of her cheek hard enough to taste blood. "I'm doing just fine managing Starlight, Eric."
"You really should let me handle it, dear," Eric shook his head with a sigh, "you know I can - it's what your father trained me for, of course."
Jerrica's jaw tightened. This again.
"We've been over this," Jerrica lifted her head, meeting Eric's gaze with a glare, "Starlight is mine, Eric. My father left it to me, and I will make him proud by continuing his legacy."
He chuckled, low and dark, the sound curling around her like smoke.
"He left half of Starlight to you, sweetheart. The other half he left to me, and I’m not here to play house with a bunch of orphans. This is a company with potential, not a charity house - and we need to talk about it's future. And yours."
Jerrica’s hands clenched into fists beneath the desk.
She hated how he did this - twisted everything into a game where he held all the cards. She’d seen him do it with others: the producers he bribed, the girls he hired for cheap gigs, the way he’d dangle promises like bait. And she’d seen the way those girls looked at him, too - hungry, dazzled, too blinded by the lights of stardom to see the shark beneath the suit.
Once, she’d been one of them.
Not anymore.
Or, so she told herself.
"I’m not selling, no matter what you say, Eric," she said, voice steady despite the tremor in her chest. "Starlight stays with me."
Eric tilted his head, studying her like a predator sizing up prey.
"I know you’re stubborn, Jerrica, I like that about you - I always have." He reached out, brushing a strand of blonde hair from her face, his fingers lingering a beat too long. "But stubbornness won’t keep the lights on. It won’t pay the bills. It won’t stop this place from crumbling underneath you. It won't stop you running your father's legacy into the ground.”
Her breath caught, a reflex she couldn’t control. And the worst part - the most humiliating part - was that old part of her still lit up under his attention. The part that remembered being seventeen, stupid, and starry-eyed. That part that had once leaned in when he leaned down.
He saw it. Of course he did.
"You don’t have to fight me on this, Jerrica," he whispered, his voice as gentle as soft velvet soaked in gasoline. "We could be a team, you and me, like old times."
Old times.
The words stung, dragging up memories she’d buried deep.
Her back when Eric had just been hired, giggling at his stupid jokes while he smoked on the studio steps, their shoulders and knees brushing as he told her about the wild parties he had went to at college, before her father had hired him. Him ruffling her hair, calling her ‘kid,’ his eyes lingering just a little too long as she told him about the latest drama of her high school.
Rio had been away then, and she’d used Eric like a pawn, flirting with Eric just enough to make Rio jealous when he came back.
It had worked - too well.
Rio had stormed off when he had seen her clinging to Eric's arm, and Eric had just grinned like he’d won something as Jerrica ran off after Rio.
Maybe he had.
"Those days are over," she said, pulling back from his touch. "I’m not a kid anymore, Eric."
"No," he agreed, his gaze raking over her, slow and deliberate. "You’re not."
He leaned closer, voice dropping to a whisper, "but you’re still in over your head. This industry chews up sweet little girls like you and spits them out in stilettos and rehab. You need someone who knows the game. Someone like me."
Her skin prickled, a mix of fear and something darker she didn’t want to name.
She knew what he was doing - had seen it in the way he handled countless other musicians looking to get signed to Starlight, dangling fame and money until they danced to his tune and smiled prettily on command.
Those girl may strut and act like they owned the world, but Jerrica knew that Eric was the one who pulled the strings over them.
And now he was trying to pull hers.
"I can handle the company," she said, but the words felt hollow. "I don't need your help, Eric."
She was nineteen, orphaned, juggling a company and a house full of foster girls who looked to her for everything.
She barely slept.
She barely ate.
And Eric knew it.
He smirked again, standing to pace the room, his hands in his pockets.
"You think you can, but Starlight is bleeding out, Jerrica. How do you think your father would feel seeing the company like this? Starlight’s a sinking ship darling - your dad’s little dream can’t survive without real money, real power. And I’ve got both. I could save it. Save you."
"By turning it into your playground?" she snapped. "Signing trash with no soul, bribing every suit in town to look the other way? Surrounding yourself by young and desperate singers that would do anything to get signed? That’s nothing like what my Dad wanted. Don't you dare insult his memory by insinuating that's anything close."
Eric stopped his pacing, turning to face her, his expression hardening. "Your father’s dead, Jerrica. And he left you with nothing but a name and a pile of debts. Wake up. This isn’t a fairy tale - it’s a business. And business is dirty. It's just reality, sweetheart."
Jerrica stood, fists trembling at her sides as she looked up to Eric. "Get out."
He didn’t move.
Instead, he stepped closer, crowding her against her desk.
She could smell cigarettes on his breath, the overpowering cologne that made her head swim.
"You don’t mean that, Jerrica," he said, soft now, almost tender. "You’re scared, overwhelmed, I get it. But I can make it easier. You don’t have to be alone in this."
His hand found her wrist, his thumb brushing against her pulse, and for a moment, she froze.
There it was again - that stupid, childish pull she’d felt at seventeen, magnified now by exhaustion and grief and confusion.
He was older, sharper, a man who knew exactly how to bend the world to his will - a man who thrived in an industry such as the music business.
And she was just... Jerrica. Just a girl playing at being a woman, clinging to a dream that was slipping through her fingers.
"Eric..." Her voice cracked, and she hated it. "I don't..."
He smiled, a victor’s smile, and leaned in, his lips brushing her ear as she shuddered, wanting desperately to push him away but finding her body frozen in place.
"Come on, Let me help you, Jerrica, let me take care of Starlight. Like I always wanted to."
The words snapped her back.
Always wanted to.
Not out of love, not out of kindness - but power.
Control.
She saw it now, clear as day: the way he’d watched her back then, waiting for her to grow up just enough to be useful.
This wasn’t a crush.
This was a trap.
She yanked her wrist free, shoving him back with all the strength she had left. "Don't touch me. And I won't ask again, you need to leave."
He stumbled a half-step, then straightened, fixing his tie with trembling fingers. For a moment he looked surprised.
His mask slipped, revealing the stress lines, the desperation beneath the charm.
And then he looked angry.
"You’ll regret this," he hissed, straightening his tie. "You think you can run this place without me? You’ll crash and burn, and I’ll be there to pick up the pieces."
"Then I guess I’ll burn," She said, voice shaking but firm. "But I won’t be your puppet. Get out of my office, Eric. Don't make me call for security."
He stared at her, eyes cold, then stepped closer again, his voice dropping to a dangerous murmur. "You don’t get it, do you? I don’t lose, Jerrica. Not to a little girl playing dress-up. I’ll have Starlight - and you - any way I want, eventually."
His hand twitched, as if he might grab her again, his gaze darkening with something that made her stomach lurch.
Jerrica reached behind her, a stack of papers tumbling over as her hand searched for the phone, and Eric took a step forward.
The door burst open.
Kimber stood in the doorframe, her bright hair a wild halo around her flushed face. "Jerrica, you'll love what the girls - oh! Sorry, I didn't know you were having..." She froze, her eyes darting between them, taking in Eric’s proximity, Jerrica’s rigid stance, the tension in the room. "Is... is everything okay?"
Eric stepped back, the mask snapping back into place so fast it was like watching a magic trick. "I was just having a quick business chat with your sister, Kimber. Nothing to worry your pretty head about." He adjusted his cufflinks, then shot Jerrica a final look. "We'll talk again soon, sweetheart. We’ve got unfinished business. Think about what I said."
The words were casual, a breezy goodbye to anyone else - but to Jerrica, they dripped with threat, a promise he’d push harder next time.
He sauntered out, leaving the air thick with his cologne and her dread.
Jerrica exhaled only when he was gone.
Kimber frowned, crossing her arms as she watched the door swing shut behind him, before she turned back to Jerrica with a quizzical look. "That didn’t look like ‘just business‘ to me. What the hell was that about?"
Jerrica forced a smile, her heart still hammering. "It’s fine, Kimber. Just... Eric being Eric. You know how he is." She sank into the chair, hands trembling as she tucked them under the desk.
He hadn’t done anything, not really.
A touch, a whisper, a threat she couldn’t prove.
She was overreacting.
She had to be.
Accusing him would be suicide - he had money, connections, power she couldn’t touch.
Not yet.
"Are you sure everything's alright?" Kimber pressed, stepping closer. "He looked way too angry, even for Eric."
"I’m sure," Jerrica lied, her voice steadier now. "I’m alright. Really."
Kimber hesitated, then nodded, though her eyes lingered with concern. "Okay. But you’d tell me if something was wrong, right?"
"Of course," Jerrica said, the words tasting like ash. "Now, what were you coming in here for?"
"Oh, right! I wanted to show you," Kimber reached towards her side, before her eyes widened. "Oh no!"
"What is it?"
"The girls at Starlight House made you the cutest purse to wear after they lost your old one, they gave it to me to pass along to you since you've been so busy here recently - but I was showing it to Gloria and I must have left it with her at the front desk! Stay here, I'll be right back!"
Jerrica watched Kimber leave, forcing her lips to stay curled into a smile until the door shut behind her.
Then she sank into the chair and buried her face in her hands once she was left alone.
It was fine.
She was fine.
Eric was just... pushing her buttons, like always.
Baseless threats, nothing more.
She’d handle it.
She had to.
Because if she didn’t, he’d come back - and next time, he might not stop at just words.