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  Second Chance

  Book 2 of the Fighting Chance Series

  By: T. L. Dasha

  Copyright © 2020 by T. L. Dasha

  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof

  may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever

  without the express written permission of the publisher

  except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  First Printing, 2020

  *

  Book Design and Cover Art by T. L. Dasha

  More Books by T.L. Dasha

  Fighting Chance Series

  (A Male Male Battle of the Bands, where a musical reality show pits a hopeful musician against the big time executive he might be accidentally falling in love with)

  I Do (Not)

  (A Male Male accidental marriage RomCom with a love triangle from all three Points of View)

  Devil in the Details

  (A Male Male Paranormal Cozy Mystery)

  But Why Him?!

  (A Male Male Arranged Romance with a little bit of heat)

  ALL IN series

  (A Male Male Dark Romance with a sexy game of poker)

  Game One

  Game Two

  Game Three

  The Dating Game: Unkept Secrets

  (Scandalous Male Male Reality Show Erotica)

  Love Convention

  (Male Male Romance with Sex and Cosplay)

  Lock Me Up In Your Love

  (An erotic medieval cross dressing Damsel in Distress romance)

  The Zodiac Werewolf Series

  (Female Male Shape Shifter Erotica)

  Transformation of Aquarius

  Transformation of Capricorn

  “Sometimes, two people have to fall apart to realize how much they need to fall back together.”

  Chapter 1

  Jay McClintock

  “So what’s up, Jay Jay? Did you suddenly get a new idea for my next album?” Brad Garza sat across from me at ‘Roast of the Magi,’ a trendy new coffee shop off Sunset and Vine. He wore sunglasses over his dark eyes, and a ball cap over his short, dark brown hair, hoping he might disguise himself just enough to dissuade the usual onslaught of fans. Though that exquisite voice and Latin charm could hardly be contained by a few well-placed accessories.

  “Not quite.” I handed him the manila envelope full of photos. He pulled out the pages one by one, examining each image as though he was auditioning for a lead role as a forensic scientist. Once he reached the last page, he slid the photos back into their envelope and sat back in his chair.

  “Where did you get this?” His voice had lost its usual playful luster.

  “Someone left it on my doorstep and rang the doorbell. They were gone before I managed to answer.”

  “Couldn’t get dressed fast enough, I’d wager.” Brad rolled his eyes. “I can still smell him on you, you know. You couldn’t have at least showered first before coming to see me.”

  “This felt too urgent.” I heaved a sigh. Poor judgement on my part. Where was my head? “Whether you approve of my relationship or not is hardly the point right now.”

  A smile returned to Brad’s lips, and he relaxed into his chair. “Of course, of course. I guess I can’t be too mad if your first thought was to come see me.” His arrogance never falters. Though he wasn’t wrong. I’ve known Brad for the better part of ten years. The better part of my life after the crash. And just through the better parts of my life. He was a constant who I could always rely on, his support never even wavering in the harshest parts of our break up. Our relationship may have been over, but our friendship never would be.

  Roland was who I wanted, now and in the future, but I didn’t want to include him in my past if I didn’t have to. I would tell him everything once the coast was clear. I knew that was selfish, and he would see it as unfair, but… I would rather be selfish than put him in danger. Though perhaps getting involved with me has already put him in danger.

  I shook my head to dismiss the thought and returned my attention to Brad. “’All debts must one day be paid.’” I recited the final note from memory. “I barely even know what counts as debt anymore. I think we’ve both racked up enough to file for bankruptcy.”

  “Bankruptcy… or maybe a really nice pair of coffins.” He chuckled, an inappropriate amount of amusement in his eyes. “You know, our contract is still valid even into the afterlife. Don’t think you’ll get to slack off if this turns sour.”

  “I’m not sure which one of us should have gotten a better lawyer.” I laughed.

  If I had to go through hell, at least I knew he would be there with me.

  Chapter 2

  Nine Years Ago

  “How have your studies been going, Jay?” Mark McClintock handed me a mug and sat down at the kitchen table. It had been six years since my birth father went over the cliff and my mother was taken, five since Mark had adopted me. I might never know what happened in that year I was in a coma, but it didn’t matter anymore. I was twenty-one years old now, and I had my own life to worry about.

  And it was a good life so far. Mark made sure of that. He paid for my schooling, my college, my extracurriculars, and more than I ever could have asked for. Though I never was able to get myself to call him dad. I didn’t believe in using words lightly. That title held too much power.

  “They’re boring.” I took a sip of coffee, my expression flattening as it slid down my throat. It barely counted as coffee anymore with the amount of cream and sugar he always used. “My professors can preach theory all day, but I doubt any of them know how to make something anyone would actually want to buy. It’s like the blind leading the blind.”

  “They don’t hire professors lightly, you know. They’re all former industry professionals.” Mark cocked an eyebrow.

  “’Former’ being the key word.” I rolled my eyes. “Five years ago everyone was listening to ‘screamo’ punk rock, two years ago, they were listening to dubstep, now the radio is overflowing with twangy acoustic ballads. If what they did still worked, they wouldn’t be ‘former’ anything. They’d be making bank writing the next big hit.”

  “Those who can’t, teach?” Mark chuckled. “The world is a little more complicated than that. But I suppose I don’t need to tell you that, since it sounds like you already know everything.”

  My eyes shot to the side, feeling a touch embarrassed by my adoptive father’s ribbing. “I mean, I don’t know everything, but I bet I’ve studied the current musical climate more than they have. And I think I can predict where it’s going.”

  “Is that right?” He flashed me a mocking grin. He pulled his phone from his pocket, and slid through the contacts, stopping only long enough to hit call. He held up a finger to ask for a moment. “Good morning… Yes, it’s been a while… No, that’s not why I’m calling… Right. Anyway, I’ve got a favor to ask you- you’re looking for interns, correct?”

  My eyes widened. Who is he talking to? Mark listened for a few moments then continued.

  “Are you sure about that?” His voice was stern, bordering on a little scary. “…That’s what I thought. I’ve got a perfect candidate for you. I’ll email you the details.” He hung up and returned his attention to me. “You’ll be starting at ALIVE Records on Monday.”

  ALIVE Records?! He was talking to ALIVE Records?! I was speechless, though I didn’t want him to know that. I held my composure and kept my eyes on his.

  Mark stood up, putting me below him as he spoke. His tone was unreadable. Showing no obvious emotion was its own emotion. “How long do you think it will take to sell your first smash hit? Four years? Five?”

  Five years sounded like a lifetime. “Three. At most.” I smirked back at him.

  “Ha!” Mark must not ha
ve been able to hold back his doubt anymore. “You have much to learn, Jay.” His phone buzzed, and he glanced at the message. A smile settled on his lips. “Not a minute over 3 years.”

  He ruffled my hair as he walked by and exited the room, no longer making eye contact as he went. I unconsciously took another sip of my coffee. Even the cloying sweetness couldn’t penetrate the nerves multiplying in my stomach. Did I really just get a job at one of the largest record companies in the world?

  ###

  I ran for the elevator, trying to balance twelve cups of coffee between my arms without squeezing hard enough to burst a lid and coat myself in scalding liquid and whipped cream on my first day in the office. The doors started to shut.

  Fuck. There’s no way I’ll be able to hit the button with all these cups in my arms, and if I take the stairs, the coffee will be cold before I can get up the entire twenty-nine floors to the boss’s office. As the elevator door inched away the last of my hope, a hand shot into the gap, triggering the safety mechanism and sliding the door back open. A rush of relief filled my body as I stepped into the chamber, my coffee cups still warm and intact.

  “Thank you.” I turned to my savior and gave him a nod. He was tall and well dressed, in a fitted, pinstriped Armani suit, a black shirt and a solid red tie. His mid length black hair was pushed back by a pair of sunglasses atop his head, and his narrow eyes, looked cruel and disinterested atop his high cheek bones. A flat expression rested on thin lips, over a carefully shaped goatee.

  “What floor?” He spoke in a deep voice that suited his masculine features.

  “Twenty-nine.” I responded confidently. I wasn’t quite sure of his position, but he looked important enough to make me think I’d be eaten alive if I faltered so soon.

  “I see.”

  That was an… odd response. He swiped his keycard and pressed twenty-nine, then he leaned back and shoved his hands in his pocket. His eyes crawled over my body, as though he was appraising my worth.

  “Your name.” It was a command, not a question.

  “Jay.”

  “Your last name.”

  “McClintock.”

  He eyed me suspiciously. “You don’t look like McClintock.”

  What was that supposed to mean? I ignored the provocation, and kept my expression steady. “And you?”

  The man laughed. Though it was laugh void of humor. “Don’t get too comfortable.”

  The elevator chimed, and the secretary nodded to him as he stepped onto the 29th floor. “Good morning, Mr. Baek.” She smiled politely. She continued speaking, but her voice seemed distant in my ears.

  Christian Baek. Founder and CEO of ALIVE. At thirty-two years old, he was one of the youngest billionaires in the country, though there were always rumors in the tabloids that his means weren’t entirely legal. I couldn’t say if I was more star struck or intimidated.

  The elevator door started to close, snapping me out of my daze. I shot a hand for the door jam on instinct, completely forgetting I was holding enough caffeine to give an elephant a heart attack.

  Shit shit shit! Coffee cups tumbled to the floor, bursting on impact, spraying mocha, whipped cream, and chocolate sauce all over the carpet as I stumbled into the room. I watched in horror as that dark brown syrup flew through the air, practically in slow motion, landing on the toe of Christian Baek’s ten thousand dollar shoes.

  I stood, frozen, mortified, embarrassed, and ready to be fired on my first day. The secretary’s eyes shot back and forth between us, about ready to cry on my behalf. Baek held my eyes captive with a deadly glare that bore right through me.

  Then his lips curled in a smile. “Get this taken care of, immediately.” He didn’t take his eyes off me even as he spoke to the secretary. “Take it out of his paycheck.”

  “He’s only an intern.” She responded through a shaky voice. “He doesn’t-“

  “No problem.” I interrupted. New or not, I wouldn’t allow someone else to defend me. I couldn’t show him that kind of weakness. “Send me the invoice, and take my paychecks until it’s paid off. I’ll cover all of it.”

  We stared each other down. The tension in the air was nearly suffocating.

  “Very well then.” Baek nodded. Without another word, he walked away. I let out the breath that had puffed up my chest just enough to feel tough, and sunk into my own embarrassment. “I’m gonna go clean up.” I spoke to the secretary under my shame, and side stepped into the rest room.

  As I rung out my formerly white shirt in the bathroom sink, I stared at my own reflection in the mirror. There were traces of sugary cream in my otherwise brown hair, hanging about my face, caramel stuck to the frame of my glasses, and my blue eyes looked nearly gray as the light and excitement had been ripped out of them.

  Day one and I’ve already basically signed up to be a free slave.

  I let out a sigh and hauled my shirt over to the hand drier to try to make it wearable. I still had some gophering to do. I’m sure it would dry out in no time under that hot Los Angeles sun. Maybe I could just avoid Baek until I figured it out.

  A week later, I sat down at my desk, and sure enough, I had the invoice in my inbox. $10,563.28. $10,000 for a new pair of shoes, $500 for the cleaning bill, and $63.28 for the spilled coffee. Petty. At $10 an hour, working 20 hours a week, after taxes… that should be paid off in… a couple years. Maybe I need to figure out how to come up with that smash hit even sooner…

  I didn’t even get to finish groaning, when I felt a cold hand tap the shoulder of my blazer.

  “My office. Now.” Christian Baek spoke softly. He continued walking, never even giving me a passing glance as he laid out his commands. I got up and followed, hoping he wouldn’t pick up on how shaken I was.

  Baek had a natural quick step, forcing me to increase my stride just to keep up. He was my same height, at some six feet tall, but his legs were a touch longer. He walked into his office, and took a seat at a sleek mahogany desk. A large window took up the entire back wall, giving an unfettered view of Downtown LA, while shelves covered in awards and records lined the walls.

  “Close the door.” It seemed that he always spoke in commands. Never questions. Never requests. His words were absolute, and you’d be a fool to argue with them. Something about his demeanor seemed more the type to rule by fear than respect though. He leaned back in his chair and eyed me carefully. “How are you liking it here so far, McClintock?”

  What the hell? Is he trying to get to know me? I couldn’t afford to hesitate in front of him. “Everyone has been very nice. I’m eager to start learning how this business works from the inside.” I wasn’t about to remind him of last week’s incident. I’d rather cage the elephant in the the room for as long as I could.

  “What a generic answer.” Baek stared at his finger nails, a look of disinterest plastered all over his face. “How do you really feel?”

  Do you really want to know?

  “All I’ve done since I got here is run errands. It’s a job for an idiot.” I blurted out without further hesitation. Maybe that was too blunt, but he did ask me how I felt. Too late to take it back. May as well commit. If he couldn’t take an honest answer, he didn’t deserve my respect, anyway. I cocked my chin, and held eye contact. “You’re wasting a valuable resource.”

  Baek stared at me for a few moments, clearly dumbstruck. Then... he laughed. “Arrogant. But I can work with arrogant better than meek. Which is good, because I suspect you’re going to be my gopher for a long time.”

  My expression flattened, trying not to focus on the cleaning bill that was looming over my head. “Making it right is more important to me than a paycheck.”

  “Spoken like someone who has never wanted for anything.” He laughed again, though it was more mocking this time. I swallowed down my irritation. “What kind of resource do you think you are, exactly?”

  “I’m a writer. I’ve won competitions on both local and national levels for songwriting and poetry throughout my school career
, and I know how to write music.” I spoke with authority to try to undermine his doubts.

  “So you’re the biggest guppy in the koi pond.” He continued to look at his fingernails. Annoying.

  “I’m a shark that’s ready to break the glass on the aquarium.”

  “Is that right?” Baek still looked smug as he stood up and paced over to the window, his hands in his pockets and his back to me. His body language gave nothing away.

  “Come here, McClintock.” He spoke calmly. I approached with a cautious step. Baek swept his hand to direct my attention toward the window. “What do you see?”

  “Los Angeles.” I stated plainly. I’m sure there was supposed to be a much more romantic or philosophical answer, but I needed a better read on him to know what it should be. I took the safe route.

  “It’s more than that.” His eyes were dark as he regarded the world at his feet. “An illustrious and expansive cesspool, filled with mindless people desperate to buy some kind of dream. A city built on escapism and extravagance, where people flock with the hope that reality doesn’t have to be as mundane as it truly is.”

  I frowned at his dissertation. I liked this city. I always have. It was my home, my father’s home. My mother’s home. Mark McClintock’s home. It was perfectly imperfect, shamelessly optimistic, driven, and rife with opportunity- if you were willing to throw down the gauntlet and take it. It was a place where all those ridiculous dreams that he spoke so poorly about could actually come true.

  I hesitated to speak my mind. I got away with disagreeing with him once, but I didn’t want to push my luck so soon.

  “Those are our customers.” He continued, his tone still mocking. “And those are our products. We buy and sell dreamers and their creativity, manipulating them until they’re a generic, marketable blob. It’s a simple formula, if you’re smart enough to figure it out.”