Ever since he was a little boy, he had always had a hard time controlling his anger. For when he got mad, he saw red and he couldn't help the things he would say in a fit of rage.
It used to be so bad that people would cut him off and he didn't care.
He remembered a time where he had been so volatile that his sister had stopped talking to him for six straight months. It was the longest they had gone without speaking or seeing each other. He was the same self-destructive man he was then, still unable to communicate his feelings properly.
Vera had been sixteen years old at the time, living in his Los Angeles home. She had come home on a normal Monday afternoon to find him high out of his goddamn mind on their couch. There had been a few industry friends over and he didn't remember much of their heated argument. All he could remember was waking up the next morning and finding her room empty.
He didn't blame her for leaving. It wasn't a normal high, there had been needles scattered around the place and various kinds of lethal substances.
After six months of begging for her to return to him, she finally caved in and told him all the nasty things he had said. He apologised profusely for it, showering her in gifts and listened to her wish to relocate elsewhere. She hated how the LA scene was ruining him. He was becoming the same monster they'd ran away from in Russia.
Slater clamped his eyes shut, listening to the catchy beat with such intensity in the hopes to find something extraordinary. Though every time he tried to focus, that god awful feeling of guilt crept over his brain, blackening it.
Clenching his jaw, he let out a low grunt. He could see his sister' glowing eyes behind his closed lids, instantly calming him down.
"We need to re-record more than half of it, sounds like a fucking mess." He stated, snapping his eyes open.
With the melody on the keyboard and the words floating out of her mouth, she paused mid-song.
He dropped his hand and moved over the two of them to pick up some sheet music.
Slater reluctantly lowered his arm and handed the girl back her sheet music.
The well-known musician before him blinked, once, twice, and then she cleared her throat. "But what about the deadline? It needs to be finished by midnight otherwise the label will drop me, I'm on my final warning."
She was stressing out, shoving her hands upwards to run through her silky smooth hair. "Oh my gosh, I'm going to have to move out of my new apartment. Oh my god, oh my god. I can't move back into my parents, oh god, no!"
He chuckled dryly, reaching up to take his headphones off. He moved his chair a little so that he was fully facing her, and pointed down at the notebook in front of them.
"Calm down. No ones saying you're going to be dropped, we just need to find better lyrics, that's it."
Her upturned nose wrinkled slightly from how hard she was straining her face. "Oh."
"Hm." His chest rumbled, amusement creeping over his own features. "You got something better for me or you want me to come up with something?"
She was a cute little thing. Brunette, leggy, and one hell of a powerful voice match her big persona. Cesca Riley or Francesca, as her close friends called her, was Janessa's favourite female artist.
And he knew exactly why.
Her allure was something else. Slater had first worked with her for a Disney soundtrack and formed a good friendship after his daughters had practically begged him for months to have a play date with her. Despite her being well into her twenties, she agreed and the rest was history.
Dasha had always thought of her as a great role model for her kids.
In the short years, he had known her, the twenty-nine-year-old pop star was an anxiety-prone mess and full of wit. He had always liked working alongside her, the sessions were usually easygoing.
"No, no. I have something, but it's a little depressing so you have to promise not to laugh."
"Nothing can be more depressing than what my poor ears had to listen to on repeat for the last four hours."
Francesca's lips curled into a sarcastic grin. "Ha, ha, very funny."
Her fingers came alive, flicking through her songwriting book as she looked for some inspiration.
As he watched her rummage through her thoughts, she caught his sombre eyes and gave him a half-smile.
Curiosity sparked the better of her as she cocked her head to survey him. "Now, I say this in the most polite way, but you look worse for wear." She commented, causing him to mimic her sardonic grin.
"Rough weekend." He bluntly explained, not expanding further since he didn't have it in him to converse for long.
"Too many drinks?" She teased, knowing how wild his nights could yet.
"The opposite. I'm trying to quit."
Her eyebrows almost shot out of her skin, no one could quite grasp onto his new goal for sobriety. It was strange to imagine him without a drink in his hand.
"Wait," she laughed, reaching over to nudge his shoulder. "so that's why you've been so hard on me today? I knew my verses weren't that bad, you ass!"
"My ears work fine, you know that." He confirmed, bringing his attention onto the low cut top she was wearing. "If it's shit, I'm not gonna lie to you."
Following his eyes, she crossed her arms over her chest, accentuating her bust more.
She caught his lazy smirk in seconds, and let out a faded laugh. "I wouldn't want you to lie to me anyway," Francesca uttered, a flirtatious edge to her tone.
She redirected her focus back onto the book, not without brushing her arm against his. They were sitting side by side, in the dimly lit studio.
"So," Dragging the single word out, he watched the way she pursed her glossy lips before she spoke. "Sober, huh. How's that going for you? Any crazy withdrawals yet?"
His reply was sarcastic, full of emphasis. "Nah, you know I wasn't having any today until you reminded me."
"Oops. Sorry, my bad." She clearly didn't feel bad, the way she was brushing against him told him otherwise.
The young, stunning dark-haired beauty was in a casual t-shirt with a mini skirt, nicely showing off her frame.
Shifting position, she leaned her face closer in. Immediately, he was met with her body heat, letting her get closer. "Although I know one particular thing what works for getting your mind off almost anything. It could be the cure to those nasty withdrawals."
She made sure to say nasty in a breathy tone, making him feel constrained in his black slacks.
Raising his hand, he stroked the front of her face carefully, her supple skin tingling under his touch. "You'll make it go away?" He mocked, finding the entire thing amusing, to say the least.
She giggled. "Mm, yeah. I can make you feel better."
"I know what you want," she whispered in his left ear, her warm moist breath tickling his earlobe. Grabbing his left arm, she secured it to the arm of the leather chair he was seated in. "And you're going to get it," her sultry whisper had moved over to his right ear now.
He felt her lips gently kiss the back of his neck as she secured his right arm to the chair, just as she had with the left. "The only question is," she continued, "do you know what it is?"
So much for her being a good friend to Dasha, he thought.
He tipped the chair back slightly, letting her crawl on top of his legs.
She took the first move, grazing her plump lips against his. "There's been so many times during these sessions where I've wanted you to fuck the living shit out of me." She confessed, breathily.
He didn't respond to that, knowing he didn't need to.
She kissed him with long wet kisses, that made him wiser beyond his years.
He took his hands and cupped her breasts through her shirt, then slowly started to peel her t-shirt off. Revealing her perky breasts, resting comfortably in a lace bra. But truthfully speaking, she couldn't wait to get that lace bra off.
She reached around her back and unhooked it, and sliding it off both of her arms, one at a time. Revealing her breasts to him. He didn't waste any time.
He cupped one and kissed the other.. Resting his tongue underneath her nipple, his mouth tightly clamped over the top and began suckling.
She started to arch her back, whimpery moans overtaking her heavy breaths.
Slater stopped suckling long enough to take his hands underneath Francesca's arms and hoisted her down from his lap. She then kissed him, as her hands worked the belt on his pants, then the button and zipper.
Dropping to the ground, he kept his eyes trained on hers.
He wasn't stupid or oblivious to her clear desire for him. In fact, he was well aware that if he were to make any kind of effort to have her, he could.
Which was why it was so easy to let her have her way.
The only other person to be intimate with him after his wife's passing was the nanny.
Hollowing her cheeks out, her teasing tongue ran along the head of his hard member before she took him in her wet mouth.
He couldn't help but want the long brunette locks in his hand to turn into obsidian and melt into his prickly fingertips.
Although it was the temporary fix he needed in that moment to feel whole again, he knew something was wrong.
Francesca couldn't fill the void as he wanted her to, but she could distract him for the time being. She didn't feel like serenity, nor did she look anything like her.
She wasn't Rika.