"Be serious," she snapped, tossing her long blonde curls. "I'm Carsyn Leigh. I don't do songs with gangster rappers."
Her manager, Ben Kasper, sighed. He slammed his laptop shut, pleased that Carysn jumped at the sound.
"Carsyn, it's been over eight months since you've been in the charts. You're 18. The time to strike is now. Crossovers are a hot market. You want to go pop, and Ty Miller can get you instant credibility. He's on the rise. His last album outsold yours by nine million," Ben said.
Carsyn sniffed in contempt. Her green eyes flashed daggers at her manager for bringing up the stark truth. Her career was floundering.
Since she was 14, Caryson had been a shooting star on the country music scene. Her house was decorated with Grammys and Moonmen. Lately, after her last album didn't sell, the interest in her was cooling off. Ben wanted to keep her relevant, she knew, but at what cost?
"I want to go pop," she agreed, finally. "I don't want to work with misogynistic assholes that wear gold grills and flash gang signs."
"Well, that limitation might be insurmountable," Ben said. "Call me when you decide. Ty is very busy right now and needs an answer by tomorrow. I took a meeting with his team yesterday and they tell me he's very interested. Don't write him off so quickly," Ben warned.
With that, Ben left Carysn's penthouse suite. Carsyn sighed and made her way to her kitchen.
The granite and stainless steel chef's kitchen was imposing when she first moved in, but now she was used to it. She flicked on the recessed lights and wandered over to the fridge for her nightly indulgence, a big glass of red wine. It did nothing to help keep her 5'10" lithe frame slender, but it did relax her. She could be "tightly wound" as her mother used to tell her.
Tightly wound was what it took to be a superstar, though. If Carsyn didn't pay attention to every detail and engineer her celebrity persona, she'd have dropped off the radar of the American public a lot faster than she currently was.
Carsyn pulled out her smartphone and ignored the various social media notifications. She googled Ty Miller, stage name T Shot. She clicked over to images.
He was handsome, of course, especially when he smiled. His skin was almost the exact opposite of hers, a rich dark brown compared to her lily white. She wondered briefly what it would look like to see his skin on hers, but then she pushed the thought from her mind. She looked back at the photos. He had beautiful dark eyes and very white, straight teeth. Almost all of the top photos on Google showed him surrounded by buxom women wearing very little. He was also usually holding a bottle of liquor. He looked like a stereotypical rapper, in her opinion. True, his last album had been amazing, but she wasn't sure she wanted him to be a part of her career. He just seemed so different. Would her fans understand?
Carsyn finished her glass of wine while she watched some of his rap videos. He had moves, she thought. He was probably smart. Definitely sexy. Carsyn left her wine glass in the kitchen, knowing her maid would take care of it in the morning. She made her way to her bedroom.
If the kitchen was elaborate, her bedroom was ostentatious. Carsyn practically needed a ladder to climb into the huge white bed with down pillows and soft cotton sheets. She slipped out of her dress and tossed it on the floor. She slept naked, a lifelong habit.
Along with her wine, Carsyn had another nightly indulgence. She ran her hands over her slim body, feeling the smooth skin and the hard hip bones underneath. Her lower stomach was a sensitive place, and goosebumps rose at the sensation of her fingers moving over her flesh. Her hands snaked lower, reaching the slight mound between her legs, stroking lightly. She was already wet in anticipation of her nightly ritual.
Carsyn closed her eyes and tried to conjure the images that would normally get her where she needed to be. Her fingers moved against the small bud that dominated so many of her thoughts lately. Pressing gently and then harder as she stroked, she opened her legs wider and let her thoughts run wild. She imagined herself fucking an entire college football team after they lost the big championship game. She moaned at the images coming to her, sweaty skin and hard cocks slamming into her pussy. Gradually, under her insistent fingers, the bud became more sensitive and each time she passed over it, it felt better and better. When she couldn't take it any longer, she slipped a finger inside herself, and then another one. She was so wet they slid in easily.
She pumped steadily, moaning out loud. She worked her hand faster and faster, desperate to come. Carsyn ran a up her body, squeezing her small breast. Her temperature rose until a fine sheen of sweat covered her forehead. She worked her body into a frenzy, but still her orgasm wouldn't come.
Panting and frustrated, she finally allowed herself to think of Ty Miller. She imagined his cock, black and thick and impossibly big. Carsyn slipped a third finger inside of herself and rubbed her clit with an inexplicable urgency. She screamed as she came, shaking with the force of her orgasm.
Carsyn Leigh slept very well that night, for the first time in a long time.
"He wants to take a meeting first," Ben said. "Real quick, at his studio. You'd record there if you go through with this."
Carsyn paused with her fork halfway to her mouth. She pushed the rest of her salad around her plate.
"I don't take meeting," she said. "I give meetings."
"Carsyn, don't let your pride get in the way. The meeting is tonight. I gave your driver the address. You can go after the concert."
"That's so late," Carsyn protested.
"Ty keeps late hours," Ben said. He wiped his face with his napkin and glanced at his watch. "Speaking of being late, we should get to the venue."
