The email arrived at 9 AM sharp, because apparently billionaires' assistants didn't believe in sleeping in. Aria had been teaching her first class of the day—eight-year-olds learning basic chord progressions—when her phone lit up with the notification.
FROM: Victoria Park, Executive Assistant to Dominic Hawthorne
SUBJECT: Performance Contract – Hawthorne Ventures Annual Gala
"Miss Chen, Alex is putting his pick in his nose again!"
Aria looked up from her phone to find chaos erupting in her classroom. Alex was indeed exploring his nostrils, Emma had somehow tangled herself in her guitar strap, and twins Marcus and Maya were engaged in a drum stick war.
"Alright, musicians!" She clapped her hands. "Instruments down. We're going to practice counting rhythms instead."
The collective groan was expected. Good. A chaotic classroom she could handle. Mysterious billionaire contracts? Those required coffee and mental preparation.
By lunchtime, Aria had sequestered herself in the music school's tiny break room with her laptop and the largest coffee the bodega across the street offered. The contract was twenty-three pages of legal jargon that made her head spin.
"You look like you're trying to read ancient Sumerian."
Aria glanced up to find Marcus Washington, the school's director and her mentor, leaning against the doorframe. He was sixty-three, with salt-and-pepper locs and the patient demeanor of someone who'd spent four decades teaching children why music mattered.
"Worse. Legal speak." She gestured at her laptop. "I got offered a gig—a really good gig—but this contract might as well be written in another language."
Marcus settled into the chair across from her. "What kind of gig?"
"Private performance at a corporate gala. Two hours, twenty thousand dollars."
His eyebrows shot up. "That's... substantial. Who's the client?"
"Dominic Hawthorne. Hawthorne Ventures."
Marcus whistled low. "The tech billionaire. Aria, that's not just a gig. That's a career move. Those events have serious networking potential."
"I know. Which is why I'm terrified I'll screw it up somehow." She scrolled through the contract. "And this thing has clauses about image rights, social media restrictions, and something called a 'morality clause' that I don't fully understand."
"Mind if I take a look?"
Aria turned the laptop toward him gratefully. Marcus had been a session musician in the '80s and '90s before founding the school. If anyone could decode industry contracts, it was him.
He read in silence, his expression neutral. After several minutes, he leaned back.
"It's standard, mostly. The image rights clause just means they can use photos or videos from the event for their company's promotional materials. Social media restriction says you can post about the event but can't tag specific guests without permission—probably to protect their high-profile attendees' privacy. The morality clause is boilerplate language saying you won't engage in illegal activity or behavior that could damage their reputation."
"So nothing sketchy?"
"Nothing I can see. Though..." He pointed at a section near the end. "This is interesting. There's a clause here about potential ongoing opportunities. Basically says if Hawthorne Ventures is impressed with your performance, they have first right of refusal for future events for the next year."
Aria frowned. "Is that normal?"
"For corporate contracts? It's not unheard of. Essentially they're protecting their investment—if you blow them away and suddenly every company wants to book you, they get priority. But it also means you can't commit to competing tech companies during that period without offering them the chance first."
"That seems... controlling."
"Or smart business. Depends on your perspective." Marcus closed the laptop. "My advice? If you're seriously considering this, have a lawyer review it. I can give you the name of someone who specializes in entertainment contracts. She's not cheap, but she's thorough."
Aria's stomach sank. "How not cheap?"
"Five hundred for a contract review."
Five hundred dollars she didn't have. Except—she looked at her wallet, where four of Dominic's hundred-dollar bills still remained. She'd deposited one for rent but kept the rest, unsure what to do with money that felt simultaneously like a gift and a test.
"Okay," she said. "Send me her info."
Marcus studied her with those knowing eyes that had seen through countless students' excuses over the years. "You're scared."
It wasn't a question.
"Terrified," Aria admitted. "This is exactly what I've been working toward, but now that it's real, I keep waiting for the other shoe to drop. For this to turn into some Pretty Woman scenario where I'm the entertainment in more ways than one."
"Has Hawthorne given you any reason to think that?"
She considered the question honestly. Dominic had been direct, professional, even respectful when she'd challenged him. He could have pulled the billionaire card—insisted, demanded, used his power to intimidate. Instead, he'd offered and waited for her answer.
"No," she said finally. "But men like him don't just notice people like me without an agenda."
"Aria." Marcus's voice carried the gentle firmness of someone about to deliver uncomfortable truth. "You're talented. Really talented. I know your mother convinced you that your music was a backup plan, that you needed something 'practical' to fall back on. But sweetheart, you're the most gifted musician I've taught in thirty years. Maybe it's time to consider that Hawthorne noticed you because you're worth noticing."
Tears pricked at Aria's eyes. She blinked them back furiously. "You have to say that. You're my boss."
"I have to give you honest feedback about your teaching, which is adequate but sometimes distracted. I don't have to tell you that your original compositions are the kind of raw, emotional work that people build careers on. But I am, because someone needs to."
Aria's phone buzzed. Another email—this time directly from Dominic.
FROM: Dominic Hawthorne
SUBJECT: RE: Performance Contract
Aria,
Victoria sent you the standard contract. Before you sign, I want you to know: if anything in there makes you uncomfortable, we can negotiate. This is meant to protect both of us, not restrict you.
Also, my legal team can be intimidating. If you need a lawyer to review this and cost is a concern, I'll cover it. Not as charity—as a business expense. I need you confident and comfortable, not stressed about legal fine print.
Call me if you have questions.
D.
Aria stared at the email. What billionaire offered to pay for their contractor's lawyer? That was... considerate. Unexpectedly human.
Also potentially manipulative, her suspicious side whispered. Create debt, establish control, make her feel obligated.
But if that was his goal, why give her an out? Why encourage her to get independent legal advice that might result in her demanding changes or walking away entirely?
"He just offered to pay for the lawyer," she told Marcus, showing him the email.
Marcus smiled. "Sounds like someone who actually wants this to work. Now, are you going to trust yourself enough to let it?"
That was the real question, wasn't it? Not whether Dominic Hawthorne was trustworthy, but whether Aria trusted herself—her instincts, her talent, her ability to navigate a world that had always seemed closed to people like her.
She took a breath and hit reply.
Mr. Hawthorne,
I appreciate the offer, but I'll handle my own legal review. However, I do have some questions about the first-refusal clause and the image rights section. Are you available for a call this evening?
Also—it's just Aria. Not Miss Chen, not Ms. Chen. Just Aria.
Thanks,
A.
She sent it before she could second-guess the casual tone. If they were going to work together, she needed to establish that she wasn't impressed by his billions or intimidated by his power. She was a professional offering a service, and professionals didn't grovel.
His response came thirty seconds later.
Just Aria—
Tonight works. 7 PM? And feel free to call me Dominic. Mr. Hawthorne is my father, and we don't get along.
D.
Aria smiled despite herself. Maybe Marcus was right. Maybe this was exactly what it appeared to be: an opportunity.
Now she just had to be brave enough to take it.