I shamelessly continued listening to them gossip for the next ten minutes as I chomped on some Bombay mix. Then Jacob flounced into the room once more, several assistants heavy on his heels, and took a seat at the long table.
There was some frenzied chatting between him and the choral director, an older woman named Miriam. Turning to one of his assistants, he gave some instruction and the girl hurried from the room. When she returned, a hush fell over the studio as she escorted a tall man inside. His brown hair was long and came to just below his ears. Some heavy stubble dusted his face and he wore scuffed, workman’s clothes; a long grey coat and steel toe capped boots. Despite his distinctly laid back appearance, I sensed a special aura from him, that certain je ne sais quoi they called star quality.
This was Damon Atwood and he was entirely unexpected.
He didn’t look weird to me, like grown child actors normally did. No, he looked like his previous incarnation had been a costume and this was his true self come to fruition.
“Well then, Mr Atwood, let’s see what we have to work with,” said Jacob, a pad of paper in his lap and a pen poised at his lips. “Have you prepared a song?”
Damon nodded but didn’t speak. He stood at the front of the studio and shot a look to the assistant as she hit a button on the sound system. Music began to play, the intro to ‘Nature Boy.’ When he opened his mouth to sing, he didn’t sound how I thought he would. His voice was a revelation, more Frank Sinatra than Ewan McGregor, and the tiny hairs on my arms stood on end as I suddenly found myself leaning forward to listen. He had my undivided attention.
Man, his singing was like aural caramel, smooth, thick and undeniably sultry. The entire room was held rapt by his performance, barely an intake of breath to be heard. Damon stared at his feet, almost as though he was too shy to face us. Still, it felt like somebody so large, somebody with such a strikingly masculine appearance couldn’t possibly be self-conscious. It was only as he sang the last line that he finally looked up, and somehow his eyes locked on mine, like he sensed my spellbound attention.
The greatest thing you’ll ever learn is just to love and be loved in return.
Goosebumps rose on my skin.
When he finished there was a beat of silence, like everyone had been struck speechless.
Jacob cleared his throat. “Well, you definitely won’t need a voice coach,” he said, eyeing Miriam with a pleased expression. I was slightly annoyed that he hadn’t taken a moment to compliment Damon on his performance. Describing it as life-altering wasn’t even an exaggeration. Directors, unfortunately, were often desensitised to greatness, spending their lives amid the highly talented and beautiful as they did.
I, on the other hand, wanted to leap from my seat, run up to Damon Atwood and wax lyrical about the cadence of his voice and the depth and quality of his tone.
“We will, however, have to make some alterations to your…look. Jenny here,” he gestured to one of his assistants, “will pencil you in for a barber’s appointment in the morning.”
“Excuse me?” said Damon, his brow furrowing. It was slightly hilarious, like someone just told Sean Connery he’d have to do an accent.
Hearing Damon speak for the first time was an experience in itself. He sounded Northern, very Sean Bean-esque. Hello. It was a little diluted though, probably because he’d spent so many years in LA during his youth.
“Your character, Christian, is a clean-cut young man,” Jacob explained. “And you look like you just stepped off the set of Vikings, no offence.”
Damon didn’t say a word, just continued staring at Jacob like he was mildly confused by him.
As though suddenly aware of the tension, Jacob sprang up from his seat and hurried across the room, throwing his arm around Damon’s broad shoulders and speaking to him animatedly as he led him back out the door.
“Well, that wasn’t awkward,” said Iggy as he came to sit next to me. “How about a wager on how long Atwood will last? I’m not sure he’ll even make it to opening night.”
I shot him a glance. “That’s mean.”
He raised his hands. “Hey, I know people. Jacob and Damon are about as suited as Britney and that bloke she married for twenty-four hours.”
“It was actually fifty-five, you big cynic.”
“And they say romance is dead,” he grinned and pulled me up with him. “Come on, practice until four and then home.”
End Sneak Peek
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L.H. Cosway Booklist
Contemporary Romance Standalones Painted Faces
Killer Queen
The Nature of Cruelty
Still Life with Strings
Showmance (coming May 16th, 2016)
Hearts Series
(Contemporary Romance)
Six of Hearts
Hearts of Fire
King of Hearts
Hearts of Blue
Irish Players (Rugby) Series – by L.H. Cosway and Penny Reid (Contemporary Sports Romance) The Hooker and the Hermit (#1) The Pixie and the Player (#2, coming spring 2016) Book #3 – TBD 2017