I open my mouth to speak, but nothing comes out.
“I don’t know why you use a pick on that song Forgotten, though – your fingerstyle would go so much better with it.”
“I burnt my finger on the coffee machine the day before I recorded that on—” I stop mid-sentence and snort a little laugh, shaking my head in disbelief. “This is insane!”
“No it’s not,” he says, his New York drawl slowing down into a hard, persuasive drumbeat. “What would have been insane would be giving up on a girl who has the kind of talent you have. Not just talent, but the passion and drive that kept her singing til the end of the night, despite every reason not to.”
I shake my head and look at the floor, hoping he’s not perceptive enough to see the redness in my cheeks.
“So how ‘bout that coffee?” he presses. “Or a drink? Whatever you want.”
“What if I had a boyfriend?” I say, folding my arms defensively. “He would have something to say about me ‘having coffee’ with some…strange man who seems way too into my music.”
“He probably would. So it’s a good thing you don’t have one.”
I narrow my eyes. “How do you know?”
“If you did, then he abandoned you last night. Either way, you don’t have the kind of guy who would care about coffee with a ‘strange man’ who is deeply interested in your music.”
I grin and laugh. Whatever I think of this guy, he’s definitely got some balls on him. I look to the side and see Jenna way off in the back room, her face going through a million emotions. She bites her fist to express how hot he is, drops her jaw wide open to tell me she finds it incredible I’m blowing him off, and settles on nodding vigorously to urge me on.
“So?” he says, leaning forward, his palms on the table, the muscles in his neck tense and irresistible. “What do you say?”
I suddenly feel more vulnerable than I’ve ever felt before. But Jenna’s words come back to me: this is my career, and I have to fight for it.
“Okay.”
Chapter 3
Brando
It takes years to find someone who’s got that spark, that indestructible core that relentlessly drives them mixed with solid talent and that indefinable X factor that sets them miles apart from all the others. Years again to find the right people to put around them, musicians, writers, studio crew. Months to strategize and plan, to sculpt and mold the public perception through blogs and marketing and word of mouth, to play that fine game of giving just enough that they get it, but not too much that they don’t beg for more. It takes power, connections, hard work, and experience. Even after all that, you may as well buy a lottery ticket, because the amount of luck you need to create a hit would bring Vegas to its knees.
And I’m trying to achieve all of that in a month. With a girl who appears to hate me.
It was a bad bet, and I was a dumbass for taking it. Davis played me for a fool and I walked right into, thinking with my heart rather than my head. Letting my hotheaded emotions make a decision before common sense had the time to pull the handbrake. I want to blame it on the tiredness, blame it on Davis doing the one thing he’s good at – manipulating people – but I can’t. Because the sad, pathetic truth is that I’d make the same decision if you asked me all over again.
Only for you, Lexi, only for you.
I pull up to the street corner I agreed to meet Haley on in a Mercedes SLR. I have a thing about cars; choosing the right one when you take a girl out is as important as the right outfit. The Merc is sleek, but not too flashy. Impressive, but not overbearing. Subdued, but you can still tell it’ll beat most cars.
I almost miss seeing Haley walking toward me, she looks so different in a jean skirt over tight black leggings. A loose grey tank under the same leather jacket she wore at the club. Hair wild and free – the way some girls pay their stylists hundreds of dollars to achieve. I know for sure that Haley didn’t get it that way by paying – if she could, she wouldn’t be living in this part of town.
She’s actually kinda cute, even with the crazy hair and that scowl on her face. A world apart from the minidress-wearing bombshells I usually take my pick from, but definitely hot enough to make me feel a stirring. Which I quickly tamp down. This is a business meeting, I remind myself.
Haley looks a little nervous as she opens the car door and ducks inside. I look over at her and try to catch her gaze, but she keeps her eyes straight ahead through the windshield, as if she can’t even stand to glance at me.
“So where are we going?” she asks, tension written all over her face.
“You like The Triangles?”
Her head snaps over to me, immediately dropping her guard, her brown eyes lit up. She likes them alright.
“Do you like The Triangles?” she asks, the implication clear. She doesn’t think I’m cool enough.
I laugh and let the clutch out.
“I manage them.”