“Find Georgiana,” I direct.
She doesn’t talk to me much and I’m fine with that. She’s competent and efficient, and she proves her worth yet again when she hands me an address, ninety minutes later, and tells me that’s Georgie’s location.
I frown. Perhaps, I’m wrong about my suspicions that she’s with Sloane. The address isn’t far from here. Still, something niggles at me. I’m slightly acquainted with the woman who lives at the address. I’ve snubbed her daughter more than once.
Having me show up will be unexpected and, to them, a welcome surprise.
Sloane
If eyes shot bullets, Georgie would be dead. The moment we walk into the studio, Jaeger shoots her a death look. Kiln sits in one of the chairs around the equipment, along with the producers. Maitland, Adam, and Quint are already in the soundproof room.
Today, I’m not late nor am I distracted. Georgie is here with me, so I don’t have to wonder if she’s somewhere fucking herself up. No one moves to offer her a seat, so I thump Kiln’s head.
He glares at me, but gets to his feet and allows Georgie to sit. Meekly, she complies, shoving her hands under her thighs.
“Keep Jaeger out of her face,” I warn him, not in the mood for his shit, too.
Protest gathers in his face and he opens his mouth.
“You’re my personal bodyguard, fucker.” He hates when I shove our changed relationship in his face. “I pay you to protect me and whoever else is with me. Georgie is with me, so earn your fucking keep.”
Similar words, our positions reversed, drum through my head. I grit my teeth, stalking away.
Inside the soundproof room, I slide my headphones into place, purposely keeping my back to the glass, so I won’t see what’s going on with Georgie and the others. Once I strap up, I press the fifth string and play it with the second fret. A string becomes B, but I pause. Riffs loop through my head, words…a song. I smile.
I don’t believe in inspiration. I’ve never needed it before to create music, but this is all I have—music. It never lets me down. I’ve let it down, damaging the ebb and flow of my creativity. Still, it’s always there, waiting on me. Ready to forgive and let me back in. No explanations required.
Drawing in a deep breath, I press the first string and keep it in the first fret. The energy in the room is changing. Maitland is already adding percussion. Adam stands silent, picking up the tone I’ve set and deciding what his addition will be.
The sudden magic between us gives me a fucking head rush. My eyes shut, seeing the words behind the black void of my lids. At the last minute, Quint brings in the keyboard and we’re making music. Not for fucking money. Or fame. Or fans. We’re making music because we love it. It’s in our blood and soul.
It becomes our tears and turmoil. It is our tears, our sweat, our passion.
As we end the impromptu instrumental piece, we laugh and offer back slaps.
“Time is fucking money.” Jaeger’s irritated voice bounces in the room.
I curse him and every fucking promise I’ve ever made that tied me to Kiln and Jaeger. Professionally, at least. I had no control over the rest of it.
“Give us a moment,” I say, casually glancing in Georgie’s direction. She’s talking to Kiln and one of the assistants. Relieved that she’s fine, I turn to my bandmates. “We have no lyrics for what we just played, but the sound vibes through me. Do you want to see where this takes us?”
Quint’s pumped. “That was the fucking shit.”
“Let’s go for it,” Maitland agrees.
“We’re recording this time around,” I tell Jaeger, daring him to open his fucking mouth and complain that this is a new song, not on the list of included tracks when we drop the disc.
Two hours of stops and starts, coupled with interruptions by Jaeger or one of the producers to offer constructive criticism, and the decision to not have the bassline so prevalent and we nail it. Words and all.
When we’re done, Georgie claps and bounces up and down. At some point, I turned to her. She focused on me with rapt attention. I’ve had the eyes of millions on me, but I’ve never felt a look so physically as I did hers.
Once we secure our instruments, we leave the room.
Georgie squeals and stands on her tiptoes to hug me, which I assist by bending so she can reach my neck. I’m sweaty, but she doesn’t mind. “Oh my god, that was so fucking awesome.”
Quint tosses his sticks into the air and catches them. “Fucking right.”
Before anyone comments, the door opens. Cassandra glides in, narrowing her eyes at the sight of Georgie, standing next to me, still wearing my shirt, even though she now has her pants on.
Kiln whistles.
Jaeger stiffens. “I’m sorry, madam, but this is a private session.”
Cassandra scoffs. “What are you doing here, Georgiana?”
To her credit, Georgie recovers quickly. “I can ask you the same thing, Mom.”