Like the people they like.
They’re pretty much the biggest mystery in the universe.
“She wanted to kiss me,” I say. I’m not sure why, but I feel the need to explain. I can’t let her leave thinking I’m pathetic and delusional. “It was right there in her eyes—just like you said.”
“Well, okay, then.” Plum lifts her shoulders and drops them back down, as though it’s decided. But it’s not. Not even close.
“But then I saw the camera and…” My voice fades, no point in going on.
“You know what your problem is, Nick?” Her fingers pick at her sleeve as her mouth curves into a grin, as though she can hardly wait to lay it on me.
I shoot her a wary look. As far as she’s concerned, the list of my problems is infinite, and I’m not sure I’m up for hearing it. Still, I feel like I should beat her to the punch, let her know she can’t get to me no matter how hard she might try.
“That I’m a soft sellout who makes manufactured, inauthentic crap I try to disguise as music?” Repeating pretty much the exact same things she told Dougall.
“No, not that.” She waves it away, doesn’t even try to deny it. “You’re a romantic, Nick Dashaway. That’s your real problem. And this town is brutal for people like you.”
She looks at me for a long moment, peering through thick layers of mascara and black eyeliner like she wants to make sure her words have really penetrated.
Satisfied, she makes for the door. And that’s when I realize how much I want her to stay.
But that’s probably only because I don’t want to be alone.
I’ve barely had any time to myself, and I guess I’ve gotten so used to being surrounded by celebrities, fans, and employees of the Nick Dashaway show that I forgot how nice it is to be treated like a normal person.
I’m about to call her back, but I’m a few seconds too late.
“Night, Nick,” she says, almost like it’s an afterthought. Her dark hair swinging over her shoulder, she places the Santa hat on the entry table and leaves me in this big, empty house, all alone with my thoughts.
DECEMBER 22
2 Days, 7 Hours, 32 Minutes, and 43 Seconds till Christmas
GUESS WHO’S COMING TO DINNER
By the third take, we’ve nailed it.
Or at least, that’s what Ezer claims.
If it were up to me, I’d opt to go again, but he insists it’s all there.
“If anything’s missing, we’ll fix it in the edit,” he says.
“But I don’t want it to come off as overdone,” I tell him, surprised to find I’m only three days in and I’m already growing tired of the signature Nick Dashaway manufactured sound. “I want it raw, kind of earthy and gritty. Maybe we should try an acoustic version, just to see?”
Ezer looks at me like I’m crazy. “You’re a star, not an artist. Be happy for that. It means you’re not starving for attention, money, or anything else.”
I start to object, but Tinsley cuts me off. “I’m with Nick.” She shoots me a covert look, like we’re in this together. “It would be fun to try, and it might sound even better on the show. You know, make it seem more spontaneous, less rehearsed.”
“Yeah,” I say, encouraged by Tinsley’s argument. “We could put some chairs next to a Christmas tree, and Tinsley could play guitar, and I—”
“I like it.” Ezer nods and squints into the distance, like he’s watching the whole scene unspool on the far wall. “It could work.” The nod grows more convinced.
“Of course, we’ll need a tree,” I say. Which, now that I think about it, is a really strange thing to be missing, considering we’ve been filming the Christmas Countdown since the day I arrived. My house is still only partially decorated.
“It’s handled. Everything’s handled,” Ezer says. “Though I do like Tinsley’s idea. Tell you what, you two get your acoustic version worked out, and if it’s any good, we’ll include it in the tree-trimming episode. Good thinking, Tins.”
He gives her shoulder a squeeze and leads us outside, and I try not to be overly miffed by how the whole thing went down. If Ezer wants to give Tinsley credit for something that was clearly my idea, so be it. As long as it happens, it doesn’t really matter who gets the acknowledgment.
“Hey, I just thought of something.” Ezer stands before the elevator doors, rubbing his hands together in the way he does when he’s dreaming about large, gleaming piles of money. “The second the episode airs, we’ll make the songs available for purchase. We’ll see if we can swing an exclusive with iTunes—I’m sure they’ll be thrilled to have it. Heck, we’ll give ’em both the studio version and the acoustic version so we can watch ’em duke it out for number one. Either way you’ll score the number one and number two spots on the charts!”