When it was Dawn’s turn to order, she realized she hadn’t even glanced at the menu. She was surprised to find it open in front her. “Uh.” She pointed at some random entree. “I’ll have this.”
The waiter was kind enough to walk her through the rest of the ordering process. She hoped she hadn’t accidentally ordered something gross. She’d been to enough fancy restaurants to know they sometimes disguised disgusting food with a fancy name. She’d once consumed ox balls and hadn’t realized it until she’d posted about her meal online and some follower had taken it upon herself to point out Dawn’s folly. They hadn’t actually tasted bad, but Dawn would rather not have a repeat performance.
While they waited for their meal, Dr. Everlong said, “So tell everyone how you know Pierre.”
She’d rather Pierre tell her what he was doing at a business meeting with Hollywood heavyweights, but she nodded. “He taught me to play piano.”
“Non, ma petite cherie. You taught me how to teach piano.”
She craned her neck to look around Dr. Everlong and lifted a brow at Pierre, but he merely smiled at her.
“Sometimes the student teaches us more than we could ever teach them.”
That sexy French accent of his did strange twisty things to her insides, but she had to wonder at his sudden sappiness.
Wes cleared his throat. “This is all very charming and nostalgic,” he said. “Teacher loves student, student loves teacher. But I for one can’t take the suspense any longer. Why are we here?”
Dawn whirled around to gape at her agent. He didn’t know why they were there? And he’d called her all the way from Houston, cutting into her time with Kellen and making her trip to Prague an exhausting marathon of airplane rides, knowing only as much as she did, which was essentially nothing?
Mr. Steinberg leaned closer to the table. “We’re collaborating on a new project, a trilogy of fantasy films. Very hush-hush, so the details will be forthcoming, but we already have an exalted vision for the musical scores. Think Star Wars in scope. It needs to be that grand. And memorable. And the score must be as amazing as the script and the cinematography.”
“It must be more amazing than the script,” Dr. Everlong said. “Pierre and I have been knocking our heads together over this for a month.”
“Six weeks,” Pierre said, his fingers tangling in his napkin.
“And what we have is good, but not great. We need fresh talent. Inspirational talent. A talent like yours, Ms. O’Reilly.”
Dawn had to admit she was flattered. Perhaps that was why she laughed. But more likely it was because they had no idea how hard it was for her to find inspiration. Talent alone did not magically produce her compositions. It took a lot of hard work and failure to find a single note of success. Everyone at the table stared at her sudden bout of inappropriate hilarity.
She lifted her napkin to dab tears out of her eyes and took a deep gasping breath before releasing a few more nervous giggles. “I fear you’re wasting your time,” she eventually said. “I have to wring every note out of my pathetically uninspired brain when I compose. There is no magic happening at my piano bench, trust me on that.”
For a moment she could feel Kellen standing at her shoulder, then sitting beside her, offering her support and the passion she’d needed to break free of her damned writer’s block. And as handsome as Pierre was—or maybe because of it—he’d never inspired a creative spark within her. He’d pushed her performance, not her creativity. And trying to compose at the elbow of a modern legend like Dr. Everlong? Dear lord, she’d likely forget how to play scales with him looming over her.
“We heard your new song,” Mr. Steinberg said. “Giovani was bragging about the closing credit song he’d just received.”
“Galahan just loved rubbing that song in my face,” Dr. Everlong said.
Wait? Giovanni Galahan—the Giovanni Galahan—had been bragging about “Blue”? She’d barely turned the score over to Wes. How was he bragging about it already? And why was he bragging to Mr. Steinberg? And he was seriously bragging about her little song? Dawn giggled at how surreal all of this was. The giants of Hollywood were talking about her music. She couldn’t even comprehend that reality.
“She giggles when she’s nervous,” Wes commented, and Dawn bit her lip. She did giggle when she was nervous and didn’t even realize she was doing it, but she was actually laughing at how unbelievable this entire conversation had become.
“Composing is damned near impossible on your own,” Dr. Everlong said, laying an encouraging hand on her back. “I’ve spent many an hour staring at a piano keyboard or holding a violin at the ready and not a single note is produced. I’ve learned over the years that when you’re stuck, brainstorming with other creative minds is the solution.”
“That’s where I was supposed to come in,” Pierre said.
“You’ve done a wonderful job,” Dr. Everlong said, his other hand resting on Pierre’s back, and then Dawn got what was really going on. Maybe.
Everlong wrung the talent and hard work out of less experienced and far less famous musicians and stamped his name all over the compositions.
“So who gets credit for the compositions? Royalties? That sort of thing?” she asked. Someone kicked her under the table, and she turned her head toward Wes, who was glaring at her in warning. Yes, she understood. The business part of these deals was Wes’s responsibility. She was just supposed to do all the creative work.
“Drew will get first billing, naturally, but if you agree, you’ll get second credit and a fair share of royalties.”
“And Pierre?” she asked, wishing her mouth would stop running away with her.
“I am well compensated,” Pierre said, offering her a lopsided grin.
Dawn gnawed on her lip. This was a life-changing opportunity. She knew that. If Dr. Everlong took her under his wing this early in her career, there was no telling how far she might go. But his glory might also mask hers. It might be best to create her own coattails instead of clinging to his. This was a big decision, and she refused to take it lightly or make up her mind without consulting those she trusted to set her straight.
Wes would have her back when it came to money and legalities, but who could she seek for advice? Pierre was obviously already snuggly in Dr. Everlong’s pocket, though he might have some helpful insight, assuming he was honest with her. And Kellen knew the ins and outs of the rock and roll business, but this was far out of his scope of knowledge. Still, she’d ask his opinion. Maybe her professors at Curtis would have useful advice. Or maybe she should just go for it. It wasn’t every day that opportunity as grand as this knocked on her door. Maybe she should just answer without asking who was there and what they wanted, and without peeking at them through the peephole. Just go for it, Dawn.
She glanced up to find everyone staring at her hopefully, as if they couldn’t find some other more experienced, more talented composer to jump on this opportunity. And maybe they couldn’t. What did she know?