There are a lot of perks that come with my job, from working with famous artists, to planning VIP parties, to attending concerts and award ceremonies. I take every single assignment I’m given seriously, because if I want to move up in this world, I have to act professionally, be on time, and never, ever act star-struck when in the presence of a celebrity, even if I am star-struck. The biggest rule of them all, one I set for myself is that I don’t date men in the industry, especially good-looking musicians.
I walk in and wish a good morning to anyone whose path I cross on the way to my office. I sit down, turn on my computer, and start making my to-do list for the day. Every morning, I arrive one hour earlier than my boss in order to catch up on emails and relish in the silence, because once he arrives, my day—and sometimes my evening—is filled with chaos.
Fifty-four minutes later, I hear his booted footsteps coming and look up from my computer. “Good morning, Sunshine,” Shane Adams sings in greeting before resuming his phone conversation and shutting his office door. Shane is one of the A&R managers here, and boy did I hit the boss lottery when he hired me. He acts more like my big brother and trusts me enough to let me do my job, gently guiding me along the way when he feels I need help. There are two other assistants who report to him, but they don’t have the close relationship he and I share. I can’t explain it, but we just clicked from day one. He makes every day at work an adventure and keeps things exciting for me and the rest of the people on staff.
Moments later, he comes right back out of his office with his empty coffee mug and parks his hip against my desk. “I’m going to get more caffeine and then let’s get together for our morning meeting. We have lots to discuss, and I need to meet with all my staff before eleven thirty.”
“Sounds good,” I respond with a smile, but internally, I’m questioning how much we really have to discuss. Is there something I’m forgetting? I wonder, glancing at my short to-do list once Shane walks away from my desk. I shrug my shoulders in confusion, since I’m sure I will soon find out what else is going to be added to my plate. I grab my notebook and pen and wait for him to return to his office.
“All right,” he drawls out once he shuts his door and walks around his desk to sit behind it. “Let’s get down to business.” He folds his hands together and stares at me intently. “Please tell me you’ve heard back from that hot hockey player and have a date lined up with him.”
I burst out laughing at his eager expression while he waits for me to answer him. Only Shane would consider my love life as the most important topic of business to start off our morning meeting.
“Yes, he has called me. But!” I hold up my hand to stop him from screaming with glee. “I’m honestly only interested in being his friend.” Ever since my college boyfriend dumped me a year ago, men have been the last thing I’m interested in. I’m just starting to figure out what I want to do with my life and what I need to do to reach my goals. And if I’m honest with myself, my busy work schedule doesn’t leave me much time to date. Heck, I can barely give attention to my cat—much less a man!
“Alyson Dawson, what is wrong with you? Do you know how many women would die to have Brodie Larsen calling them?” He looks at me with such disdain that I start laughing again. Brodie Larsen is a hotshot NHL player who comes from a very famous hockey family. His father played for the Predators and Brodie was actually born here in Nashville. Fans went crazy when the Predators drafted him straight out of college, and he has been one of the more popular players since then.
Our marketing department decided it would be a good idea to give tickets to the local sports teams to any concerts our artists were having in hopes they would come and return the favor to us with hockey tickets. Brodie and two other players showed up to our suite at the arena during one of our clients’ concerts. I knew of Brodie, but was surprised at how good-looking he was with his dark hair, intense blue eyes, and lean, hard body.
He was not shy at all in introducing himself to me, and I enjoyed chatting with him, but I didn’t get the sense he was interested in me. Not that it mattered, because I definitely didn’t feel any sparks for him, so imagine my surprise when he asked for my number at the end of the evening. I didn’t hesitate in giving it to him, thinking it would be cool to have a potential new friend.
“Actually, I think I want to set him up with my best friend, Willow. She’s drop-dead gorgeous and would be right up his alley.” I tap my fingers together with an evil smile forming on my face. The more I think about the idea, the more I think Willow might be perfect for him. Now I just have to figure out how to get the two of them together.
“And what do you think you are, chopped liver? Why are you giving up on him so easily? You deserve some young, hot stud pampering you. Besides, you two would make really pretty babies.”
I shake my head at Shane and his reference of babies. No way am I anywhere near ready for a husband and babies. I want to establish myself and get in some traveling before settling down. Maybe that’s why guys are not even a priority on my to-do list right now.
“I know I’m a catch.” I roll my eyes. “I just don’t think Brodie is the one for me.”
“How would you even know if you don’t give him a chance?” Shane questions with a knowing smile.
“It sounds to me like you’re the one who wants to give him a chance. Why don’t you go ask him out?” I counter, knowing full well that Shane Adams doesn’t like to step away from a challenge when one is presented to him.
“Child please, only in my dreams would that man slap his stick for me.”
I close my eyes to get rid of the mental image he just put in my brain. If our offices were bugged, human resources would be mortified at our conversations.
“I think this conversation has gone far enough. Shouldn’t we talk about more pressing matters, like work?” I suggest, not wanting to discuss Brodie Larsen or my singlehood any longer.
“This conversation is called me being concerned about your work/life balance. So no, I am not ready to change the subject yet.” He huffs, causing me to chuckle at his flair for drama. “Why do you act like a sixty-seven-year-old in a twenty-three-year-old body? All you do is go home and read books. You aren’t going to meet a real-life man if you are holed up all night with your fictional ones. Those men you read about aren’t real. Real men are flawed, whine, grow fat, and forget birthdays.”
I raise an eyebrow at him, questioning if he’s talking about his real-life experience from his ex-boyfriend.
“Look, all I’m saying, Aly, is I think you need to incorporate a little more fun in your life. Start expanding your circle outside your sister and friends. Date a little so you can find out what type of man you do want…when you’re ready to meet ‘the one’.” He sighs as he looks over at me before putting on his reading glasses. “And with that, my dear, I am ready to change subjects and talk business.”
“Thank goodness, because these last two minutes have been a snooze fest,” I say sarcastically, causing Shane to narrow his eyes at me.
“Are we all set for the Bluebird Cafe tomorrow?” he asks in his formal business voice, indicating we really are done with the inquisition of my non-existent love life. Tomorrow is industry night at the famous Bluebird Cafe, and we have lined up a mixture of existing successful musicians with some up-and-coming singers.
“Yes, all talent have been told their times to report and everyone has turned in their song lists.” I slide the sheet of paper over to Shane, who nods his approval.
“Did you tell Scotty Wilkins that if his cute ass doesn’t show up on time, I’m taking everything off his rider?” Shane asks in exasperation at the mere mention of our most difficult artist. We signed Scotty Wilkins off of one of those reality singing shows, thinking the man who was on television was going to be easy, accommodating, and appreciative of the opportunities thrown his way.
We were dead wrong - Scotty Wilkins is one of our most difficult clients. And since he’s one of our more famous clients, he usu
ally gets his way every time.
“Those weren’t my exact words to him, but I did tell him a call time that was an hour earlier than everyone else’s.”
“That’s my girl.” Shane nods in approval once more. “Did we receive a list of artists Charisma Records is showcasing?”
“No, and I have called and emailed over there asking for their artists’ names and song lists multiple times. Remind me again why we invited them to participate in an event we are supposed to be hosting?” It’s a lot of work having to rally up our own talent, but adding another label’s talent to the mix has turned it into a nightmare.
“We technically didn’t invite them. Big Daddy Langston heard how successful it was becoming and wanted to get Charisma into the mix. I have zero doubts he offered up a pretty penny to the Bluebird owners for a permanent spot on Tuesdays. You know he runs this town.” I’ve seen Atticus Langston from afar at many events but haven’t met him personally. Not only does he own Charisma Records, but also multiple investments and properties around Nashville. He’s called “Mr. 615” for a reason - and that’s because his money has helped build this city up and put it on the map with the help of producing a hit television show that skyrocketed our population.
A knock on the door interrupts us and one of the interns pops his head in. “Mrs. Davidson would like to see you, sir.” He locks eyes with Shane.
Kathleen Davidson is a force to be reckoned with in the industry. She started this label fifteen years ago when she was a struggling artist not being treated the way she felt she should’ve been. She worked two extra jobs to save the money to start up the label herself. Then with some heavy scouting, taking her around the country, she found her first successful artist and since then has had continuous success and fame. Her artists like her hands-on approach, so she keeps her staff small, making sure we cultivate and maintain close relationships with each artist. Her strategy of maintaining a label with the southern hospitality feel to it has worked so far and even has her competing for talent with the big guns like Charisma.
“Kathleen can help us get a list of Charisma’s artists for tomorrow,” Shane tells me while jotting down a quick note on the pad he’s writing on. “Let me go talk to her now and ask her for help. In the meantime, I need you to call the Predators and make sure we have a suite for next week’s game against Detroit. Order food and beverages and then start up the guest list of artists we think need to make an appearance.” I add that to my to-do list and follow him out of his office.
The wheels in my head start turning, as this might be the perfect opportunity to introduce Willow to Brodie. I write down a reminder to ask Shane if I can bring a plus-one, knowing full well he will say yes. I smile to myself, ready to take on the matchmaker roll for my best friend, who won’t even see it coming.
Chapter Three
GAVIN
I DRUM MY fingers against the car door panel, impatient energy coursing through my veins while watching the outside scenery pass by. Sosie is driving us to my show tonight, and for some reason, I feel nervous. My pre-show jitters are usually due to the anticipation of the high I get while performing, so this nervousness is a foreign feeling. Maybe it’s because I’m tired. Yesterday was a long day with continued interviews and time spent in the studio working on a song for another artist. I didn’t get home until close to midnight and crashed as soon as I turned the lights off.
“What’s up with you?” Sosie asks, giving me a strange look out of the corner of her eye. She notices everything, so I know I won’t be able to weasel my way out of this unwanted conversation.
“Nothing. What’s up with you and those bags under your eyes?” I question with concern as I study her more closely. She has her hair up in a messy bun and her thick red glasses on, but those glasses only accentuate the deep purple bags underneath her blue eyes. Something is going on with her that she’s not sharing. When I’m in the studio working for other artists, Sosie isn’t on the clock, meaning she was done working for me yesterday after lunch. What she does with her free time is her business, but when I see her not looking well, I make it a point to make her personal time my business.
“Always deflecting, but it won’t work this time, Gav. I’m not answering your question until you answer mine.” She gives me a sweet, fake smile before turning her attention back to the road.
“Fine,” I mumble, caring more about hearing what’s going on with her than my own nervousness. “Honestly, I don’t know what the fuck is wrong with me. For some reason, I’m nervous.”
“Yeah, I can tell. You’re like the Tasmanian Devil over there.” I follow her eyes to my left leg bouncing rapidly up and down. I place my hand on my thigh, mentally forcing it to stop. “But you’ve performed numerous times at the Bluebird. Why would this time be any different?”
“Possibly because this is a private event being held by another record label.” Their people will be watching me… judging me, I think but don’t say out loud. I shouldn’t be nervous. I practically lived at the Bluebird Cafe when I first landed in Nashville. It’s the place to play when you’re a songwriter wanting to get noticed. It’s an extremely small venue, capacity of only 90 people, making the audience seem like they’re right on top of you. Food and beverages are served while the crowd listens to singers belt out their songs. The Bluebird has launched the careers of some of today’s most famous singers like Taylor Swift and Garth Brooks. You can feel how special the place is the moment you walk through the doors.
“People are watching and judging you every time you walk on stage though,” she reminds me.
“True.” I sigh, not really wanting to psychoanalyze my mood right now.
“Maybe subconsciously, you’re anxious because you know when your contract is up with the devil, you need to change record labels, and Big Little Music could potentially be your future home.” I chuckle at her calling Atticus Langston the devil. From day one, Sosie saw right through his weaselly charm and loves telling me, in her heavily laced sarcastic voice that she prays for my soul every day.
“I don’t think so. For one thing, I like being with a big label, because they have more dollars for marketing and advertising.”
“That actually isn’t true anymore,” she informs me quietly. “I know you’ve heard how Big Little Music’s artists love being with them. Plus, they’ve landed some pretty big names for not being a more well-known label.” She starts rattling off the names of their well-known singers, surprising me with not only their lineup of talent, but her knowledge of who they have signed. When Sosie first started working for me, she didn’t know shit about this industry. Not that it mattered to me—I was just trying to get her the fuck out of California and away from my toxic aunt and uncle. Since working for me, she has taken her job as my assistant very seriously, immersing herself in the industry, studying the ins and outs of it and who the big players are.
As I let her words settle in, I realize she might have a point. For a small label, Big Little Music has created quite the reputation for themselves. For one, they still care about their artists and not how much money they can get out of them. They are the total opposite of Charisma Records.
Up-and-coming artists like myself don’t usually get signed by labels like Charisma. They already make enough money on their current catalog of talent and don’t need or want to take a chance on nobodies. The only reason I got signed is because I wrote a hit song for Tori, who ran home and told her daddy about me. I highly doubt she raved about how truly talented I was—more like she wanted to keep me around and happy so I could write more songs for her. Fortunately, I signed only a single album deal with Charisma. Yes, it sucks big giant, Texas-sized balls that they get to own the rights to my songs for ten years, but that’s the price you pay when you sign on the dotted line sometimes.
We pull into the parking lot behind the Bluebird. Since there are no dressing rooms for artists to wait in, most just arrive at their designated time slot or hang out with other performers in the back by their cars.
I wave at a couple people I recognize as I get out of the car then retrieve my Martin D28 acoustic guitar from the back and start to warm up while standing there. Sosie always makes sure we arrive ten minutes before call time, which I know is padded with a few extra minutes. Once I’m warmed up, I head over to a group of people gathered near the back door.
“How’s the crowd tonight?” I ask, greeting Scotty Wilkins with a pat to his shoulder. I’ve known Scotty for years and have even wrote a couple songs with him. Despite his overinflated ego, he’s a good guy.
“Great crowd tonight. I might stick around to make myself available, if you know what I mean.” He winks at Sosie, who responds by rolling her eyes in disgust at him.
“You’re barking up the wrong tree, man. My cousin would chew you up and spit you out.” I give him a cold smile, hoping he catches my warning when our eyes lock. I know Sosie can handle herself, but I can’t help the protectiveness I feel when it comes to my baby cousin. Anyone disrespects her, they’ll answer to me.
Scotty chuckles and shakes his head while smiling. “You know, it’s pretty awesome how tight you two are. I wish I had that family dynamic.” For a moment, something that resembles sadness flashes in his eyes, but Scotty is quick to blink it away and go back to his usual cocky self.
What was that all about? Not that he would tell me anyway. We aren’t close, nor will we probably ever be. I purposely keep my circle close and tight. In this industry, I’ve learned you don’t know what people’s motives are, so it’s best to keep everyone at a distance until they prove themselves to be loyal.
“A couple of us are getting together next week to jam. Look at your schedule, and if you’re free, come join us. It would be worth your time.” Having worked together before, Scotty knows how I operate. For him to say it would be worth my time piques my interest. I look over at Sosie, who nods at me while typing notes in her phone to check my schedule.
Love At The Bluebird Page 2
