by R. M. Lynn
I watch him swallow before he stammers, “Y-yes, sir. I will make this my top priority.”
“Another thing, Don,” I say as I stand from the table. “Under no circumstances will you reveal that she’ll be writing for Violet Lane. I don’t care if you have to make up some shitty story. Tell her we don’t want anything leaked as of now. I don’t care. But do not, do not, tell her who wants to hire her. Clear?”
“Of course,” he replies with a tight nod. “Anything else?”
“Nope,” I respond with a grin. “Thank you for your time, boys. I look forward to the next one. Holly, please escort Mr. Girardi and Mr. Staffer to their car.”
That’s usually how our meetings go. The rest of the band seems to think I’m the best one to negotiate because of my second degree in business. However, I think my ability to get what I want is simply because we’ve spent the last four years in the business, and I’ve learned how to talk my way into anything. I’m even better at talking my way out of something.
Holly finds me in the office after escorting the men out. She helps me gather up my things before following me out to my car.
“Is there anything you need from me, Mr. Parks?” Holly asks as I open up the driver’s side door.
“No, but let me know if something comes up. I have to get home to my girl,” I say. “And, Holly? I’ve told you how many times to stop calling me Mr. Parks?”
She ducks her head and blushes, her frizzy hair covering her face. “My apologizes, sir. Anything else?”
I bite back a grin and force myself not to roll my eyes as I say, “No, Holly. That’ll be it. Take the rest of the day off.”
“Thank you, Mr. Parks,” she replies quickly before hurrying back inside the studio.
When she’s out of sight, I let my eyes roll. Again, with the Mr. Parks. I climb into my car and head toward home. On my way, I get a phone call from Dylan.
“Yeah, what’s up, man?” I ask into the speaker of my car.
His voice sounds through my speakers as he says, “Nothing much, man, just wanted to see how the meeting went.”
“Went fine,” I tell him. “Got what we wanted so, we’ll see if Girardi can actually make it happen. I told him I’d fire him if he didn’t.”
Dylan chuckles, the sound vibrating my speakers. “Shit, man, bet he loved that. What did Staffer say?”
“He’s not happy about any of it, but what else is new?”
“Do you think she’ll actually show?”
I shrug even though I know he can’t see me and mumble, “Guess we’ll find out. Did you get that email from Holly, by chance? You’re good for tomorrow at the studio?”
“Yeah, I’ll be there,” he answers. “What’re you doing now?”
“I’m headed home. Lucy’s been blowing my phone up all day.”
I hear him laugh again. “Sounds about right. Well, I’ll let you go, and I’ll see you tomorrow?”
“Yeah, man, see you tomorrow.”
I end the call as I pull up to my gated community. Punching in my code, the gate opens, and I drive through. After another minute, I pull up to my home. It’s much too big and white, but it was one of the first things I bought when we made our first big buck. Noah and I bought a place for our parents, too, nearby and in the same community I’m in. Mostly, because Mom felt it necessary, and I definitely need her help more often than I’d like to admit.
I park the car in the garage with my other two vehicles. I know, completely unnecessary, but I spent a lot of money in the beginning of our career. We all did. I can hear my mom in the kitchen as I walk through the door. Heading into the large white kitchen with gray accents everywhere, I find Mom at the stove.
“Mom, you don’t have to cook, you know,” I say softly, and she looks over her shoulder at me. “I have people for that.”
She narrows her eyes at me before turning back to the stove and replying, “I don’t care how many people you have. I can cook.”
“Where’s Lucy?” I ask, instead of arguing with her further.
“She’s upstairs,” Mom answers. “She’s in a mood, so beware.”
“Isn’t she always?” I reply as I head toward the massive stair case.
Once upstairs, I walk down the wide hallway my mom has decorated with pictures and artwork. She says my house looks too sterile without them. When I reach the bedroom door, I push it open and find Lucy, her dark hair in a braid down her back.
“Hi, baby,” I murmur and smile when she looks over her shoulder at me. “What’re you doing?”
“Daddy,” she cries happily and shoots up from the floor to jump into my arms.
“How was your day?” I ask her and brush loose strands of hair away from her face. “Were you good for Nana?”
My mom refuses to be called grandma, says it makes her feel old. When Lucy was two, she couldn’t quite say grandma anyway, so it worked out in the end.
“I was,” she says and slides down my body, her feet hitting the floor. She sits back down in front of her pile of Barbies and stuffed animals. “I colored a lot.”
I sit down in the rocking chair I bought when Lucy was a baby and watch her. “That’s fun. What else did you do?”
“Umm, I played outside,” she tells me distractedly. “Nana took me to the park.”
“Sorry I missed it,” I murmur. “Sounds like a lot of fun.”
She stands up and moves to her little table she has to color on. I watch her scribble with her crayons, making the white papers turn into colorful messes. My girl has a hard time sticking to one activity. I know it’s not her fault, and I’m hoping she’ll grow out of it. She’s only four, but they’ve already told me it’s unlucky it’ll go away.
“Nana’s making dinner,” I say as she decides she’s done coloring and heads to her toy box next to her bed. “Did you want to go help? I’ll sit with you.”
“No,” she responds as she begins digging for the perfect toy.
“How come, baby?”
“I’m mad.”
“Why’re you mad?”
Lucy looks up at me and puts her little hands on her hips. My girl is also a sassy one. Her moods vary every hour of the day. I bite back a smile at her pose while she glowers at me.
“Nana says I have to go to school,” she tells me. “I don’t want to go to school.”
“School is fun, baby,” I insist. “You’ll like it. Remember how much you liked pre-K?”
She doesn’t start school for a few months. I was opposed to it at first, opting for homeschooling. However, my mother said it’d be good for her. Since I obviously know nothing about children, specifically little girls, I took her advice and enrolled her for kindergarten. Things will probably change when we go on tour, but for now, it’s what’s best for her.
“You’ll make some friends, and you’ll color and play games,” I explain to her as she continues to glare at me. “We should at least try it, right? You might like it.”
She’s not convinced, but she lets it go and turns back to her toy box. I watch her as she moves from activity to activity in the space of her bedroom. Her décor is made up of whites and blues, because blue is her favorite color. Her hair is dark like mine, and her eyes are mine, too. Everything about her is me, and it’s like her mother never existed. The only thing she got from her mother is the ADHD, among other things. That’s what happens when you use drugs while pregnant.
“Daddy?”
I meet her eyes and smile. “Yeah, baby?”
“Do you think school will have a playground?” she asks softly.
“Of course,” I murmur. “Every school has a playground.”
She sighs and comes to hug my arm, her head resting on my bicep. I lay a kiss on the top of her head. She grabs my hand as she steps back away from me.
“Can I go help Nana?” she asks softly.
“Yeah, let’s go help Nana,” I answer and stand, her hand still in mine. “I think she’ll like that.”
I sit at the island while my girl
stands on a chair at the counter next to the stove. My mom, continuously reminding her to watch her fingers, helps her stir the sauce in a pot. It’s not long before Lucy is over the helping and running into the spacious living room. I don’t have to move to watch her, courtesy of the home’s open floor plan, but I do have to get up to help turn the TV on for her. Once a cartoon is on, I head back to the island and sit.
“She missed you today,” Mom says softly, moving to cut up some tomatoes.
“Yeah, I know based on the twelve phone calls I had from her,” I reply. “You really need to stop giving her your phone, by the way.”
“Well, what do you want me to do? She says she misses you a hundred times a day, wants to call you, so I, of course, let her,” she explains, trying to keep her voice down. “Maybe if you answered just once, she’d be satisfied and stop calling.”
“I get it,” I sigh out. “I’ll make more of an effort to call her while I’m out.”
“Daddy?” I hear called from the living room.
“Yeah, baby?” I call back with a small smile. “You need something?”
“Will you watch this with me?”
“Sure,”
I head over to the large sectional couch, and sit down next to her, reclining. Lucy snuggles into me and stares up at the TV hung on the wall, totally engrossed in the princess movie flashing on screen. Twenty minutes later, I get Lucy to the table with Mom for dinner. She eats her spaghetti, her favorite meal for the time being, and I answer every silly question she asks me throughout the meal. When dinner is over, Mom clears the table while I take Lucy upstairs to get her ready for bed. I help her into pink and blue pajamas before leading her to the bathroom to make sure she brushes her teeth. When I offer to take her hair out of her braid, she demands to keep it in.
As I take her to her room again, she climbs into bed. I grab the guitar I keep in her room before she even has to ask and pull the rocking chair to the side of her bed. She snuggles deeper into her covers and smiles up at me.
“Sing the sun song, Daddy,” she orders.
“You always want that song,” I tell her with a chuckle. “I have a lot of others, you know.”
She scowls and says, “I like the sun song, Daddy.”
“Okay, okay, I know.” I smile and run my hand over her face to brush the hair out of her eyes. “You ready?”
She nods eagerly. I begin to strum my guitar. I’ve been singing to her before bed basically since she was born. Her favorite is The Beatles’ Here Comes The Sun, aka the sun song. Anytime I try to sing anything different, she protests. I only ever get half way through the song before her eyes drift closed, and she falls asleep. I get up slowly and bend to press a kiss to her forehead, put the guitar back into the corner of the room, and move the chair to its original spot. I turn the lights off, her Queen Elsa nightlight flicks on, and I close the door gently behind me as I leave.
I head back downstairs and find Mom sipping out of a mug at the kitchen table. Her and her tea. I haven’t even been able to find her stock, but I know it’s somewhere in my house.
“Did she go down okay?” she asks softly.
“Yeah,” I answer. “Thanks for watching her again. And you know I can hire somebody if it’s ever too much.”
She glares at me. “I would never allow such a thing, Kyler. That’s my granddaughter, and I’ll watch her until my legs stop working.”
I hold my hands up in retreat and murmur, “I know, Mom, and I appreciate you. I just don’t want you to not have a life.”
“You and that girl are my life, honey,” she replies. “You can’t get rid of me that easily.”
I give her a nod as my phone dings with an incoming email. I look it over, seeing it’s from Girardi. He tells me he contacted the writer of my choice, and she’s agreed to meet with me tomorrow before the band’s session in the studio. For an idiot, I’m not sure how he convinced her to come in so soon. The threat of his job probably lit a fire under his ass. Or perhaps she’s desperate for the opportunity. Either way, I’ll use it to my advantage.
◆◆◆
Chapter Fourteen
Alivia
I listen to The Killers’ When You Were Young through my headphones as I walk up to the building that holds Frontier Records. The day before, I got a phone call from a man named Donald Girardi, a publicist for the record label. Apparently, a band he represents wants to meet with me to discuss potentially working with me and using my songs for their next album. I jumped on the opportunity. It’s been over three years since I graduated college, and I was having the hardest time finding stable work. Most of my jobs paid minimal, and I sold to people or groups that were new to the industry. Some hadn’t even been signed yet. So, when Mr. Girardi said he worked for Frontier Records, I jumped at it. I knew that big names came from the studio, and I would be stupid not to meet with the group.
Speaking of which, I hoped they were at least nice. They had to be, in order to give me a chance. I was basically a nobody in the industry. Mr. Girardi said I was hand chosen by the group, but wouldn’t give me the name of who they were. He said they were trying to keep the new album under wraps and, therefore, discretion was needed.
I pluck the headphones from my ears and shove my phone into my bag as I step inside and up to the reception desk. The model-like blonde smiles up at me with perfect teeth.
“Hi, how can I help you?” she asks pleasantly.
“H-hi,” I stammer and try to steady my shaking hands. “I’m here to meet with Mr. Girardi? We have a meeting set for ten AM.”
She clicks on her keyboard before smiling and saying, “One moment while I call him.”
A minute or two later, Mr. Girardi, a short, balding man, comes down the hallway to meet me. He shakes his hand and introduces himself as Don, before leading me back into a meeting room.
“Please, take a seat wherever,” Don says and gestures to the oval table and chairs. “My apologies, Miss Hayes, as my client is running a bit late. While we wait, why don’t we take a look at your portfolio, shall we?”
I nod and scramble through my bag until I find my folder. Handing it to him, I explain that my resume is on the left while some sample compositions are on the right. He looks through the papers as a slightly frazzled looking woman comes in and offers us water.
“Yes, Holly, that’d be great,” Don tells her, and she disappears again. He looks up at me and says, “I have to be honest, Miss Hayes. Your lack of experience in the industry makes me a bit nervous.”
I sigh, knowing it was coming, and reply, “I know, sir. I swear, though, I’m so hardworking. I create quality work, and I know it’s up to par with your agency.”
“Well, my client seems to have enough faith in you for the both of us,” he responds as Holly returns with water. “Holly, is our man here yet?”
“I believe he is just pulling up, sir,” she answers.
“Can you please escort him back here as quickly as possible?”
Holly nods and hurries from the room once again. My stomach turns knowing that I’m about to meet the only person in this place that thinks I’m good enough. When Mr. Girardi stands from his chair, looking behind me as the door opens, I look over my shoulder instinctively. My hand goes to my stomach as it rolls instantly, and I swear I must pale at seeing him.
“Mr. Parks, thank you for finally joining us,” Don greets pointedly. “Traffic?”
“You know how it goes, Don,” Kyler replies lowly while his eyes stayed trained on me.
“This is Miss Hayes, the woman you’ve asked me to bring in to write some songs for you,” Don continues the unnecessary introduction. “Miss Hayes, this is my client, Kyler Parks. His band is Violet Lane. I’m sure you’ve heard of them.”
I nod weakly and stand from the chair. “Is there a bathroom? I’m sorry, Don, it’ll only take a moment.”
“Of course, it’s right out this door and to the left, the second door on the right.”
I look at my feet as I slide past Kyl
er. My arm brushes his, setting my skin on fire, but I ignore it as I hurry out and to the bathroom. I stand with both of my hands on either side of the sink. Ducking my head, I work to control my breathing. Why was the only break getting offered to me with him and Violet Lane?
“Liv?” I hear with a soft knock on the door. “Can you please let me in?”
Stupidly, after taking a breath, I unlock the door. His large build takes over the frame of the door. He steps into the small bathroom, closing the door behind him and leaning back against it. He doesn’t look any different, and it’s been over four years. He looks like he works out more, and he has scruff along his jaw and around his mouth, but other than that, he’s the same.
“You look…” he begins and smiles softly. “You look good. You haven’t changed a bit. You cut your hair, though.”
I instinctively reach up to my shoulder length hair. I cut it shortly after we broke up, actually, and I’ve been keeping it this way since.
“It’s nice,” he mumbles when I don’t say anything.
“Thanks,” I grumble and look down at the space between us.
“Listen, I know… I know it’s awkward, and I know you weren’t expecting this,” he says quietly. “But I couldn’t have Girardi tell you it was us who wanted to hire you over the phone. You’d never come.”
“You’re right,” I snap and lock eyes with him. “I wouldn’t have come.”
He’s silent for a moment, but finally says, “You’re good. You and I both know this. Let me give you the chance you deserve.”
“I don’t need pity or charity from you, Kyler,” I retort. “I don’t want this opportunity at all it's just some way to make you feel better.”
“That’s not what this is about at all,” he argues. “I made a mistake. Once, Liv. One time, I fucked up. I own that, and I’ve apologized to you a million fucking times. I can’t take it back. It’s simply me and my band giving you a chance because we believe in you.”
My chest burns even as he vaguely speaks about what he did. It still hurts to think about years later.
