The phone rang but I wasn’t surprised when she didn’t answer. I left her a brief message checking in, then tucked my phone back in my jacket pocket and tried to ignore the sinking feeling that threatened to drown my spirit. Vanessa was going to be rich and most likely famous, one way or another, with or without this opportunity. Did this even matter to her?
“Here we are,” said Harrison, obviously relieved we’d all made it in one piece. I looked out the window and felt my heart skip a beat as I gazed up at the spectacular reflective glass of the skyscraper. Collin held out his hand to help me from the car and pulled my belongings from the trunk. The weight of my case in one hand and Collin’s arm wrapped tightly around my shoulder kept me from turning the other direction and fleeing like the coward that had been known to overtake me.
I marched straight for the doors, and a gust of wind from a nearby vent caught me off guard, almost causing me to have my very own Marilyn Monroe moment. Grabbing my dress and pulling down the front, I sprinted toward the building, pushing my way awkwardly through the revolving doors as I straddled my guitar while the door spun. Inside, I smoothed out my outfit and hoped Collin hadn’t gotten a peek of my unmentionables. Trying to glance at him casually over my shoulders, I could tell by his boyish grin—the endearing, slightly mischievous smile where one side of his mouth hitched up—I gathered that he had. My face felt like it was on fire and I had to pat a few beads of sweat away from the back of my neck. Maybe Hannah did have a point about wearing my nice undies. Thank goodness I’d listened.
The lobby was enormous and bustling with people, the same as everywhere I’d been in this city. Most of the crowd headed toward the security gates where they slid cards, then headed for the elevators and escalators. I turned a slow circle, looking for Vanessa, trying desperately not to appear frantic as I scanned the crowd. It wouldn’t have been hard to spot her among so many subdued gray and black suits and briefcases, but she and her commanding presence were nowhere to be seen. The sinking feeling in my stomach turned into another wave of nausea.
“There’s still time for her to show up,” Collin said as he read my mind. He reached over to massage my neck, working a kink out one-handed. I hadn’t realized how tense I was.
“Yeah, there is,” I said weakly. After a few minutes of tapping my foot nervously and glancing at the clock, I announced, “I’m just going to go check at the front desk if Harper Music has sent anyone down. Maybe Vanessa has already headed upstairs.”
I found out from the receptionist that someone was on their way to fetch me within the next few minutes, which meant my hopes of Vanessa beating me to the meeting were waning. My mouth went dry as I whipped out my phone again, this time leaving a very desperate, firm voicemail, starting with, “Vanessa! Where are you?!” I kept my meltdown somewhat dignified by keeping my voice low when inwardly, I felt like shrieking and ripping my hair out in clumps.
“I’ll check outside,” Collin said, detecting the worry I was trying to mask behind a plastic smile. “She’s probably just making an entrance.” He jogged to the revolving doors and disappeared just as a willowy blonde woman strolled up to me in a smart black pencil skirt suit and impressively high patent leather heels.
“Ruby, um, Harkwad, is it?” she asked as she held a tablet up to her face and swiped to enlarge my name, to make sure she was reading it correctly.
“That’s me,” I said, looking into her brown eyes. She looked less than amused to be there, talking to little old me.
“I’m Mandy, Mr. Drake’s personal assistant. Is your manager here with you?”
“Manager?” I asked, confused.
“Ms. Osborne, if I remember correctly? She answered your phone when Mr. Drake called you to initiate this meeting.”
“Oh!” I exclaimed. “Um, no. My manager isn’t here with me.”
She looked at me strangely. Apparently, I should have brought Ms. Osborne with me to keep up the charade. “Are you ready then?”
My throat felt like sandpaper as I swallowed. “Actually, I’d made arrangements for a fellow artist to sing the harmony parts for me. She’s not here yet,” I squeaked.
Mandy raised an eyebrow, looking even less pleased. “Mr. Drake doesn’t like to be kept waiting.”
“I understand. Does he have any openings a little later in the day? I’m sure she’ll be here soon…” I trailed off, biting my lower lip.
“Mr. Drake doesn’t like to reschedule. He’s a very busy and important man.” I looked down at my feet and squirmed as I felt sweat pooling in my underarms. “Shall I tell him that you canceled?”
I could have strangled Vanessa just then. “I apologize my backup singer isn’t here, but I’d still like to meet with Mr. Drake.”
“Very well. Follow me, please.” She spun on her glossy heels and started striding toward the security gates. I slowly started trailing her, my head spinning and my stomach rolling with sickening waves that I was sure would give me a peptic ulcer if they lasted much longer. I glanced behind me to see if by chance, Collin had found her, and he was ushering her in at just the right moment. No such luck. Collin pushed his way back into the building, and I weakly twiddled my fingers to catch his attention. He held his hands palms up and shrugged. I knew it. She’d abandoned me. My face fell, and Collin must’ve seen. He winked and gave me an exaggerated thumbs up, mouthing that I’d do great. I gave him a thin smile and sighing, I faced forward and followed Mandy to meet my fate, ready or not.
Chapter Eight
Mandy guided me upstairs, onto one of the sleek elevators that whisked us up to the forty-somethingth floor, speaking to me relatively little. I wouldn’t have had much to say, anyway. She told me I was scheduled for a half hour meeting with Mr. Drake and the ‘few other people’ who would decide the fate of my musical career with Harper Music. When we stepped off the elevator, we were greeted by a frizzy haired receptionist, who smiled sympathetically at me, like I was being led to the wolves.
Mandy took a sharp left past the receptionist and a waiting area, neatly arranged with leather armchairs and a table arrayed with music and fashion magazines. We walked straight down a corridor made of glossy wood paneling on one side and magnificent offices with incredible views overlooking the city on the opposite. I could hear the voices of the group for whom I was going to present waiting for me in the conference room. Feeling like that dreaded banana was going to come choking back up, I spotted a break room with a glass mini fridge stocked with water bottles.
“Um, Mandy?” I whispered feebly, grabbing onto the doorframe for support. “Could I grab a water?”
Mandy whipped her head around, looking perturbed but her stony exterior softened a bit when she gave me a once over, probably seeing me for what I really was: a scared, knock-kneed, little girl who wasn’t sure she had what it took. “Go freshen up. There’s a mirror in there, opposite the sink.” Not exactly the kind of sweet pep talk Collin would’ve given, but I thanked her for the kindest thing she probably had to offer. I staggered into the mercifully empty break room and glugged half the bottle of water before coming up for air. I soaked a paper towel in cool water and held it to my scalding hot forehead and cheeks, then blotted it dry with another.
“Ready?” Mandy said as she leaned into the room.
I met her gaze with all the confidence I could muster and resolutely answered, “Yes.” It was an outright lie, but oh, well. If I was honest, I would never really feel prepared.
“Good. You spilled a dribble of water just there,” she motioned at my chest, “but at least you don’t look like you’re going to hurl anymore.”
I yanked out a few more paper towels and frantically dabbed unsuccessfully at what looked like a trail of drool down my front. Mandy didn’t delay and led the way to the conference room, enclosed with frosted glass and full of more than what I would have called ‘a few people.’ She gestured to a seat, and I gratefully took it, sinking into the squishy office chair and setting the guitar on my lap. I wasn’t hiding behind it,
per say—I made sure to sit with my back straight and chin slightly tilted up to exude confidence—but having the guitar sort of felt like holding Wonder Woman’s shield between us. Just in case.
Safely in my seat, I took the opportunity to casually look over the room. About a dozen people were sitting around the long, rectangular table, pushing tablets back and forth to each other, laughing and talking. No one seemed to notice I’d entered, which gave me a chance to observe without awkwardly making eye contact with one of them.
At the head of the table, a man with glistening white hair and a sharp navy suit and red tie sat, studying a stack of papers. Surely, it was Mr. Drake. He looked very much like I imagined him with his clean-cut hair, intense eyes, and trim figure. Though he was old enough to be my father, it was obvious that in his prime, he must have been a hunk. Mandy leaned over and whispered in his ear, tilting her head to where I sat at the opposite end of the oak table. His frosty blue eyes flashed up to me, and the corners of his lips tugged down into a frown. I swallowed hard. A frown didn’t seem like a very good start.
Mr. Drake flipped his binder shut and said in a commanding voice, “Alright people. I’d like you to all welcome our guest, Ruby Harkwad.” I gave a grimacing smile when all eyes flicked toward me. “Anyone see Troy yet?”
In the silence, I noticed an empty chair the left of Mr. Drake. The rest of the attendees shook their heads and shrugged.
“Right, well, we’re already a bit tardy, so we’d better get started,” Mr. Drake said gruffly. Suddenly, I was very aware of my sweat glands again. “Ruby is here at my request. She’s a singer, musician, and songwriter who was brought to my attention. Casey, Wanda? I’d like to have your initial feedback.”
A lanky man with a goatee and long, salt and pepper hair that was pulled back in a ponytail, stood up and strode across the room. He looked like he was straight out of a biker bar, and for the life of me, I couldn’t imagine what he did for Harper Music. I didn’t dare move, as he walked behind me. I jumped slightly as he dug his fingers into my hair, brushing it side to side.
“I could work with this,” Casey said with a gritty voice. “It looks like it’s virgin hair. Have you ever dyed it?” I shook my head slightly, terrified to move too much. “A bit of color, taking off some of the length, it could really help her make a statement.”
While he was experimenting with my hair, a woman with rich, brown skin and almond-shaped eyes pinched my chin and tilted my face side to side, taking in all my angles, as I sat there like a deer in the headlights. “We need to accentuate her eyes. Maybe some razor cut bangs to really make them pop. Or we could go with a really edgy pixie cut. She’s got a great shape to her face. What do you think, Casey?” The hair-obsessed man hummed his agreement while internally, I screamed in terror. Not my hair—it was my most favorite physical attribute. How would Collin run his fingers through my locks, sending pleasurable tingles shooting through my body if it was all buzzed off?
While the employees scrutinized my every pore, Mr. Drake asked George, a man with a very pronounced cleft chin and incredibly white teeth, about branding me. George leaned back in his chair and fired out feedback about my online profile. “Her social media presence is decent but there’s going to be some rebranding needed. That surname’s gotta go. Harkwad? It sounds like my grandma hocking a loogie.” I did my best to keep my jaw from slacking. This part of Harper Music was coming off a bit too blunt for me.
“I was thinking of ‘Hawkins,’” I suggested hesitantly. If the name stuck, I’d have to find Harrison to thank him.
George’s eyes flashed to me—a look that reminded me of my place on the social chain at Harper Music—and back to his tablet without a word. Mr. Drake pushed back in his chair, his elbows resting at an angle and his fingertips steepled in front of his lips. Something about his steely gaze made me want to melt into a puddle under the table. When he finished pondering, he snapped his fingers, and my hair and face were dropped like hot potatoes, and Casey and Wanda returned to their seats. “Alright. Thank you for your evaluation. Let’s not sell the skin before we’ve caught the bear and permit Ms. Harkwad to show us what she’s got.”
I forced a charming smile as I stood. Handing out some copies of my music, I left a pile of the sheet music on the table for no-show Troy, in case he decided to grace us with his presence. If Mr. Drake asked about him, he must have been someone of importance. I took a seat on a stool that had been brought in, and hooking my foot on a rung, resting my guitar on my knee. I played a few of my more upbeat songs to warm up my fingers and vocal cords and enliven the room. If they wanted an entertainer, I’d give them an entertainer. Casey, Wanda, and George seemed pleased with my performance. Heck, even Mandy looked like she was pleasantly surprised. I stole a glance at Mr. Drake once in a while since he was the one calling the shots—everyone else would work with me whether they wanted to or not if Mr. Drake said so. He patiently watched me with a guarded expression, obviously still debating if I happened to be all that he was hoping.
Saving my favorite song for last, I slowed things down for Heart on Fire. Not only was the song deeply meaningful to me, but it really showcased the range of my vocals. Letting my chin fall, my hair draped like a veil in front of me, feeling like a buffer that would keep my soul from being crushed, should they dislike my personal masterpiece.
Clearing my throat, I strummed the opening chords for Heart on Fire and inhaled, ready to sing. “There—”
“Sorry I’m running late,” someone interrupted. Halted in the middle of the most nerve-wracking moment of my life, I did my best to scald the jerk who couldn’t show up on time with a secretive glower. For a moment, I was taken aback by his good looks but decided I still had the right to be ticked off anyway. What did it matter that his biceps flexed under his t-shirt or that his hazel eyes matched his olive skin or how his perfectly parted and smoothed backed hair made him look like he should have been on a yacht modeling one of those Hugo Boss suits Franco liked to let everyone know he was wearing? He didn’t seem to notice my attempt to elicit an apology with my glare and strode to the empty seat right next to Mr. Drake without looking at me, instead picking up the music that was laid in his spot.
Mandy rolled her eyes, and Mr. Drake apologized. “Please, excuse Troy. Continue,” he encouraged.
Going back to the start, I recommenced the opening chords.
I took courage in the familiar feeling of the guitar strings vibrating under the tips of my fingers and imagined I was in my living room, sitting comfortably on my couch with Collin lounging next to me, humming off-key as I practiced. My voice rang out sweet but strong and clear as I sang. Looking around the room, I made eye contact with Troy, who now seemed to take notice of me. I confidently held his intensely hypnotic gaze for a few moments, then closed my eyes to focus on my breathing and pitch.
I reached the chorus a second time, and in the back of my mind, I heard the most heavenly alto voice joining me. Opening my eyes, I scanned the room, realizing it was Troy who had so perfectly harmonized with my melody. Quite unexpectedly, I felt a rush of gratitude for him. Of all people, I could appreciate an absentminded genius because of Collin. Troy’s genius happened to be in music. Finishing the song, I smiled broadly. Everyone in the conference room was quiet and pensive, except Troy who looked like he was on top of the world with me.
Troy’s mouth hitched in a flirtatious smirk and he was the first to speak. “You really need to sign her, Mr. Drake, before someone else snatches her up. She’s got this raw, natural talent that’s so rare.”
I bristled slightly. “I wouldn’t say I’m totally raw.”
Mr. Drake hummed his agreement with either Troy or me or both of us as he studied me with his piercing blue eyes. Resting his chin in his cupped hand, he rubbed his index finger across his lips. “I think you’re right, Troy.”
My heart leapt into my mouth. What did that mean?
“It’s going to have to happen fast. We need a replacement for Monica since she
had her,” he paused briefly, searching for the right word, “episode.”
Mandy seemed to know exactly what Mr. Drake wanted without any verbal communication from either of them. He waved his hand slightly, and Mandy marched briskly over to me, ferrying a large pile of papers that he had pulled from his stack. Setting them on the table, she clicked a fancy looking gold pen, engraved with Harper Music’s logo, and set it next to the papers, gesturing me to come sit down.
I stood, my legs feeling like limp noodles. It was an absolute miracle I made it to the table without falling flat on my face. “Who’s Monica?” I hissed to Mandy, who was spreading out papers in front of me.
“You’ve never heard of Monica Best?”
Sipping on a fresh bottle of water Mandy had forced into my hands, I nearly choked in surprise. “Monica Best? The singer who just had a meltdown and lit her boyfriend’s car on fire because she thought he was cheating on her?”
“The very one,” Mandy whispered back. “She hasn’t been seen in weeks, and they’ve been unsuccessful finding a replacement.” She gave an aloof, one-shouldered shrug. “Not everyone is cut out for this business.”
A man who I hadn’t taken much notice of found his way to my side, sitting silently with a stare that was a bit too severe for my comfort. His dark hair was thinning, making his widow’s peak more pronounced, and under his beak of a nose, his lips were drawn in a tight line. Mandy introduced him, and I vaguely heard something about ‘lawyer’ but the thumping heartbeat in my ears made listening difficult. I skimmed through the stacks of papers, which my foggy brain was able to figure out were contracts. Shaking my head, I tried to force my blurry vision back into focus, but it was no use. My heart sputtered and raced, and my blood pressure climbed upward. My mental voice of reason had taken on Hannah’s tone and she was clearly scolding me for even considering signing the contracts without letting Sam review them.
When a Star Falls (Stars Book 1) Page 7