Page 32 of Ring Me

“The musicians you're trying to convince to come to your festival don't have that kind of money lying around.” I pushed the mock-ups back to him. “Why are none of these women playing any music?”

Michael looked lost. Another man, a much older one, cleared his throat. His forehead shined in the lights of my conference room. “Ma'am... it's paper. You couldn't hear the music if you wanted to.”

“But you can make it look like they're actually enjoying a performance. Channel some energy, some soul! I'm sure if you got one of these singers in front of a mic and asked her to play, you'd get beautiful photos.”

They shared a bemused look. “Ms. Fontine, with all due respect, none of these people are actual musicians. They're just models.”

My eyebrows scrunched sharply down my face. “Who had the brilliant idea to use stock photos instead of living, breathing performers? This is Nashville! You can't throw a stone without hitting someone with talent!”

“The look we want—”

“You hired me,” I cut him off, tapping the table with my finger-tip, “To make sure this ad was flawless. That it was genuine, and would reach the audience you want. That audience, right now, is going to throw these fliers in the trash without a second thought. This screams elitism! You want it to scream authentic!”

Michael studied the mock-ups with a hard frown. “Reshooting new images will take too long. Summer Fest is at the end of the month.”

“I'll have my team help you,” I said, already texting Aubrey. “My personal assistant can arrange everything. Trust me, Michael—everyone,” I added, looking each of them in the eye. “This is the right decision. I wouldn't suggest it if I didn't believe we could get it done, and get it done right.”

A few handshakes later and I was rocking in my chair at the end of the conference room table all alone. The single window offered a view of the city below. I propped my chin on my fist, staring through the glass at the blue sky. I was proud I'd stood my ground... confident I was right... but it was still exhausting to imagine the extra work ahead of this campaign.

My phone buzzed in the pocket of my mocha-brown jacket. I fished it out, perking up when I saw it was Conner. We'd exchanged phone numbers and stopped using RingMe this morning. Text messages were more... intimate. It's what real couples used.

Conner: Do you like gambling?

Me: Poker, roulette, or figuratively speaking?

Conner: All of the above. What about dressing up fancy?

Me: I'm a fan of glam in the right setting.

Conner: Great. I'll pick you up at our house at six.

Me: Wait, you won't be there getting ready?

Conner: Errands to run first. You have the spare key?

I reached into my purse, clutching the key he'd handed me this morning. I was smiling like an idiot and I didn't care. He'd called his apartment our home.

Me: It's a date.

Making sure my schedule was clear, I headed for the elevator around 5. I wanted to touch base with Aubrey before I left, but she was on the phone at the front desk. I made a gesture at her—shaping my fingers like a heart over my chest.

She rolled her eyes, stuck out her tongue, and waved for me to go away. If you didn't know her like I did, you'd think it was rude. I breathed easier because it meant she forgave me for snapping that morning.

Before I went to Conner's, I made a quick stop at my place. I had to feed Ariel, and I also needed a fancier outfit than anything I'd packed in my duffel bag. He'd said to dress nice. I wouldn't disappoint.

With supplies in hand, I drove my own car to his place. Our place? I wondered, using the key to get inside. He'd called it that, and I'd liked it, but it wasn't really true.

I wasn't about to act like a complete fool again. Moving in with Ben had been his idea. He'd made it sound wonderful—sharing a bed, combining expenses, coming home at the end of a long day and seeing each others face.

I'd only wanted to make him smile.

Not look at me with disgust.

When he broke up with me, he moved out of our shared apartment overnight, leaving me to pick up the pieces of our relationship. It would have been easier to keep living in the apartment than ending the lease early, but I couldn't stay there if I'd wanted to. All our neighbors had heard the terrible things he'd yelled at me. No one in the building would look me in the eye after that.

I vividly recalled one morning, when I was carrying out my last box of things to load in the moving truck. A young boy who lived across the hall saw me coming. My arms couldn't handle the heavy box—I looked to him for help. He smiled, standing quickly, hurrying to my aid.

His mother snapped at him to get inside. She pulled her son to her like she was protecting him from me, then shut her door in my face. I'd collapsed to the floor, moving box going down with me, kneeling there in muscle-weakening despair. That woman—Clara, I still knew her name—had brought me cookies when I'd moved in with Ben as a house warming gift.

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