Page 8 of Love on Tour
Christine blushed.
“I didn’t kiss you either. At least not properly.”
Christine suddenly forgot her own name.
“Next time,” Austin said, his eyes lingering on her lips.
Christine couldn’t think of one thing to say.
She got out of the limo, and before the door closed, she heard Austin say, “That chick is cool as shit.”
She giggled. There were a lot of words people used to describe Christine. Loyal, smart, hardworking, talented—but never, ever, cool as shit. She stood a little taller, liking this new description.
The limo didn’t pull away until she was safely inside.
Once in, Christine turned her phone back on, and the first thing she did was save Austin’s number. The second thing she did was look at the selfie. She thanked the selfie fairy for making her look thinner than she was and for keeping her eyes open—and for her hair staying flat for once. She’d half expected to see Medusa’s snakes making their usual appearance. She saved the photo and then emailed it to herself to make sure it didn’t get lost. She also thought about the kiss. For just a brief second, she had a flash of a memory. Another kiss. A bad one. She shook it off. She would not let that moment ruin this one.
CHAPTER TWO
Christine’s alarm went off at seven. She grabbed her phone, shut off the offensive noise, and saw she had missed some messages. Julianna and Phoebe had both texted asking if she wanted to have lunch. She texted back yes and got ready for work.
Even after a late night, she was still the first one in the parking lot. She parked her red Toyota in the lot outside the brick building on Music Square. She gathered her purse and computer bag, unlocked the front door of the office building, locked it again for security’s sake, and sat at her desk. Her office was sparse with a desk and office chair, and two additional chairs in front of the desk for when she met with songwriters. She wasn’t a trinket person, so other than a cup of pens and a coffee mug, nothing but her computer took up space on her desk. The walls were solid white, broken up by a few framed photos with inspirational messages like “You’re capable of so much more than you think.” These were her self-reminders to recognize her talents instead of beat herself up.
She opened her email and started reading. Most of the emails had to do with her being on TV. Song pluggers weren’t usually seen on television. They worked behind the scenes, headphones on,listening to song after song after song. Nobody wanted to see that on any screen. She weeded through the pleasantries but then got down to work, aiming for the emails that contained songs from writers she had expressed an interest in. She’d specifically requested that a few new writers send her songs after she saw them at the Bluebird Cafe. Discovering a talented songwriter before anyone else found them was one of her favorite parts of the job. She was into her third song when her boss stumbled into her office.
“Rick? Are you hungover?” she asked.
“Define hungover.” He had dark circles under his eyes and his complexion was pale.
“Feeling like crap after having too much to drink. Same definition as it’s always been.”
“I’d say that sums it up. Give me about ten minutes and then come to my office. I need to talk to you.”
“Um, yeah, sure. I’ll be right there.”
Ten minutes later, she knocked on Rick’s door, and he yelled for her to come in. Christine sat across from him. It was never good to be called into the boss’s office. Her eyes darted back and forth. What had she done?
“So, you and Austin Garrett, huh?” Rick said it as a statement and not as a question.
“It’s not what it looked like,” Christine said, having no idea what it did look like. Her voice rose an octave as her vocal cords tightened. Would Rick frown on her fraternizing with a client? What was it about bosses that instantly put people on high alert?
“Whatever it is, it’s good for this company. He’s a rising star and everything he touches climbs the charts. I want you to focus your efforts on finding songs for him. If you have an inside track, we need to use it.”
Christine bristled at the idea of using Austin but then remembered that he wanted her to find him songs, so it would benefit everyone.
“He’s asked me to bring him some next week. I hadn’t had him scheduled in, so I’ll take a bunch home this weekend and listen. There’s an old box of cassettes that I’ve been wanting to dig into. There can be some real diamonds in the rough in those old songs.”
“So true. Songs that were ahead of their time can be relevant to today’s sound. Good call on that. Do you have something to play them on?”
“Actually, I do. An old cassette player that has followed me from home to home. I could never bring myself to toss it,” Christine said.
“Good girl,” Rick said.
Christine cringed at being called a “girl.” Rick was sixty years old. To him, she probably looked like a girl. He went silent but continued staring at her.
“Anything else?” she asked.
“You know the music business has suffered monetarily for the last decade or so. Proceeds have dropped twenty percent annually for more years than I can count.”
