Page 90 of Love on Tour
The interview went on for another five minutes, all questions about Austin’s music and touring. It was over by six fifteen. Christine tried to fall back to sleep but couldn’t. Austin had the chance to put an end to it and get rid of her stalker and her cyberbullies. Instead, he egged it on. She got ready and left for work. Listening to music always made her feel better, and after that interview, she definitely needed something to make her feel better.
She arrived at work and was digging into her day when Rick stopped down.
“How’s it going with Austin picking a song? Preferably one with our publishing company?”
Christine felt her chest constrict. Her breathing shallowed as the heaviness set in. Classic panic attack.
“I’m working on it. He’s narrowed it down to three songs. Two are ours, one is with another publisher.”
“We need his next single, Christine.” Rick sat back, arms crossed against his chest.
“I know, Rick. I’m doing the best I can. He’s an artist. He’s going to pick the song that’s best for him whether it’s mine or not.”
“I realize that, Christine. But you can sway him. One song only does so much for us for so long. ‘Promises to Me’ was big, but we need more of those.”
“Right. I’ll check with him again tonight. Is that why you stopped down?” Christine was trying to keep her breathing even, not wanting the starting panic attack to escalate into a full-blown one.
“No. We just got information that a big artist is looking fora classic country song. Something that may have been written years ago that he could make relevant to today’s sound. Weren’t you listening to some of the older songs recently? Going back as far as cassettes?”
“Yes. I took a box of them home one weekend. Would you like me to recommend something?”
“Is the box still at your apartment?”
“It is.”
“Hmmm . . .”
“I should have brought it back, but nobody has touched those songs in years, and I don’t have a cassette player here. I’ve been slowly making my way through them in the evenings. I’ve taken notes on every song. I’ll bring them in tomorrow.”
“We need them here by this afternoon. I’m going to split them up between you and two other pluggers, and we need to move fast. Superstars don’t always come calling, and I want to have something of quality in their hands tonight. Can you run home and get them?” Rick stood up and started for the door.
“Sure. I’ll leave right now.” Christine grabbed her purse and came around her desk, following him.
“Thank you. And by the way, nice press in Austin’s interview this morning. Not sure what’s going on with the two of you, but every time he mentions you, it gives our company a boost. We appreciate it.”
“Absolutely, sir. Glad to help,” Christine said, thinking how the interview might have helped the company but most likely hurt her.
Her cell phone chimed in a text from Phoebe:Nice. Sounds like he’s more into you than he is into me. And we know that’s not true ’cause I woke up in his bed this morning. How do you always manage to steal the show?
Christine felt faint. Hadn’t her stalker said the same thing? It couldn’t be. She wouldn’t. Would she? She stopped her mind from going in that direction and deleted the text.
On the way to her apartment, Austin called. She wished she could just tell him the truth, that she needed him to cut one of her songs to save her job and the publishing company, but she’d never put that kind of pressure on him.
“Hey, Austin. What’s up?”
“Chrissy, girl. Did you listen to my interview?”
“I did. I heard you give all my haters plenty of ammunition against me,” she said, not feeling in a nice mood.
“What are you talking about?”
“Why didn’t you just tell them I’m not your girlfriend?”
She arrived at her apartment, threw the car in park, grabbed her phone off its holder, and walked to her door. She unlocked all three locks and saw a piece of paper flutter to the ground. She bent to pick it up, figuring it was an advertisement until she saw the handwriting. She recognized it. She’d received enough notes from the same person.
Nice interview. You’re not very smart to keep this relationship going. I obviously know where you live, what kind of car you drive, and where you are at all times. Just saying . . .
Christine squeezed her eyes shut, crumpled the note, thought better of it, straightened it out, and went into her apartment.
