Page 42 of First Verse

CHAPTERFOURTEEN

evangeline

Both Lily and I are breathing hard and dripping sweat when we collapse onto a worn leather couch in the small dressing room attached to Cathedral’s side stage. We sit in giddy silence, listening to the cheers and whistles slowly tapering off outside the walls.

The last six weeks have been a whirlwind. In addition to coursework and our jobs, we’ve played shows around the city every weekend. Each one bigger than the last.

Thanks to Rye pulling some strings to get us studio time and his skills as a producer, we also recorded fifteen songs: all the crowd favorites and a few newer ones we’ve barely debuted. As of yesterday, we have eight thousand monthly listeners on Spotify, and CDs and merch Rye’s been peddling for us at shows are dwindling fast.

“Did you see the first rows?” asks Lily in a dreamy voice. “They knew the words of almost every song. Every beat drop. Fucking nuts. What is this life?”

A smile stretches my aching cheeks as I roll my head toward her. There are tears in her eyes.

“It’s really happening, isn’t it?” she whispers.

“I told you it would.”

She laughs, sniffing. “You did. I believe you now.”

There’s a knock on the door.

Lily sits up and wipes her face, then stands and quickly checks her reflection in the mirror. I don’t move except to reach over to the mini fridge and grab a bottle of water. I have a feeling I know who’s outside—and it’s not Rye like she thinks. I saw a familiar man offstage with Cathedral’s general manager, and I’m fairly certain Lily’s about to have her mind blown.

I’m content to watch. She deserves this moment, one I experienced at eighteen.

She swings the door open, her smile huge. When she sees the man waiting outside, her jaw drops and her complexion pales noticeably. I grin behind my water bottle.

“H-hello,” she squeaks. “How can we help you?”

“Ms. Aoki,” comes a warm, masculine voice. “My name is Cory Donovan. I’m here on behalf of Indigo Records. Do you and Eva have a minute to chat?”

Lily blinks at him a few more times before her brain restarts. “Yes, absolutely.” She shifts back into the room, throwing me anI’m-freaking-the-fuck-outlook before sitting on the arm of the couch beside me.

The sandy-haired vice president of Indigo Records walks into the room. His eyes find me and he grins. “It’s about damned time.”

I push to my feet, smiling as I shake the hand of my father’s longtime friend.

“Good to see you, Cory. I take it you got the demo?”

From the corner of my eye, I see Lily’s head whip toward me. I didn’t tell her I gave my dad a USB last week to pass on to Cory. Maybe because I wasn’t a hundred percent sure this moment would come, but more likely because I’m still reasoning through why I finally felt okay using my family connections.

Now that the moment is upon us, I have no regrets. It doesn’t feel like we skipped any rungs on the ladder; we’re already being courted by two small labels. Both have solid reputations, but they can’t launch us like Indigo can. And for Lily—for myself—I want the best of the best behind us.

Indigo would never screw us over, and not only because of who my father is. They’re a well-oiled machine. While their roster isn’t enormous, their acts routinely go platinum, sell out tours, and bring home industry awards.

Cory chuckles. “I sure did. You were already on my mind after that Illoka article, but when I listened to your demo…” He shakes his head, his gaze turning speculative. “Any chance you’ll tell me why you haven’t reached out before? You’ve clearly been ready for the next step for a while.”

I glance at Lily, who watches me with ecstatic hope in her eyes, then shrug at Cory. “We were earning our stripes the old-fashioned way.”

His smile grows. “Well, it shows. I heard you were booked to headline at McClane Concert Hall next month?”

Lily and I exchange a grin. “We were.”

McClane beats Cathedral’s main stage in size and capacity, and their booking process is strictlyDon’t Call Us, We’ll Call You.When that call came two days ago, Lily and I barely kept it together for the duration, then lost our fucking minds.

Cory grabs a nearby chair for himself and gestures for me to sit back down. Unbuttoning his suit jacket, he settles and props elbows on his knees. “All right, ladies. Let’s get down to business. I’ve been informed there are other offers on the table. What’s it going to take?”

From the hallway, a low, familiar voice says, “Don’t fuck around, Cory. They get the same contract Night Theory has or better.”

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