Page 83 of Here's to Yesterday

But I’m not so sure I believe it. At least nothere.

A guy sitting at the soundboard leans forward and says, “Good, Jackson. It feels real.”Bullshit.“Let’s takefive.”

Jackson sets his guitar down and walks out into the smallbooth.

“Hey,” he says, sticking his hand out to me. “Jackson Jones. I’ve heard what you can do. You’re wicked awesome,man.”

Taken aback, I clear my throat and shake his hand. “Thanks. I love ‘Take It All Back.’ Great hook, and the simplicity of it isstaggering.”

I say this partly because there’s no doubt in my mind that song was written by him and is one that he’s proud of. It’s something I think he needs to hear. I also say it because it’strue.

I must be right, because he perks up at the mention ofit.

But his excitement is very short lived. He hunches his shoulders as he’s ushered out of the room by the person I assume is his assistant, if the two cell phones and clipped tone are anyindication.

“What are you thinking, Tucker?” Daren askshopefully.

“It’s nice,” I tell him, referring to the booth when he’s referring to the wholesituation.

He claps me on the back. “Glad to hear it. How about we head back to my office to discuss some more details? We’ll get you signed on that dotted line in notime.”

As we head out of the room and back down the hall to elevators, Maura reaches over and wraps her pointer finger around my pinky in a small, simple act ofencouragement.

“Scotch?” Daren asks when we enter hisoffice.

“We’re fine,” Maura answers. “Those were nice studios you have. Do you produce a lot of albumshere?”

“Dozens a year. Jackson and a band called Reckoning to name afew.”

Chart toppers. Both of them are chart toppers. Something I want but am also terrifiedof.

“Hmm,” is all sheresponds.

Daren takes a seat and places his amber-filled glass in front of him. He steeples his hands together and squints at me. I think he’s trying to look cool, but he’s failingmiserably.

“You seem lost, Tucker. Not one hundred percent ready to commit yet? We can certainly take more time if you’d like. Of course, that time will create more and more musicians and raise the competition bar higher, but I’m sure that’s something you’d be able tohandle.”

And I guess this is his way of trying to scare me into a contract. Again,failing.

“I’m sure I could. For now, I’m weighing my options and approaching this career shift with much-warranted caution, taking inallthe offers I’ve received over the years. But I’m sure you can handle that competition,” I respondsmugly.

Daren sits back at the bite in my voice and gives me a tight nod. “Sure.” He suddenly leans forward and grabs an overly stuffed file, presenting it to me. “Take a look at these songs. I know we can pick something from these that would be recordable and suit yourtastes.”

I grab the folder and start thumbing through it when his words settle on my heavily.Pick something? For me to sing? Am I not writing my ownmusic?

Looking up from the folder with a raised brow, I ask, “Wait. You mean I won’t write my ownmusic?”

Daren barks out a mocking laugh. “That’s what we have songwritersfor. You’re thesingerpart of the singer-songwriterduo.”

I toss the heavy folder back onto hisdesk.

“I write my own music,” I sayflatly.

Daren smirks at me, a look disbelief gracing his face. “Look, Tucker, we all sit around and pen the ‘next big thing’ in our dark, lonely bedrooms. But let’s face it, you either have a pretty voice and face and you can’t write, or you can write and you have no voice and are ugly as sin. It’s one or the other. I’ll bank on you being the firstone.”

What in the actual fuck? Is this asshole for real?I was complimented and insulted and called a liar within a few sentences. And I’mpissed.

I’m pissed because Icansing and Idowrite. I write lyrics that I really fucking like, music I think isgood.

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