Page 5 of Ambiguous
So, while part of me thinks it will be an absolute miracle if I make it through this meeting with a job and without being struck down by the god of music, the rest of me toughens up.
I’m a professional, dammit. And I can act like one.
CHAPTER3
Jules
Oh, my giddy aunt, I’m not sure whether Sam Stone is the most hapless individual I’ve ever met—and as I’ve sung in front of hundreds of thousands of people and done heaven only knows how many meet and greets, that’s saying something—or the most adorkable. People do tend to get fazed around me. I just didn’t expect the solicitor to be that way. Given how cute he is, I think I’ll let his accident fade into the past.
Between his innocent demeanor and unintentional sexiness—he’s a Ronan Farrow lookalike with turquoise eyes, golden blond hair, and pale, lucent skin—I can’t look away.
Or stop thinking about how he nearly gave me a wank by accident… although if he’s to inspire me to write faster, that’s one way of going about it.
He’s a handsome distraction in the middle of fun things sure to come, like being threatened with getting dropped by my label and having my reputation shredded into tatters while the suits claw back every penny they’ve ever paid me.
Not that my mind leaps to doomsday scenarios.
The record company apparently thinks this ethereal being is one of the heavies who’ll make me quiver in my boots and start stammering,Yes, it will be done, overlords.
He did make me quiver, though. His hand feltgreaton my knob.
Now that we’re all settled at the table—physically in place, that is; I’m not feeling the least bit settled emotionally, and I’m hyperaware of the cutie in the bow tie—I listen to Terrill, the scowling partner, tell me how I’m about to be responsible for repaying advances the record company’s made against the new album and will need to cough up not only that money but also lost profits if I can’t craft a new album out of empty air instantaneously and also make it sell a trillion units by yesterday.
As one does.
His spiel is exactly what I’d expected, although hearing it out loud and not just in my head does drive home the point.
When Terrill takes a deep breath, I smile. “Please let Lighthouse know that I’m aware of my contractual duties, but I don’t want to put out an inferior product. You can’t rush a good thing, and art is particularly hard to rush. If they’ll just hold on—”
“All artists have to make something. You signed the contract, and you need to deliver on it. You just need to do the work,” he growls.
Loren puts a hand up, but I don’t need their help right now. I knew Lighthouse Records was going to hold a university-level class on “This is the way the real world works,” just for me.
I turn to Loren. “It’s fine. They have a right to get the work they’re paying for.” Then I address the rest of the room, wanting to assure Sam in particular. “I’ll make the album. The tour is over, and I only have the Fly by Night show left. I’ll have time to spend in the studio.”
I just hope what I come up with will be good enough.
Because no matter how many songs I’ve sung, how much I’ve written, how many times I’ve performed, I always feel anxious when starting a new project.
And afraid that I’ll lose my entire fanbase by, you know, being myself.
“Two months,” Terrill sneers. “You have two months to deliver.”
I furrow my brows. “That’s impossible—”
“If we gave you two years, you’d take it. You’d be like a goldfish expanding to the size of your aquarium. You have two months, and that’s final. Otherwise you’ll be in breach of your contract.”
Like I don’t already know this. Like I haven’t beaten myself up every day since signing that contract, because I haven’t been able to write. I remind myself to keep a level head. I didn’t even bring my own attorneys to this meeting because I didn’t want to escalate matters. I just want to solve the problem.
Sitting back in my chair, I survey the room. Terrill’s cracking his knuckles. Sam gazes at me, his eyes searching. Loren’s unnaturally silent, which means they’re about to go ballistic. It’s time to express my underlying concerns. “I don’t know if I’ll be able to create something excellent in that period of time. It has to be fresh. Exciting. I don’t want to repeat myself.”
Terrill scoffs. “The record companywantsyou to repeat yourself. Chart more hits. Make something as popular as your last album.”
Like that’s simple to pull off.
I glance at Sam, who has been watching the volleys between Terrill and me like we’re playing a particularly worrisome spectator sport. He opens his mouth and licks his lips. I’m momentarily distracted by his soft, pink tongue.
Fuck me sideways, he’s cute.
