Page 17 of Behind the Lyrics
“And why was he evenatyour place?”
“He…he wanted to apologize.” I wrapped my purse strap around my hand and retrieved the water, then hurried to the studio at the back of the tiny building.
“So, you’re telling me he drove all the way across town to knock on your door and apologize for being himself?”
I paused in the hallway. “Well,hedidn’t drive. I guess he made his driver do it, or maybe”—I shook my head—“that’s not important. It wasn’t a big deal, and I promise nothing’s going on between us. Marky made sure of that.” Glancing over my shoulder, I couldn’t hide my grin.
She twisted in her chair and confusion flashed across her face. “Marky? Your cat?”
“Yeah. He peed on Viktor’s boot.”
A deep riot of laughter erupted from Terri’s chest, and she placed a hand over her heart, her entire body shaking from amusement. “Good God almighty, that cat’s got more spunk than any person I’ve ever known.” She slapped her yellow skirt and chortled again.
Her jubilation was infectious, and I joined, doubling over and hanging on to the doorknob for support, tears streaming from my eyes.
“Oh, Lord.” She wiped her lashes. “Wish I could’ve seen that.”
“He was less than pleased.” The moment right before, when he’d looped the red silk tie around my neck and drew me to his body, stymied the laughter. I’d been caught up in his intensity and seconds away from doing something stupid. Yet, I couldn’t forget the way his hard, hot muscles felt beneath my palm, or the way his eyes had devoured me.
Thank God for Marky. He probably saved me from one of the biggest mistake of my life.
Chapter 16
Viktor Farrow
Three red-eyed guys came in dragging their arses one by one, some still reeking of alcohol. The producer and sound engineer had been waiting, along with me, for the rest of my band to show their faces for the past fifteen minutes.
“Mates, I hope you don’t play as badly as you look.” I leaned back on my stool, remembering the hundreds, maybe thousands, of hangovers I’d had in the past.I certainly don’t miss those days.
A few mumbled apologies and they set to tuning their instruments or reviewing notes.
After we found our rhythm, we practiced and recorded the material I’d pre-selected for the new album. Several songs would be cut, but that always happened.
One late-afternoon break then I returned. Fueled by caffeine and a delectable buffet delivered by local caterers, I took a breath to calm the nervous energy flowing in my veins.
Well, here goes nothing.
“Before you get too settled, I want to test something.” I handed copies of a piece I’d arranged last night when I couldn’t sleep because Angela’s face—delighted at first then pained—haunted my dreams. For three hours, I’d fine-tuned the lyrics and created rudimentary chords. “Think we can give it a go?”
My drummer, Alan, took the paper and frowned. “Viktor, I thought we were going to…” His eyes widened as he scanned the music. “This is really good. A smidge different from your normal style, but it’s deep.”
Turning to the others, I lifted a brow. “Gentlemen, think you can follow, maybe improvise in areas that need tweaking?”
Both nodded, the keyboardist scratching his chin while Justin squinted at the paper as if he were already playing the notes in his head.
“Good.” Retrieving my guitar, I strapped it on and strummed the opening chords, repeating them until they felt natural. I leaned into the microphone and lowered my voice, pouring out my uncertainty, my intrigue, and my heart into Angela’s song.
When we finished, only silence filled the studio. Through the window, the engineers stared, and I wasn’t sure if it was agoodstare or abadstare.
“So, is it horrible?” I chuckled and shifted my feet, the faint flutters of nerves settling in my stomach, expanding into a twisting ball.I never get nervous, so why now?
“God, Viktor,” Alan said. “That was fuckingbrilliant. Where did you get the idea for the chorus? And the lyrics…” He let out a soft whistle. “Does this have anything to do with the hot little DJ from last night?”
Scowling, I twisted on my stool to view him fully. “How do you fucking know about that?” When Clive and I left, the crowd was still small, so surely word didn’t travelthatfast.
“Hello.” He held up his phone and shook it back and forth. “It’s all over the place. You been living under a rock, mate?”
Fucking social media.I rarely checked my newsfeeds since I had a PA and marketing team to keep up with that part of my career. I was always more than happy to let them take the load—I preferred to get my news the old-fashioned way through the telly.
