Page 197 of Composed
Axel nods. “She’s amazing.”
Carter tips his chin and holds his hand out.
I toss the phone his way. He scans the art, his lips puckering a beat before they flatten. “Not bad.”
A sad smile ghosts over Axel’s face as his eyes stray to the wall. “She’s in a shitty job at the minute. Figured it won’t hurt to give her a bit of a fund boost while she’s figuring it out.”
“Yeah, alright. Ask her.” I look between Carter and Saint. “Unless you two have anything against it.”
Carter shakes his head. Saint grunts a no.
“Think it’ll be better coming from you.” Axel picks at a loose hem in his joggers. “She’ll just think it’s charity if it comes from me.”
“Fair. Pass her details over and I’ll call her next week.” I sip my coffee. “So record the album, drop the album, drop a tour.”
Saint peeks up at me. “Think there’s a bit more to it than that, dude.”
“Oh, I’m sorry, shall I do all the details?” I deadpan, and hold my hand in the air. “Record Album.” I curl in my thumb. “Mix album.” I drop my forefinger, then frown. “Who the fuck we using as a mixing engineer? Scott was exclusive to the label and has a non-compete in his contract.”
Saint sighs dramatically and drags himself upright. “If only we knew someone who happened to do that job for a living…”
I narrow my gaze. “We’re not asking Rixie.”
“I’m just saying.” He lifts a shoulder as he pulls a cigarette from his hoodie pocket.
I snatch the stick, and send it sailing into the bin before he can light it. “No—”
A light knock sounds at the door.
I hike a brow, and turn to Carter. “Your dad?”
“Not likely. He only just picked the girls up twenty minutes ago.”
Axel pushes off the couch with a frown. There aren’t many people in the world who have access to our building, let alone know where to find the studio. And all of them just barge in like they own the place.
The hinges creak when Axel eases the door open a crack.
Then his shoulders drop, and he shouts, “Ricochet.”
He swings the door open, and props his arm atop of the frame.
Riley stands on the other side, bouncing on the balls of her feet, fingers tapping rapidly on her thighs.
Her eyes dart over the room, landing just past my shoulder. “Have you seen Hendrix?”
“Not since this morning.” My lips tug down. “Why?”
Riley shakes her head. “She was meant to meet me for lunch, but she didn’t show. And she’s not replying to my texts.”
“When did you last speak to her?”
“She texted early this morning,” Riley says, “But didn’t say anything about cancelling. She’s probably just forgotten. She does that a lot.”
Her face scrunches, and she slides past Axel.
I tug my phone out and scroll through my contacts until I come across Hendrix’s name.
The phone rings.
