Page 10 of Highball Rush
“Both.”
“Because he has something,” he said. “You know what I’m talking about. That X-factor we’re always looking for. This guy has it oozing from his pores. I want to get to him before someone else does.”
“And why me?”
“Because we can’t get him to talk to us.”
I laughed. “If he won’t talk to you, why bother? Did you run out of wannabe rock stars who’d sell their souls for a record contract?”
“I’m telling you, he’s different. I have a feeling about him.”
Oliver did have amazing instincts. If he thought this guy was special, he was probably right.
“Okay, so he’s good, but he won’t talk to you. I still don’t know why you want me to go see him.”
“He’s a bit… hostile,” he said, leaning back in his chair. “You have the magic touch with guys like this.”
“You want to send me to meet with a hostile singer who doesn’t want a record deal?” I asked, my tone wry. “How could I ever say no to that?”
“I’ve sent you into worse situations than this. Hell, when you went into the studio with Outbound I wondered if you’d get out alive.”
I waved a hand. “They’re a bunch of teddy bears.”
“You’re literally the only person in the world who’d say that. You handle broody rock stars like a champion bull-rider. You’re a miracle worker, and I need a miracle with this guy.”
He was kind of talking me into it. Not that I knew what I was doing when it came to signing new talent. But if he just needed me to get the guy to meet with us, I could handle that.
“Where is he?”
“Some small town in…” He paused, his eyes going to his monitor. He clicked the mouse a few times. “West Virginia.”
My back stiffened and I kept my eyes down, smoothing my expression to keep the storm of emotions off my face. I picked up my coffee and took a sip, as if nothing was wrong. As if I didn’t have a sudden surge of anxiety that made my stomach churn.
Oliver didn’t seem to notice. Because of course he didn’t. I was a very good actress when it came to theeverything is finecharade.
“You know, I don’t think I’m the right person to send out there,” I said, still playing the part—and playing it well. I was fine. “I don’t know anything about contracts or making deals. If you need someone to get an artist past a block or prevent a band from breaking up, I’m your girl. But this? Not my area. Plus, I just got back. You admitted I need some time off. Go with that instinct.”
I was lying through my teeth. I didn’t want time off. I never did. Oliver wasn’t the reason I went straight from one project to another, never slowing down. I visited my family in upstate New York once in a while, but other than that, I was always on the road. Always ready for the next project.
Unless it was in West Virginia.
“Fine. I give. I’ll send someone else. Or maybe I’ll go myself. But do one thing for me.”
“Sure.”
He clicked his mouse a few times. “Listen to him. Someone took the video in a bar with their phone, so the sound quality could be better. But tell me what you think. Maybe I’m wrong about him. I’d like your opinion.”
The screen faced away so I couldn’t see—which I appreciated. Oliver was always interested in talent first and foremost, rather than looks or image. We both knew that image mattered, but a pretty face had always been a distant second when it came to recruiting new artists.
A hum of noise, like a crowd in a bar, almost drowned out the sound of an acoustic guitar strumming the first chords of a song. Someone whistled and another person hooted. The melody grew as the crowd quieted. Whoever he was, he was good.
The song was soft—almost mournful. Before the guy even started singing, it was tugging at my heartstrings. Then he sang the first line and my breath caught in my throat. That voice. It was deep and husky, with a sexy gravelly quality. I knew immediately why Oliver wanted to sign him so badly—he did indeed have that special something—but that wasn’t why I suddenly felt like I couldn’t breathe.
Nor was it why I found my lips parting, and words leaving my mouth. “Okay, I’ll go. I’ll talk to him.”
4
GIBSON
