Page 8 of Rock My Girl

FORD

Cassie was an absolute natural. A poet and an artist who knew exactly when to add a subtle highlight, and when to leave things alone.

As we worked through the rest of the album, she suggested stripping back the guitars in one section, and softening the drums in another. In some parts she suggested turning up the bass more than I would have expected, but once I listened to the reworked section, it was spot on.

Not only did Cassie have brilliant musical instincts, we worked together perfectly: sharing ideas, humming parts to each other, never being offended when the other person disagreed.

I didn’t have this connection with musicians I’d been working with for years. With Cassie, I could just read her expression and know everything.

Although I was thrilled by how quickly we revamped the first seven tracks, the clock was ticking.

“How late can you stay?” I asked.

“Oh.” Cassie checked her phone, then her perfect lips pressed together. “Yeah. Apparently I have about two hours of retouching on a last-minute job that just came in tonight. It’s one of my regular clients. I can't let them down, so I need to get home.” She stared at the wall clock, and the frown deepened. “Crap. The bus takes an hour. They need this by eleven, which is nine for them.”

I couldn't stand seeing that pretty face looking so worried.

“It’s my fault,” I said. “Do you have your laptop and everything you need with you?”

“Yes, but—”

“It’s on me that you weren’t checking your messages.” I moved almost everything off the small desk in my studio room, and turned the side lamp on. “Will this do?”

“It’s perfect, but I can’t take over your space.”

“Don’t be silly. You just spent an entire day helping me. It’s my turn. Coffee and snacks coming right up.”

Cassie’s smile was pure sunshine. “Thanks, Ford.”

She grabbed her bag and set up her laptop, getting straight to work. Over the next few hours, I stayed completely out of her way except for delivering coffee, water, and small things she could eat quickly without getting crumbs on the keyboard.

I appreciated the way she fell into a completely focused trance. Cassie was definitely smart, as well as creative.

She was perfect for me in every way.

After tidying up the place a little, I worked at the kitchen table, catching up on email.

It left me a bit depressed. Markarian Records was definitely assuming that my third album would be the last. There was still no mention of my new project on the internal hype train.

It was pretty harsh, given that I had made them an absolute fortune with the first album. And without their backing there was no way I could finance the production values I wanted, plus a small tour.

No matter. For now I had the label's budget and resources, so I was going to use them while I could. If I could put together a kick ass collection of songs, at least my time with them would feel well-spent.

I suddenly realized I'd been trying too hard. Then Cassie came along and was mixing things up just enough to make it fresh. While I had been trying to brew eleven delicious but standard cups of coffee, she came in and added a pinch of cinnamon to one, and a bit of chocolate to another.

Although I wasn't quite sure about the marshmallows in song number four, I was going to listen again in the morning with a wide open mind.

There was no way to tell how the label would react to this slightly modified sound, and the addition of a female singer. Would the female fans be jealous?

It didn't matter. She was right for the project, and right for me.

I also admired her work ethic.

Half an hour later, Cassie came out of the studio room, stretching her shoulders. "I'm so sorry. There were a lot more images than he said. But everything's done and shipped off."

"Good. Hit the couch."

I cleared the dishes from the studio, then went over to sit beside her.

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