Page 17 of Another Fox Bites the Dust

I click on it.

It’s an email from Piper, and the subject line is all caps: “MINDY LISTEN TO THIS.”

I tap it to open the message.

I know I’m not some kind of musical genius like you are, but I think this is good. Actually, I think it’s really good. Take a listen and hear for yourself.

<3

P

I toss my phone onto the comforter and flop back into bed, covering my head with my pillow.

I don’t want to listen to any songs. I don’t want to think about my career or what I’m going to do next or the fact that while Blake is spilling his guts on his next album for what will likely be a massive profit, I’m the one with the open wound and bleeding bank account.

I definitely don’t want to listen to a song from some stupidly attractive cowboy who’s intelligent and considerate and has a dimpled smile and worn jeans that sit perfectly on his narrow hips.

If he can sing, though . . . God, he would be so easy to market. I could make the world fall in love with him. People would be charmed by him. He has that thing, that vitality.

But the fact that he’s so appealing immediately puts me on the defense. I don’t want to work with someone I’m attracted to.

The thought stops me in my tracks. What am I doing? What am I thinking, that I’m never going to be able to work with an attractive male musician again? And why? Because of Blake? I can’t let him ruin my future.

When did I become this whiny, mopey creature?

I throw my pillow, shove the blankets off, and stand.

I’m not a quitter. I’m not someone who hides under her covers and cowers from the world.

I’m smart, organized, talented . . . . I will not be beaten by a bad man and a sexist industry.

No one wants to hire me? Fine. I’m going to do this. I can find some acts, start my own successful label, and tell the world to go screw itself.

Marching to the bathroom, I shower and get dressed before moving into the kitchen to make an egg-white omelet.

While I’m pulling a pan from the cupboard, I make a mental list.

I’ll eat, stretch, maybe go for a run, and then get to work on . . . my eyes flick over to my phone, lying silent and dark on the counter.

I turn my back to it, grabbing eggs from the fridge along with some pre-washed mushrooms and peppers.

I put everything out on the counter and stare down at the phone.

I’ll listen to it. It’s only one song.

I open Piper’s email, click on the audio file, and set the phone back down while I work on chopping the veggies.

A few chords sound, the rich notes filling the air. It’s good. Simple. Appealing.

At first there’s just the strum of the guitar, and then he starts to sing.

His voice is deep, husky, slightly gravelly.

My ears prickle. My knife stills halfway through slicing a pepper.

The melody is upbeat and catchy, and the lyrics are solid.

Every night I see you in my dreams

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