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“Ja—” She coughs, averting her eyes. “Kristen. Kristen King.”
“King. King,” I mumble, my finger searching for the name. “No, I don’t see it.” Flipping the page, I notice a lot of high-profile names that have access to the studio, but not hers. “Are you sure—”
“I can’t believe this.” She pinches her nose underneath her glasses. “He told me he’d keep it quiet. If anyone found out, this place could’ve been swarming paparazzi.”
“What are you—”
“Barkley. Check under Jade Barkley.”
My eyes pop open. I watch, almost mesmerized, as she takes off the sunglasses. Jade Barkley. One of the Kings of Karmichael.
I don’t get starstruck very often. I’ve been around my father enough in his meetings or mixers that I’ve seen my fair share of celebrities, but Jade is another story. We’re the same age, but ever since the Kings of Karmichael came out, I’ve had a crush on her. And she’s an amazing songwriter. Of course, when I say a crush, it’s like one of those celebrity crushes that you think will never happen. I intermingle with others in the music business, but I’m not close with any of them enough that I’d consider myself part of their business.
She offers a timid smile, pulling down the sweater from over her head. “Hi.”
“Hi,” I reply, and just seeing her smile … Wow. She’s gorgeous. High cheekbones, her hair is a sandy blonde, and her green eyes match her name. “You’re Jade Barkley.”
She grins, nodding. “That’s what I said.”
“Right. Right, sorry.” I already remember seeing her name on the list, so I step around the desk. “Um, this way.”
I try to calm the nerves and escort her down the hallway, toward the studio.
“So this is Rich Records,” she whispers.
“Yep, this is it. If you don’t mind me asking, why are you recording here?”
“Ugh, don’t even get me started. That conniving Jimmy Richards basically bribed my boyfriend into a record deal if I used the recording studio here.”
“Oh.”
“Yeah, sorry. I probably shouldn’t bad-mouth the guy. I bet he’s like your boss or something, huh?”
“Uh, something like that.”
She laughs as we approach the door. “See, what kind of guy is he if his own employees seem afraid of talking about him? You know, I have some friends that said he called them teenage wannabe rock stars … No. Teen girl wannabes. Something like that. I still can’t believe I’m doing this. I figured a new place could help me get this stuff out of my system without being around my studio. But Jimmy Richards, ugh! He puts on a good show, I’ll give you that, but I don’t trust him. He’s a snake.”
“Uh—”
“Jeez, listen to me. I’m sorry, I’m just upset. He promised me I’d be listed under a different name. I wanted to come in here, keep to myself, and get my songs out of my system.”
“No, no. It’s all good. I promise I’ll make sure you’re listed under Kristen King, and no one will know. I promise.”
Opening the door to the studio, she takes a peek in but looks at me. “You’ll make sure?”
