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“You want a label deal?” Faith asked, still looking startled.
“If it’s a good one. Still hard to beat the marketing power of a label even if I don’t need their money to record.” Zach said. “Jay says they’ll fall over themselves at the whole ‘second-generation Harper going back to his roots’ thing.”
Faith pursed her lips. “I’d have to agree with that.”
Her expression had changed from annoyed to interested. Ah, he’d engaged her business brain. A good tactic to remember.
“So, I thought I could record a short set—five or six songs maybe—and debut them at Cloud Fest. Take the Blacklight slot.” He paused. “I assume none of the others have asked for it?”
The band members had started CloudFest together all those years ago. These days, even though Harper Inc. ran the festival, there was a standing agreement that any of them could take a slot at the festival if they wanted. None of them had, and instead Faith had been keeping up Grey’s tradition of sneaking a big name onto the CloudFest schedule without announcing them to fill the space in the schedule. The fans loved the surprise—and the online speculation about who might be appearing each year made for excellent free promo for the festival.
“What makes you think I haven’t filled the slot already?” Faith asked.
Which didn’t exactly answer his question, but if she was talking of filling the slot, then he had to assume Danny, Billy, or Shane hadn’t asked for it.
“Tradition,” he said. “You usually schedule it late.”
“I respect tradition,” Faith said. “But with tradition comes a little thing called loyalty. We gave you the secret slot last year, Zach, and you left us—left me—in the lurch at the last minute. It was only because Danny stepped up that the whole thing wasn’t a total disaster. Why should I trust you this year?”
Because this year he needed it? That was a hell of a thing to think. And he wasn’t going to say it out loud to his sisters, even if it was true. It made him sound like a total self-centered prick. Maybe he was a total self-centered prick. “Last year was different,” he said. “And this year, obviously, Fringe Dweller isn’t going to be picking up any last-minute gigs at Madison Square Garden.”
Faith shook her head. “It’s still a couple of months away. What if Ryder changes his mind? You going to abandon this little side project of yours and go running back?”
Maybe he deserved that. He took a deep breath. He was here to make peace, not get into yet another argument with Faith. “Firstly, it’s not a little side project. I’ve been writing songs for this for a while now. Secondly, no. If Ryder changes his mind, then he’ll have to wait until I finish. He can’t have it both ways.”
“I see,” Faith said. “So, who’s your producer? And who are you using for your band?”
Yep, definitely in business mode now.
“I have some feelers out for producers,” he said. Feelers. That sounded casual. Hopefully Faith wouldn’t ask who. He was trying not to think about it. He was going after his two dream producers. There was a good chance they’d turn him down. He hadn’t decided what he’d do if that happened. “Eli has heard a couple of the songs and is going to work on two of them with me. And I’ll figure out the band. It’s a low-key sound so I can start with getting my guitar parts and vocals down.”
He waited to see if Faith was going to offer any suggestions on the band front. Not because he needed her to but because, if she offered, it was probably a sign that she was thawing a little. But she just sipped her coffee instead. “If you want studio time, then you need to talk to Leah. I’m not going over her head to give it to you.”
Maybe “no” on the thawing then. “I’m going to use Dad’s studio to start, but sure, I’ll ask Leah, get a feel for timeframes.”
Grey’s private studio was small, sized for four or five people max to work in. It had a single practice room and a small recording booth that you could just squeeze a drum kit, a drummer, and three other people into. The size didn’t matter. The place had great acoustics, decent equipment. Not quite as new as the set up at the Harper Inc. studio, but it would do.
Blacklight had recorded their first album in an old house overlooking the cliffs up this end of the island, but by the time Cloudlines had catapulted them to fame, the house had burned down. The four of them had all bought land on this part of the island and Grey had built the studio on the spot the old house had stood long before he’d decided to expand and build a proper recording facility so that other bands could record on the island too.
As a kid, Grey’s studio had been sacred ground to Zach. Grey hadn’t liked to be disturbed in there, and Zach would sit outside, hoping that the windows would be open so he could listen to his dad and the guys messing with songs, knowing he wanted to do that too one day. Once he’d learned to play, Grey had let him in to jam a few times. Those moments were some of his best memories from his childhood. He and Grey speaking the same language, sharing a fierce love for the magic that could be made with guitars and voices. He and Faith hadn’t rehearsed their stuff there; they’d stuck to the rehearsal rooms at the Harper studios instead. Unless Faith ever set foot in Grey’s studio, it was unlikely that anyone had been in there, other than maybe to clean, since Grey’s death.
Maybe he could be a fresh start for it. And vice versa.
“Unless either of you have a problem with that?” he added.
“Of course not,’ Mina said quickly. “Dad would want you to use it.” She shot a “don’t argue” look at Faith. And, Faith, to his surprise, didn’t. Mina had always been the quiet one, deferring to Faith most of the time. She didn’t often call the shots. Maybe he’d missed more than family time in the last few years.
“Good,” he said, smiling at Mina. “Thanks. So, does that end the inquisition for now?”
Faith blew out a breath, but then nodded. “For now.” She rose. “We should let you unpack.” She hesitated. “Do you want to come up to the house for dinner tonight? Lou is coming over.”
That was an olive branch. A teeny one, given the tacked-on comment about Lou that he was pretty sure was to make sure he knew Faith wasn’t making any special effort for him—but he’d be dumb to turn it down. “Sure,” he said easily. “Sounds great.” He’d only met Faith’s fiancé twice in person—once at Mina’s art show in L.A. and once when Lou had asked him to lunch in New York and had turned up with Faith and Caleb in tow, presumably in an attempt to start the reconciliation ball rolling. It hadn’t worked. But maybe if he could bond with Caleb that would also improve Faith’s current opinion of him. Though it might also be nice to have a buffer between him and Faith. Or several buffers. He turned to Mina.
“Mina, can you come? Bring Will. It would be good to see him again.” Mina’s new guy, Will Fraser, ran a bar and whiskey distillery on the island. Zach didn’t know him that well either, but he’d drunk at Salt Devil a few times in its early years when he’d still been coming home a few times a year. He’d liked Will then and he liked him more now that he’d seen how happy Mina was with him. Will had shadowed her around that same gallery opening, giving Mina space to shine but always there when she looked around for him.
Mina shook her head. “I can come for a while but I have the graveyard shift at search and rescue tonight. And Will is working at the bar. Maybe we can figure something out later this week? But you can come see me at the cottage, I’m there painting most afternoons. I’ll tell Stewie not to bite you.”
“The way to a Lab’s heart is through his stomach,” Zach retorted. “One cookie and that dog is mine.” If only sisters were as easy to win over. Though Mina was smiling properly now.
