“Really? Because she toldmeshe wasn’t sure if she could trust me enough to keep me on as her agent just because I told you where she was. So somehow I can’t picture her agreeing to work with you.”
“It will happen, and she won’t fire you,” Hunter said with confidence. Mackenzie might be pissed about the other night, but she’d never fire Brody. “The idea of someone other than your family getting a cut of her success? Never going to happen.”
Mackenzie would never do anything to harm a friend’s career. It wasn’t in her nature.
“Only because hiring a new agent would mean interacting with strangers.” Brody leaned back in his chair. “And she can’t work with you because she’s working on another project.”
“With Arthur?” Hunter said, and man, he sounded like a pussy.
Brody hiked a brow. “You met Arthur?”
“Nope, but his flowers were stinking up the house.”
“The roses,” Brody said with a smug-as-shit smile. “He brings Mackenzie a vase every few days from his garden to brighten up her studio. You should see her place after she sells a song.”
Hunter snorted. “What kind of guy gardens?”
“The kind Mackenzie trusts to help her with her music,” Brody said, then pointed to the list again. “These writers here, they don’t have a Mack or Muttley. But they do have talent. They are top-shelf writers, in high demand,andwilling to work with you on the album. Something Mackenzie is not. Plus, they were all vetted by me. Not the label.”
Hunter looked at the list of names. Every single one of them was an award-winning writer he’d dreamed of collaborating with when he’d been coming up in the industry. Now they were willing to work with him. Talk about surreal.
He slid Brody a look. “Most of these guys are booked years in advance.”
“They were interested enough in working with you to free up their schedule for the next few weeks.”
An honor that should have left Hunter feeling hopeful and inspired. And for a moment, he bought into it, enjoyed the surge of pride and excitement that surfaced, and gave himself over to the idea that this was the solution.
Except with all the emotions rushing through his body, he couldn’t find the one thing he’d been desperate for.
Direction.
“I know you had to pull a lot of favors to make this happen, and I am going to listen to the tracks when I get home ...”
“Ah, Jesus.” Brody reached over the bar to grab a frosty mug and poured himself a beer from the nearest tap. “I am practically handing you a GRAMMY and you’ve already come up with a dozen reasons to say no because you aren’t getting your way.”
“I’m not saying no, but I’m not sure bringing in someone new at this point in the game is the right move for the band. We’re still trying to figure out what we want this album to say, and a new voice, who shares the label’s direction, might lead us down the same path as last time.”
Because, in truth, the last set of writers hadn’t been the problem. They’d just been brought in too early. The Hunter Kane Band had still been figuring out the feel and sound of the album when the writers had come in with a vision that didn’t match the band’s. Hunter had been too distracted by his personal life to come up with a better idea and deferred to the writers.
Huge mistake.
“Some of the band members might disagree.”
Hunter froze. “You’ve talked to them?”
“Not yet,” Brody said. “I was going to see if you wanted to talk with them first, because when Mackenzie says no, and she will, you’ll need a backup plan. And this decision doesn’t just affect you, Hunter. It affects everyone involved.”
“You don’t think I get that?” he said, a little harsher than he’d intended.
His Superman complex, as Hadley called it, was one of the biggest factors in why his marriage fell apart. Hadley wanted him to go solo, and so did the label. The band shared equal ownership in the Hunter Kane Band, but as the front man, Hunter was the one who did the majority of the press junkets, radio tours, and interviews.
His face was splattered all over the magazines, his personal life talked about in the gossip rags. And in between touring and recording albums, while the rest of the band went home to their families, Hunter was tasked with the responsibility of promoting the band. A responsibility that, most days, didn’t bother him. But lately, the weight had become suffocating.
“I think you’ve had a hard couple of years, and I agree that you need some help with the heavy lifting. A writing partner could ease that pressure, help you get back in the right mind space.”
His mind already knew exactly which writer’s space he wanted to be in. Only she wasn’t returning his calls. “I need more time.”
“You’ve got three weeks,” Brody said, reaching for another mug and handing it to Hunter. “That’s when the studio time is booked, and the label won’t give you another extension.”
