The memory of that night made him glance down at his ringless finger. After a moment, Hunter forced himself to focus and close off the part of his mind that always carried so much pain.
“The band isn’t willing to work with just any writer, we’re looking to work with theperfectwriters for this album. No more of this mix-and-match BS like last time. Which, I don’t need to remind you, nearly ruined us.”
“Give up the tampons and stop being so emotional about everything. You know the cycle: once you stop overthinking and get to work, you’ll write hit after hit regardless of the writing partners.”
It wasn’t going to work. Period.
Hunter had tried everything to get his swag back, but the only hits he’d recorded weren’t his. And he didn’t want to spend his career singing other people’s stories. He wanted to tell his own. At least, that’s what he’d told Brody. In truth, he wasn’t sure what he wanted anymore. He just knew that he would find it with these songwriters.
“Mack and Muttley are my only choice. I won’t work on this album with anyone else.”
“Be prepared to be disappointed. Because they are at the top of their game and extremely particular on whotheychoose to work with. And they can,” Brody said. “They were named byRolling Stonethe best songwriters of the year. Not to mention the most reclusive. I’ve accepted a trailer full of GRAMMYs and CMAs on their behalf. And guess what? They choose to go it alone.”
Hunter understood what Brody was saying. No one even knew what this duo looked like. They were like the Sia of country music.
No one, that was, except his take-no-prisoners agent and favorite cousin, Brody Kane, who was still rattling off all the reasons Hunter’s plan wouldn’t work.
“They didn’t show up to the Country Music Awards. Turned down theTonight Show. What makes you think they’d meet with you?”
“Because for me to make it to the next level, Ineedthem. It’s like they write the things I need to get out but can’t quite put into words or chords. Every time they give me a song, it’s the perfect song at the perfect time in my career.”
At the perfect time in my life.
Brody leaned back in his chair and really considered Hunter’s plea. “They already give you first options on all their best material. Believe me. I see every song before anyone else. They write those songs specifically for you and no one else. I had five top artists bidding on the last set they wrote. Mack and Muttley flat-out refused to consider anyone else, said it could only be you. They were your last three number ones, by the way. What more do you want?”
Hunter braced one leg on the opposite knee, laced his fingers behind his head, and dropped the bomb that was sure to send Brody into one of his anxiety-driven meltdowns, including pacing, ranting, nuclear-strength heartburn, and finally ending with Hunter getting his way.
“I want to cowrite the entire album with them. All fourteen songs. The three of us locked in a studio till it’s done kind of situation.”
Brody snorted. “Good luck with that.”
“I’m serious.”
“So am I.” Brody rolled his eyes so hard Hunter thought his cousin would fall off his chair. “I get that people pretty much do whatever you ask. I know I do. Half the time I do what you want before you know you want it. Cash is right. This has all gone to your head, turned you into some fucking diva,” Brody said, and Hunter laughed.
“Cash drinks craft beer. It doesn’t get more diva than that.”
“He also outweighs you by thirty pounds,” Cash said from the other side of the bar.
“You could be Garth Brooks for all I care,” Brody said. “Mack and Muttley do not—I repeat,do not—work with artists.”
“They’ll work with me,” Hunter said.
Hunter’s laid-back confidence had allowed him to win over even the stodgiest of people in the industry. He might not have met these guys, but he knew the type. Unlike LA, Nashville attracted good old boys who would rather throw back a few brews while sitting around in jeans and T-shirts playing cards than entertain some self-serving ego of an artist.
Good thing, for all involved, Hunter was as easygoing as one could get. He’d bring a couple of six-packs, a fifth of Jack, and his old six string. By the end of the night, there’d be chords and contracts.
“And why is that?”
A slow, smug grin spread across Hunter’s face. “First off, because you know I’m right. Second, you represent both parties involved, so it’ll be easy to set up the meeting.” He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the bar top. “And did I mention I think I’m comin’ down with the flu? Might just have to retract that babysitting offer for next weekend.”
Brody’s jaw tightened, and the vein in his forehead darkened, exposing an elevated heart rate. He blinked several times, probably listening to the sound of his sex life coming to a tragic ending. “You know how much this trip means to Savannah.”
“What I know is that my niece, angel that she is, has taken to sleeping in your bed. If I remember correctly, right smack-dab in the middle of you and your sexy wife. Seems like a full bed makes for lonely nights.”
Brody ran a hand down his face. “Don’t even get me started. Now Caroline says she wants a dog for her birthday. One of those little fluffy accessories that shit in your car and piss on your boots.”
Hunter smiled. He knew exactly the kind of dog his niece wanted. Had shared a bed with one for three years. “Wait until you catch it watching you have sex.” He let loose a low whistle, and Brody sagged. “What you need is some much-needed alone time with that lovely wife of yours.”
