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Her mind in a completely different place, Izzy gaped at him. ‘My song?’
‘Yes.’
‘You want me to sing my song as this year’s charity single?’
‘No. I want to give it to someone else to sing.’
Aware that she’d been microseconds away from making a gigantic fool of herself, Izzy found her hands were shaking. ‘Wow. I think that’s the equivalent of patting someone on the head and punching them at the same time. I don’t know whether I’m supposed to be ecstatic or outraged.’ Or bitterly disappointed that he didn’t want her, he wanted her song.
‘You should be singing it. I’m not denying that, but it isn’t just about the song, it’s about the artist. I need a name.’ His words were as blunt as his delivery. ‘This is going to be big. An unknown artist singing an unknown song just won’t cut it. You know that.’
‘So you’re basically saying, “We love your song, Izzy, but we think you suck so you can’t sing it.”’
‘You do not suck. But nor do you have the profile we need to give this track instant appeal. Since you clearly have a great deal more commercial brain-power than everyone around you appreciates, I’m sure you understand that.’
‘Yes.’ She looked at him, torn. ‘Yes, I understand that. But it’s my song. I wrote it for me.’ It was about her. It had significance. It was personal.
Look at me, I’m not what you see.
‘Do you want your song heard by half the world, sung by a famous artist or do you want to keep it yourself to sing in the bath?’
‘Ow, that’s brutal.’
‘You said you appreciate honesty.’
‘I thought I did but maybe I was wrong about that.’ Even knowing that he was speaking sense, she hung on to her song as if it were part of her. Surely if there was one thing worse than singing someone else’s crappy song, it would be hearing someone else putting their own interpretation on a song she’d written for herself?
Or maybe not.
Her career was pretty much dead. She needed to do something.
Maybe it didn’t matter that she wasn’t the one singing it as long as the whole world was downloading it. The truth was she was finding it harder and harder to think about the song because all she could think about was him.
Misinterpreting her silence, he launched into an argument to convince her. ‘Music executives get sent thousands of tracks daily. Tracks they don’t even listen to. For someone with no contacts the chances of breaking into the business are one in a million. It’s all word of mouth—who you know. If an A&R person says “listen to this” then they listen. A songwriter can’t just write songs, they have to know how to market themselves—to get their music heard. This is your chance.’
‘People aren’t interested in who writes the songs.’
‘They’re going to be interested in this one because it’s going to be everywhere.’
He was so confident. Not arrogant, she realised. Just self-assured.
Cautiously, she tested the flavour of his idea. ‘Who do you have in mind to sing it?’
‘Callie. She’s moving towards a more contemporary sound and it would be perfect for her.’
Izzy had to agree. ‘I love her voice. I have all her albums.’
‘But?’
‘I can’t imagine she needs a song from me. She might say no.’
‘She won’t. She’s looking for something a bit different and her own creative well has dried up. She’s going to love this.’ His phone was already in his hand and he raised his eyebrows. ‘Is it a yes? Because there’s a lot to do. I need to get a team on to it—not just the recording people but the lawyers … everyone. This is huge, Izzy, but we have to move fast.’
Izzy’s head was buzzing.
Her song.
The song she’d written with nothing but her imagination and her voice.
