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I’ve got a lot riding on this—my reputation, my team, Americana Land, and maybe most of all, my relationship with my dad. If I can pull this off, I’ll be proud of myself, and surely, he’ll see how far I’m willing to go for our name and legacy. If it implodes, I don’t know if I’ll recover from it. This failure would be a hundred times worse than the Abby Burks incident.
But I answer, “Yes, let’s do it one more time.”
We roll through everything in Jayme’s notebook once more, and before I know it, Carlo is stopping the car at the curb in front of a building with so many windows that it looks like a greenhouse. Vines drape across the front, ivy climbs the sides, there are plants shoved into every nook and cranny of various brass plant stands, and there’s a huge stone statue of a nude woman by an arched wooden door.
“Green Goddess,” Carlo proclaims needlessly.
I open my door, offering Jayme a helping hand to exit the car. “Are we eating brunch or planting a garden?” I question quietly where only she can hear me.
“Both?”
“Just don’t check the types of greenery too carefully. I don’t think those are all garden-variety ferns.”
Jayme chuckles, and her heels click-clack on the brick sidewalk as we make our way to the door. “We’ve got this, Carson. I promised you and I meant it.”
Her quick vow as I open the door and we step inside means more than she’ll ever know.
At the hostess stand, we’re greeted by a young woman with thick blonde dreadlocks interwoven with metallic beads, huge round-framed glasses, and oversized linen overalls. She presses her hands together in a prayer motion and bows her head. “Welcome. Thank you for including us on your journey today.”
Uh, what? I suddenly feel like Alice entering Wonderland. I was kidding, but maybe there is something ‘special’ in the greenery planted outside.
“Hi, we are meeting Steve Capetti here. I’m not sure if he’s arrived yet?” I look past the hostess to scan the restaurant, but there are so many plants, I can’t see much.
“Right this way.” The hostess takes a few steps deeper into the forest of greenery and I realize she’s barefoot beneath her linen overalls.
“Is that legal?” I whisper to Jayme. “Seems like it’d be a health violation.”
She shrugs. “It’s LA.”
I know she’s right, but I prefer Jayme’s sexy heels to dirty, naked feet.
At the table, Steve and Jazmyn have their heads bent together in deep conversation, but they part and smile warmly as we approach. Well, Steve does. Jazmyn gives me an up and down and then does the same to Jayme. She’s plainly sizing us up. Steve is too, but he’s more discrete about it.
I do the same, getting to know who and what I’m up against for today’s meeting. Surprisingly, Jazmyn Starr looks exactly like her filtered photos and TikToks. She’s wearing bold, smokey eye makeup with a thick streak of lime green eyeliner that matches the shoestrings laced through the holes along the sleeves of her black and white striped shirt. There’s also a gathering of lime and gold safety pins in her left ear and a stack of rings on every finger. Except . . . I think the constellation of dots around her eyes are tattoos, not makeup as I’d thought.
Though I’ve never seen Steve, he’s exactly what I expected—a pro. Dressed in what can best be called California executive, he’s got on designer jeans, an open-throated dress shirt, and a sport coat that I can tell is deceptively casual. It looks off the rack . . . but probably costs more than some people’s monthly rent.
He likely found Jazmyn online and, seeing talent, hitched his wagon to her star. I imagine talent managers, like department managers, are sometimes excellent and sometimes useless. I hope Steve is as quality as his thousand-dollar sunglasses.
“Jayme! Carson! Nice to finally meet you in person,” Steve greets us, standing to offer his hand. Jazmyn doesn’t move, simply staring at us straight-faced. She looks bored already. On one hand, maybe she’s already made up her mind about the concert and wants to sign and be done. On the other hand, maybe she wants to be anywhere but here. At home, the beach, or maybe Dunkin Donuts?
Jayme shakes Steve’s hand, then offers hers to Jazmyn. After a long beat where I consider that she might not follow through, Jazmyn does finally shake Jayme’s hand. I take the cue and shake both their hands as well.
Sitting down, a waiter appears. His curls are standing up wildly, and his slouchy jeans and band T-shirt look vintage or at least well-worn, possibly slept in, but he’s thankfully wearing shoes. I’d estimate his most recent shower at four days ago. “Can I get you something to drink?”
