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Chapter 2
Ali
Iwatchedasthewoman at the front of the line palmed her breasts to plump her cleavage before stepping toward the bouncer. He scrolled through the iPad he was holding then shook his head. She argued with him for a moment before storming off.
Beside me, Georgia was too busy touching up her lipstick to notice.
“Are you sure we’re on the list?” I asked.
Looking at her compact mirror, she pressed her lips together and made a smacking noise. “Colette promised we would be.”
A tall man stepped up to the bouncer, who moved the velvet rope aside without bothering to check his iPad.
“What about that guy?” I asked. “He didn’t even wait in line.”
Georgia chuckled. “We’re on the list. I didn’t say we’re on the VIP list.”
I chewed my lip. I was so out of my depth. When Georgia had insisted we go dancing, I’d assumed we would find an average club that anyone could get into. Instead, she had managed to get us on the list for a new singer’s launch party. Georgia’s second cousin, Colette, used to work with the star’s stylist’s boyfriend… or something like that. It was a friend-of-a-friend-of-a-friend situation.
By the time we got to the front of the line, I was ready to turn around and leave with my tail between my legs when the bouncer denied us entry. I was surprised when it only took him a second to find our names and let us in.
Georgia linked her arm through mine. “See? I told you we were on the list.”
I was properly chagrined. “I never should have doubted you.” It wasn’t Georgia I had doubted—it was the convoluted connection she’d used to get us on the list.
The club, which was new, occupied a space that had once been a warehouse, and instead of gutting it, the owner had left the steel beams exposed and played up the industrial feel of the place. The sparkling fountain of champagne looked way out of place, much like how I felt. I was wearing a little black dress, something that should have sufficed for any occasion, but it didn’t show enough skin or didn’t have the right vibe. Something was off—it screamed “a night at the symphony” instead of “a night at the club.” And rightly so, considering that was exactly where I’d worn it last. I should have taken the time to update my wardrobe when I’d updated my hair.
Georgia didn’t seem to have the same problem. She marched right over to the fountain and snagged a glass for each of us. “This is perfect.” She held hers up in a toast. “To us killing it on you-know-what.”
After our phone calls, we’d received an email containing all the information we needed for the first week of filming. There was a list of rules, the most important of which seemed to be not to tell anyone we were contestants on the show. Georgia appeared to be taking that one seriously. The one about conducting ourselves with proper decorum remained to be seen—if there was ever a night to get up to shenanigans, it was that night. In a few weeks, our faces would be recognizable to the millions of viewers, but at that moment, we were anonymous.
I took a sip of champagne. Closing my eyes, I let the bubbles fizz on my tongue. I was on the cusp of getting everything I wanted. I planned to fight tooth and nail to win the competition and get that record deal. Perhaps almost as importantly, I would show my family that while I might not have fit into their high-class world, I wasn’t a screwup. I would find success on my own terms.
I opened my eyes with a new determination. The next few months would be brutal, but I wasn’t going to think about that. Georgia was right—tonight was about celebrating. I gulped down the last of the champagne. “To the dance floor!” I commanded.
Georgia beamed. “That’s the spirit.”
“Hang on.” I grabbed her arm before she could lead the way and pressed another flute of champagne into her hand.
She raised her eyebrows. “Liquid courage?”
“Something like that.” I liked to shimmy and shake my ass as much as the next girl, but the clubs in LA were in a different league than the clubs in my hometown, Cleveland.
We made our way to the dance floor and jockeyed for a position close to the DJ. The song ended, and he gave a shout-out to the new artist whose party it was, Alexis something-or-other. Then what I presumed was her song blasted out of the speakers. The beat was catchy, but her voice was a little too breathy for my tastes, and the auto-tune was way overdone. I wasn’t entirely against the effect—it had its place—but in general, artists frequently relied on it instead of depending on talent.
I immediately began dissecting the song to try to determine why the music execs had selected it for her first single, why they thought it might be the one to break her out of obscurity.I’m better than this girl.It was a bitchy thought, considering we had basically crashed her release party. That was the thing about the industry though—it wasn’t fair. An artist with little talent could be more successful than an immensely talented one. If I could only figure out the formula…
Stop. Just stop.My brain had a difficult time turning off and taking a break from the analysis. I exhaled, reminding myself of a promise I’d made to myself when I’d first come to LA—enjoy the journey. Celebrate the small victories.Lord knew they would be hard won in the music industry.
And the victory of making it ontoSing Battlewasn’t small—it was huge. There were hundreds if not thousands of others who hadn’t made it that far.
Throwing my head back, I let the beat of the music soak into my skin and down to my bones. I let the rhythm lead my dance, secure knowing that one day soon, another girl might enjoy her own victory dance to my song.
Trenton
Despite having started my career as a pop star, nightclubs weren’t my scene. I felt old and crotchety, but they played the music way too loudly, so loudly I couldn’t properly hear the song. Judging by the enthusiastic dancers on the floor, that opinion put me in the minority.
Across from me, Evan tapped his fingers to the music. “This is your girl, right?”
