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Wren
One week at Good Music,and it was like I’d always been here. No more hang ups, I usually remembered to switch from ‘good morning’ to ‘good afternoon,’ and Natalie rarely looked at me with suspicion.
She did hiss at me a little when Adam Wainwright stopped at my desk to flirt with me again, but she cooled off quickly, citing Adam would ‘flirt with a pig if it had a dress on.’
I wasn’t too sure I liked Natalie.
A weekend at home with my family had fortified me for my second Monday on the job. I wore my blue skirt again, with a white top this time—one I would never dare wear at home because it would be stained in an instant. I felt good. Professional and put together. Nothing pig-like about me besides my big, round butt.
The clack of Natalie’s heels on the marble floor signaled her approach. She stopped behind my desk, adjusting the strap of her bag over her shoulder before crossing her arms.
“I need you to stay a little bit longer. Studio 3B placed an order for food, and it’s coming within the next hour, but I have an appointment and can’t wait for it.”
My stomach clenched. I’d been looking forward to going home. “Can’t the delivery driver take it up to them?”
Her eyes rolled so hard, I wouldn’t have been surprised if they’d made a full loop in her skull. “Don’t be lazy, Wren. We don’t allow anyone outside the company to enter the studios. You’ve signed an NDA, but Joe Schmo from the pizza place hasn’t. What’s to stop him from recording the session?” She huffed. “Think, please.Jesus.”
There was really no other answer I could give besides yes. We both knew that. And though I wanted to get home more than anything, disaster wouldn’t strike if I left in an hour instead of fifteen minutes.
I just wish Natalie would fully commit to being a villain if that’s what she was going for. She was nice and funny during half our interactions, which made her switch to a bitch-monster particularly whiplash-y.
“That’s fine. I can stay tonight.” My voice came out more meek than I’d intended, but that wasn’t something I could control.
“Good.” She squeezed my shoulder. “And try not to flirt with the band, even if they’re coming onto you, okay? It’s just really not a good look.”
Luckily, my burning face was all the response she needed. Natalie strutted out of the lobby in her pencil skirt and swing coat. A blast of arctic wind slapped me when she opened the door, cooling my hot cheeks.
Minutes ticked by as I waited. Upstairs, the studios were still filled with musicians, but most of the support and administrative staff had already left for the day, so it was quiet in the lobby.
I held out my phone and snapped a picture of myself making a funny face with my cheeks blown up and my eyes bugging out. Then I texted it to my great-aunt with a bunch of emojis. She’d get a kick out of it.
Forty-five minutes later, the delivery driver dropped off three large bags of food and a tray of drinks. Balancing them carefully, I rode the elevator to the third floor, pretending my stomach wasn’t tied in a hundred knots.
As I approached studio 3B, I wondered if I should knock or just go in. My hands were really too full to let myself in, so I—
My train of thought stopped as a tall, tall man strode toward the same destination from the opposite direction. His eyes were on the ground, so I could look at him for a moment, but only a moment since his long legs ate up the short distance between us.
He pulled open the studio door, nearly hitting me with it. He hadn’t even noticed me standing there helplessly. If he had, he’d chosen to ignore me.
“Excuse me?” I forced the words out loud and clear. He stopped, his back to me, head cocked to show he was listening. “Can you hold the door for me? I have your dinner order.”
There was a pause, and my mind jumped over a hundred conclusions straight to the one where he’d let the door fall closed without a second thought.
Luckily, he pushed the door open wide, his long arm bracing it. As I passed him to enter the studio, my shoulder brushed his chest, and I gasped. His head jerked at the sound, and for a fleeting beat of my heart, his eyes raised to inspect me. It was over as soon as it had happened. Callum’s icy eyes glanced away, then he moved out of the way entirely, letting the door snick closed at my back.
I was suddenly in a roomful of rockers and had never felt more out of place and conspicuous. They must’ve been on break from recording, because they were all sitting around on the couches, feet kicked up on the coffee table in the center, laughing about something.
The woman with ribbons of midnight hair streaming down her shoulders noticed me huddled against the wall first. Her smile grew bright, and she stomped on the floor with excitement. Iris Adler, the lead singer of The Seasons Change, was twice as pretty in person. Even in baggy sweats and no makeup, she didn’t have to try to be the prettiest woman in the room. She simply was.
“Oh, look, an actual angel has arrived,” Iris announced, hopping to her feet.
Every head turned in my direction. Adam stayed in position, slouching on the couch with one leg slung over the arm, but a slow, mischievous smile spread on his lips. Callum was across the room, arms crossed, leaning against the wall. It was Rodrigo Chavez, the muscular drummer with soft brown eyes, who took pity on me. He took the drink tray from my shaky hands and motioned for me to follow him.
As I placed the bags of food on the coffee table, Adam shifted to sit with his elbows on his knees.
“Hi, Wren,” he cooed. “If that food is as good as it smells, I think I’m gonna love you forever.”
I couldn’t help but give him a small smile. From our limited interactions, I’d surmised he was somewhat of a jackass, but a harmless, charming one.
