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An email from the artist himself.
Cassie,
Frederick reached out about the meeting Friday. I demanded your contact info. I think he knew I wanted to work with you. If your partner has the right sound, the job is yours.
I love to see two people in love.
Especially when one is as cute as you.
Keep it coming.
Can't wait to meet you and your mystery man.
XO,
Bryce Bradey
He believes it.
And he wants us.
We just have to nail the pitch and the passion. Which means I need to step up my game. As a fake girlfriend and a creative partner.
So I text Damon.
Cassie: Tomorrow. Noon. I'll be at your place. Be ready.
Chapter Fourteen
Cassie
The drive to Damon's place is familiar. I've made it so many times. The feeling in my veins is familiar too.
Nervous energy.
I want to see him. I want to work with him. I want to kiss him.
Fake kiss him, sure, but I want to do it again and again, until we're sure our make-out session is flawless.
When I arrive, I park in the driveway. I walk through the front door. I look around the space with new eyes.
The same house where we spent a million summers. The piano, where he taught me to play Losing My Religion. The couch where we kissed Saturday.
Shit.
Those old feelings bubble to the surface. My desire to slap him is there too, but now it's competing with a desire to gently stroke his face. Which is ridiculous. We're working together. We're pretending we're a couple.
That's it.
Sure, it's a little complicated, but I can deal with it.
Then, music fills the space. Damon on the guitar. He's working on the new song. The style fits perfectly, a more upbeat version of late nineties college rock, with a touch of the pop that put Bryce on the map.
That's the key to long-term success in the music industry. You need to evolve with the times while keeping the sound that made you famous. Most people can't do it. Hell, it's almost impossible to do it. Trends change. The sound that made a musician unique goes out of style. The people who last long-term reinvent themselves all the time, like Madonna or Lady Gaga.
If they manage to hold on to the promise they made their fans, they hold on to those listeners, and they have an easier time riding their ups and downs.
That's what I want to do for Bryce. Not because I love his music—it's a little too pop for my taste—but because I love doing this. I love finding that core promise and delivering.
With Bryce, I know exactly what it is.
He's a romantic with a sharp tongue.
The way I was once.
Now…
Fuck, there are way too many butterflies in my stomach. How am I this nervous to work with Damon? I take a deep breath and try to push my nerves aside. Today is a workday. We're working. That's it.
I move up the stairs with steady steps. Even though I can hear him playing guitar, I do the smart thing and knock. "Is it safe to come in?"
"I play in the nude, but the guitar is strategically placed."
The image fills my head immediately. Damon sitting on his bed completely naked, the guitar positioned right in front of his pelvis. It's a good idea for a picture, actually. Cheeky and sexy. "If you are, I'm posting it on Instagram."
"See for yourself," he says.
I turn the handle and step inside.
Sure enough, Damon is sitting on the bed with his guitar, but he's not in his birthday suit. He's in his usual uniform. Jeans, t-shirt, tattoos, wicked smile.
"Is that disappointment on your face?" He winks. "I can lose some layers if you want."
"I want a picture. That's it."
"We can do better than that." He sets his guitar on the bed and stands. "If it's not too early in the day to make out for the camera."
"No. Not too early. Why don't you do this one?" I motion to his cell phone, sitting on his desk. "Since you haven't posted much."
"Sure." He grabs the phone. "Let's do what you said."
"You're going to post a picture of yourself naked?" I ask.
"No. I'm going to post you."
I shake my head.
"Really? You're shy?"
"No." Kind of. I don't want to get naked right here, in front of him. But it's more. "It's different for women."
"However you want to do it, Cass." He motions to his bed.
He's right. Sitting on his bed with his guitar gives a clear intimate singer-songwriter couple impression. "Is it clean?"
"Washed the sheets last night."
I pick up his guitar and sit on the bed. "How's this?"
"Terrible." He shakes his head. "You look uncomfortable. Maybe you're hot. Take your top off."
I flip him off.
He smiles and picks up his phone. "That's what I want to see. Cassie Steele, in her element."
"Your bed?"
"In your dreams." His smile gets wider. "Annoyed with me."
