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“God, what an awesome view!” Catie set the box down then rushed to the floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooked the back yard. She put her hands up like a little kid but held them back from the glass like a grown-ass woman who knows about fingerprints. Her giddy excitement about the view made my dick swell. Would she be that enthusiastic in bed? Or would herdon’t touchattitude transfer there? Something told me she’d be pretty hands-on.
I worked to calm my unruly thoughts by focusing on the view, trying to see it through Catie’s eyes. The almost-midday sun glinted off the waves of the lake on my property. The dock extending into the water, two Adirondack chairs poised on the end. Large pin oak and maple trees flanked the tall, thin juniper hedge lining a wide gravel path that led to a narrow sandy beach. An ancient crepe myrtle tree spread its branches on the other side of the property.
She sighed. “I bet this is magnificent in the fall.”
“It is. I always host a party during football season. It’s one of the reasons Dad encouraged me to buy the place.” I stuttered on my dad’s name. I had almost cancelled last fall’s gathering because I wasn’t feeling it. But Asher convinced me to go ahead and host the affair but change it up by inviting my guests to contribute to my dad’s favorite charity, a scholarship fund for underprivileged student athletes. I’d kept the charity aspect low key but had been overwhelmed by the amount of money my friends willingly donated. The charity had been pleased with the five-figure check I’d presented to them. A date had already been selected for the second annual event.
She looked at me when I fell silent as memories of the party and my dad danced a jig in my head.
“Uh, sorry. Wool-gathering a bit here. My studio is downstairs.”
She rubbed her hands together, then reached for the pack still slung over my shoulder. “I’m going to need that. In case inspiration hits.”
I led her to the stairs. “Do you always carry it with you?”
“Not always,” she replied. “But I typically have at least a pad of paper and a crayon on hand. Never know when an idea will intrigue.”
I laughed. “Like at a bar after bantering with a pretty lady.”
Catie blushed. “Or a handsome man.”
As we entered the control room, James’ and Aspen’s heads were together looking at something on the sound board. Each wore headphones, and Aspen was shifting a couple sliders around. James was grinning like a fool and a pleased smirk pulled the corners of Aspen’s lips.
She looked up at me as we entered, then at Catie, her eyes widening ever so slightly. Her gaze moved to James and then back to me. “Hey. We got started without you.” She unplugged James’ headphones, then hers, and then pressed a button to begin a playback on what they’d been messing with.
It was distinctly my voice, but Aspen had auto-tuned it up an octave and sped it up. By messing with one of the recordings I’d done last night they’d made my voice screechy and upset.I’m never gonna get this damn line rightI complained over the speakers.
“I sound like a damn chipmunk,” I complained good-naturedly.
Catie laughed and clapped her hands together. She swung her gaze toward me, devilment in her eyes. “You’ve got a real winner there, Mr. Wilder.”
I jammed a hand on my hip. “What? You never talk to yourself during the creative process.”
She shrugged. “Sure I do. There’s just usually not a recording of my conversations.”
“Occupational hazard. And cheap-ass help.” I mock-glared at James and Aspen before making introductions.
“We’re all set in here, Cal. If you want to step into the booth, we can get started.” Aspen cocked her head toward the glassed-in cubicle.
The lights were burning bright inside, waiting and seeming full of anticipation. This was one of the moments I liked best about my job. Working as a team to make my words and music something people around the country wanted to sing or dance to.
James had pulled a high-backed stool over to a counter and moved the computer equipment out of the way. “You can sit here if you want to watch the action,” he said to Catie. “Otherwise, the sofa there is pretty comfortable, if you only want to listen.”
Catie shifted her gaze between her choice of seats, then pointed to the stool and beamed a smile at James. “I’ll sit there. Is there somewhere I can plug in my charging cable?” She had her hand on the zipper of her backpack.
“Power strip under the counter. Pick an outlet,” he told her.
She smiled her thanks at him, and a wave of envy splashed through me. I wanted all her smiles, and for James to get none.
“Callan, are you going with the piano or guitar for this first pass?” Aspen’s question interrupted my jealous meanderings.
I cleared my throat. “You listened to both options I sample-recorded last night, right? Did you have a preference?” I was hearing this piece as more of a ballad than a hard-rocking anthem. I mean, the lyrics were about waiting because the reward would be sweeter without the instant gratification. So similar to my situation with Catie. Personally, I was inclined to the piano.
“Since the lyrics are more narrative, my instincts are saying go with the piano.” Aspen’s gut was always a good barometer. I trusted it almost more than I trusted my own.
“Piano it is, then.” I glanced at Catie, who’d bent over to plug in her charger. “Catie-belle, if you need anything, just let James know.”
She straightened and saluted me, then grinned. “Will do. Good luck in there.”
