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“Except, the bookstore in town doesn’t carry romance books. Maybe you could add a small lending library at the bakery. Think of it, people could come in for coffee and a cupcake and stay to read a hot, spicy romance. You could theme your pastries around the titles.”
Naomi hummed. “Hard pass.” She laughed. “Get your shoes on. I’m coming over to take you on a brainstorming walk.”
Every other day, Naomi and her dog, Sweet Cream, picked me up and we hiked the rugged trails surrounding Pineridge.
“I shouldn’t. This was such a rush order. They want to see rough ideas by Friday. I need to get this damn graphic done.”
“Hey, you know I went to the Debby Downer convention and everyone there knew you.”
My turn to snort. “Being realistic isn’t negative. I know I’m going to crush this art. Feel it in my bones, Viking direction notwithstanding.”
“I’m one-hundred-percent positive you will conquer this project like a Viking.” Even she groaned at her bad analogy. She continued, “Do you really think you’re going to figure this out without a little natural inspiration?”
She had a valid point.
“Beaman Park trail?” I asked.
“Where else would we go?” Naomi laughed like it was a stupid question. Which it most certainly was. That trail was our favorite and the sun was shining bright today.
“I’ll be ready in ten minutes.”
2
CALLAN
“What the hell is taking so long? It’s just an album cover.” I paced away from my parked Triumph Tiger motorcycle. The vintage bike made me smile every day I managed to get it out of the garage.
Unfortunately, even though I’d been cruising along the Old Hickory Boulevard, on my way to the Beaman Park trails, I was in a pissy mood. When my phone had buzzed in my pocket, I’d pulled over to take the call.
“I’m so sorry, Mr. Wilder. I really don’t have a good answer,” replied Carrie Marsh, the art director for Bad Dog Music, my label.
I held back my frustrated sigh as I loosened the strap of my helmet. “This again? Carrie, call me Callan. Or Cal. Somebody calling me mister makes my eyes cross.” Not to mention it made me feel a million years old. I hadn’t hit forty yet. But that little milestone was sneaking closer in my rearview mirror.Next year.
“Sorry, uh, Callan. We plan to reach out to the designer this afternoon. We’ve used her for plenty of cover art projects. She’s solid. She did Tay Dicken’s last cover in less than three hours after getting the assignment. You know how gorgeous that art was. This is really out of character for her.”
Yeah, Nashville’s teenage sweetheart did have a stunning cover for her latest release. I’d been impressed. And had been thrilled to find Bad Dog had hired the same artist for my release. But lack of anything to look at from the woman at this late stage of the game was so unacceptable. I’m a ducks-in-a-row kind of guy, and this particular duck was paddling the wrong direction. I whipped off my Oakley shades and tucked them in the pocket of my leather jacket. “You know we have a drop date within four months, right?”
“I’m aware, Mr…uh, Callan. We’re on it.”
“Call a meeting. I’m free tomorrow afternoon. I want this buttoned up.”
“I’m not sure Catie will be available on such short notice.” I could hear Carrie tapping her fingers on her keyboard.
“Then find a new designer.” The answer seemed simple enough. If this designer couldn’t make the mark, we’d have to hire someone else. My next call was going to be to my manager, Asher Matthews.
“We signed a contract with her. And she’s only had the assignment for two days. Let’s give her a chance.” She huffed a harsh breath. She might have uttered a cuss word, which ordinarily would make me laugh. She was a prim, proper business lady. When she dropped the F-bomb, people sat up and took notice.
I’d almost take pity on the poor designer, if only she’d hit my damn deadlines. “Fine, but I want a meeting as soon as possible. Find out from Asher when my schedule is clear to spend a couple hours with her. Sooner than later, you understand?”
“Yes sir,” came the curt reply.
I scrubbed a paw over the stubble on my chin. “Sorry. I don’t mean to be a total ass. But this is important to me.” It would be my first release since…all the shit that went down, went down. And yeah, I’d surprised everyone, including me, with a bunch of songs I’d poured all my feelings into. This release was special. A tribute, of sorts. That’s why I was so eager to get it released so quickly. Lead times from production to release were typically way longer.
Her tone softened. “I know. I’ll make it happen.”
The sympathy in her tone about tore me apart. I said goodbye and disconnected before crushing grief could rise up and further ruin my day. I shoved my work cellphone into my pocket and pulled my private mobile from my other pocket.
Twelve fucking months.That’s how long my dad had been gone. My biggest fan, the man who’d taught me to fish and hunt. Who’d held my bike when I’d insisted I was too old for training wheels. Who’d shown me how to reattach them when I proved that I wasn’t quite old enough. My dad had sat next to me when I’d signed my first contract, celebrating with me as my star had burst onto the country music scene like a freaking gigantic sparkler. And when I’d gotten my first big royalty check, he’d gone with me to the Chevy dealership to buy my truck. The first of many he’d been there for, over the past fifteen or so years.
