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“Well, that’s good. We need to see something soon. The client wants a meeting. Preferably soon.”
I resisted the urge to slap my hand to my brow. “Um…”
“He isn’t a control freak, I promise. But he can be pretty hands-on with his projects. He’s getting anxious.”
“What I don’t understand is why this wasn’t done months ago. You know, so the new release could be teased and marketed.” Frank padded into the room and rubbed against my shins, purring loud enough I thought Carrie might hear. I absently scratched between his ears.
Carrie blew out a breathless chuckle. “He surprised everyone with this release. I think even himself. His plan was to take the year off to recharge, but then… I don’t know… It’s like his muse was speaking to him. He came to us with ten new original songs he’d written in record time. Just a month ago. He’s still working in the studio to record them. It’s like this music is just pouring out of him. Like it was cathartic.”
“Cathartic?”
“Oops. I probably shouldn’t have said anything about that. He’s had some trouble this past year. But you didn’t hear that from me.” Carrie had lowered her voice, as if someone might be listening to her spill the tea on one of her recording artists.
We were business friends, and I really enjoyed working with her on designs. We’d even talked about getting together for drinks or dinner. So, her indiscreet slip was safe with me.
“Mum’s the word.” I steered us away from that topic to safer territory. “Have you seen his art sheet? I’m not sure I can make what he wants work for a country music cover.”
“Since it was such a rush job, I didn’t review it before I sent it to you with the contract. We’ve never had any issues with this agent’s direction.” She paused when I scoffed. On a sigh, she continued, “I’m sure it’s not that bad. I trust your work and know you’ll do it justice.”
I groaned.
“Do what you can, I guess. I’m tied up on a photo shoot the rest of the day, so I won’t be available to offer any extra guidance. Can you meet us at ten Friday morning? We’ll preview it together with the client.”
“I can make that work.” I dreaded it, but I would work like crazy to try to finesse the requested images.
“Perfect. See you then,” Carrie said.
“With bells on,” I mumbled as I said goodbye.
After hanging up, I dropped into the rabbit hole of an image search. Looking for just the right picture that would tie the entire cover together. Except I kept getting distracted as I searched. I typed in key words like ‘Viking on a motorcycle.’ At least that brought up images of a helmet with horns on it. And a cute little boy in motorcycle leathers, wearing the same kind of helmet.
Once I searched for ‘motorcycle man’ at least I got some ideas. Except the images didn’t suit the requirements of the art form.
“I’m in so much trouble with this design,” I whined out loud. I closed the photo site and switched my attention to the work I’d already started.
The background I’d picked was great. A stylized sunset with clouds and sun flares. I dropped the image of the Viking I’d picked earlier and got to work adding details like cowboy boots and jeans. Finally, I settled on using the head of one Viking on the body of another. I worked on shading and altering the model’s face, adding shadows under his cheekbones, smoothing out his jaw. And giving him eyes the color of sea-glass.
When I realized what I was doing, recreating the mystery hiker Naomi claimed was Callan Wilder on this graphic, I shut everything down in disgust.
But even I had to admit, the overall appearance of the cover technically worked well.
Now if only the client would be happy with the result. I still had one day to tweak it. I’d open the design again tomorrow. Based on the art form, my finished project hit the mark and looked really great, but didn’t screamCountry Music Sensation.
As good as the design was, I was concerned that I’d missed the mark. And that only added more twists to the knot of nerves tying up my gut.
4
CALLAN
It was raining on Friday morning; coming down in buckets the way a summer storm in Tennessee could. Thanks to the inclement weather, I was forced to take my truck to the meeting at Bad Dog, instead of my bike. At least I had a rock star spot reserved for me in the parking garage. About ten steps from the elevator. Not that I needed that kind of privilege, but I was grateful I didn’t have to worry about getting drenched on my way into the meeting. Plus, the garage was off-limits to the leeches carrying press credentials. The paps hadn’t been following as closely as they used to, but then again, I hadn’t given them any interesting reason. After Dad passed, I lost interest in everything except my dock, a bottle of whisky, and the sunset.
In the elevator, a kid rocking a sparse beard and wearing an intern badge appeared to not have fared as well. There was a puddle of water at his feet and the guy was shivering.
“Great weather for a duck, huh?” I asked.
“Wish I’d thought to bring a change of clothes. Or an umbrella,” the intern moaned. “These were my good shoes.” He stared at his black, high-top Converse shoes.
I followed his gaze to see the water squelch out as he wiggled his toes. I snorted. “Yeah, those are probably ruined. Get some cowboy boots. Water only gives them character.”
