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“What if they don't like us?” Chase asked, his voice shallow.
“Then they don't like us and we keep playing at our normal venues. Nothing changes,” I stated. “It’s as simple as that.”
Bennett let out a long breath. “Why wouldn’t they like us? We’ll do what Macy suggests and get a crowd there. Have Craig post it on the website that we’re playing. Hype. It. Up.”
“Hypeusup,” Chase corrected, yet again running his fingers through his hair. “This is really happening isn’t it? An agent. Anagentagent. An actual agent from an actual record label is coming to listen to us.”
“Fucking finally,” Jameson said, a breath leaving his lungs as he leaned himself forward. “Five years you guys. Five long years and we are finally getting our break.”
Our break.
After the guys left, leaving me in my office alone, I stayed to finish my actual work. I didn’t get anything done after the phone call from Craig, and my mind was still swimming. Clay had sent over an email of numbers—all ways to appraise the business, with the causal reminder to talk to my mother, and Craig had sent over information on the scout coming. Add those two emails on top of the new contracts and multiple messages from the band and my plate was officially full.
This was something I wanted—something that I had been hoping for so long. I knew that if we were to get signed, I would leave this company and never look back, finally becoming who I was meant to be. This office—this building my dad built from the ground up—had nothing on the stage. The stage was where I belonged.
I knew the guys had felt the same. Bennett hated his nine-to-five, and Chase wanted out of his customer service job. Jameson wanted to travel, and this was his way of doing it. Of course, Macy would join him—those two were tighter than Clay and Ophelia—and having her come along would actually be fun.
I fell back in my chair and spun to look out the window, the snow had started to fall gently, dusting the sidewalk. I took a breath and closed my eyes.
Would we have a tour bus, or fly everywhere and stick to one side of the US? Would we tour aboard? Would we have number one hits that made it on Billboard?
So many what if’s to consider.
So many possibilities.
Chapter Six
-Jamie-
Okay, so,maybea dating app wasn’t the best idea I’d had in a long time. I swiped right on a few guys and got a few matches—mainly creeps—and the messages consisted of “Hey Girl, when can you hook up?”to “You look smokin’ hot in those scrubs.”Needless to say, I didn’t respond to any of them. That is, until Rick Johnson messaged me. He had dark hair, an amazing smile, and blue eyes that put Milo’s to shame. His profile photo was that of him behind a bar top, leaning against it, showing off the tattoos that trailed up his arms.
I never responded so fast to a message before.
Rick and I talked non-stop for two days. We had so much in common, and he asked me so many questions—seeming to be completely focused on what I was saying. I mean, as much as one can through text. He was easy to talk to. He owned a restaurant andsaid he was able to set his own schedule, all he had to do was shift a few things around and, before I knew it, we had a date lined up for Friday. I wasn’t going to get my hopes up, I had to date the man first, and then casually bring up my family’s trip. If we hit it off, who knows, maybe he could be the Daxton I was looking for. He sure as hell looked like a Daxton.
After work on Friday I rushed home to get ready—choosing a simple, black dress, one with a high neckline and no sleeves. Rick and I agreed to meet at the Piano Bar, so he could stay at his restaurant for a few hours before leaving for our date. I showered and curled my hair, feeling nervous. The butterflies rose in my stomach as I slipped on my shoes and locked my front door.
To my surprise the Piano Bar was a little more packed than I thought it would be. I checked the website, I knew the Pianos were playing tonight, but they didn't normally bring in this big of a crowd. I sat down and waved the bartender over, ordering my normal Mango-rita. I quickly glanced at my phone, only to see no new notifications. I was a little early…not to worry, Rick would definitely come.
My drink was placed in front of me and I lightly touched the stem of the glass, pulling it toward me. Tapping my phone screen to life—still no notification—I then turned it face down. This was not the time to overthink.
The lights softly dimmed around me, giving me the indication the pianos were going to start. I took a sip of my drink, and then the guitar notes hit my ears. I coughed and turned towards the stage.
Elliot strummed his guitar, a large smile on his face, with the hair on top of his head—longer than I remember, but the sides still trim around his ears. He winked at the crowd as he began to sing and my stomach fell. I had been avoiding this man for five months. I had checked the schedule of the Piano Bar’s website. I had turned down any invitation that was thrown my way forSavaged Whittakersnights . . . and my successful streak had officially come to an end.
And Elliot was still as handsome as I remember him being.
I took a deep breath and watched their performance for a moment, hoping that because I was sitting at the bar he wouldn't see me—or if he did see me . . . what would happen. He was singing, his sets were longer—he wouldn't break his groove just to come talk to me.
I scrunched my nose at the thought.
But then again, he might.
If I still think about that kiss . . . he has to think about it too.
It was a damn good kiss.
I turned my back to the stage and unlocked my phone, pulling up Madeline’s text thread.
