The Rock Star's Baby Bargain - Lili Valente Page 0,58
wouldn’t leave my dog alone in a car with him, let alone the woman I love, “but Colette’s already got a ride home. Her friend Theo is coming to pick her up on Saturday, which will give me an entire week to write those shiny happy rock songs you want.”
“They don’t have to be happy,” Chip says, sounding unconvinced. “Probably better if they’re not. Angry would be good. We need some edgy stuff to balance out all the John Denver vibes you’re giving off with the slow songs.”
I snort, the comment too ridiculous to offend me. “My stuff sounds nothing like John Denver.” My forehead wrinkles. “Are you sure you’re listening to what I sent over? Not something from another client?”
“Of course I am.” He rolls his eyes with a tight laugh. “And okay, yeah, it doesn’t sound like John Denver, but all the nature and the woman I love stuff has a Denver flavor. And that shit went out in the seventies for a reason. Because it’s boring. Modern people don’t want to hear about how your lover is like a sunrise. They want drama and angst and catchy choruses they can sing along to. They want you to surprise them, but in a way they expect, you know? Like that girl who says duh in the middle of her song. The kids love that shit. You need something like that, something fun but still jaded.”
My head is spinning. I truly have no fucking idea how to respond to that steaming pile of bullshit.
Finally, I ask him, “When did you decide I needed to appeal to kids? That was never Lips on Fire’s demographic, and I don’t see that changing for my solo work. That’s not the kind of music I write.”
“But it could be,” he says. “And I don’t mean kid music like the Backstreet Boys or any of the boy band shit. I just mean something that’s going to get that younger demographic excited. They’re the ones who make things go viral. They can launch you to the top of the charts without the record company spending a dime.” He exhales, swiping a hand across the back of his thick neck. “And honestly, we’re going to need that, buddy. They’re threatening to cut our already nonexistent promotion budget. When I say they aren’t feeling the soft stuff, I mean they really aren’t feeling the soft stuff.”
I grunt but don’t respond, distracted by the bright red flush spreading from his cheeks up to his forehead. He’s put on at least twenty pounds since I saw him last, and Chip wasn’t a small guy to begin with. At five feet six, he’s probably pushing two hundred pounds, making him nearly as wide as he is tall. And he’s not the kind of big guy who’s in great shape and at ease in his healthy-at-any-size body; he’s the kind who looks like he’s headed for a heart attack before forty.
Chip’s work hard, drink hard, kindness-and-exercise-optional lifestyle is catching up with him, and all the money he’s hoarded won’t be able to buy back what he’s throwing away.
The thought sparks an idea, and the notes of a new chorus float through my head.
Chip wants me to write something angry and hard?
Well, I just might be able to oblige him.
I take a step back toward the recording studio. “I think I have something. Let me pop into the studio for an hour or so and see what I can do.” I start to turn, but pause, returning my full attention to Chip’s face and pointing a stern finger at his chest. “Don’t bother Colette while I’m gone.”
He lifts his hands in the air again with a startled laugh. “Jesus. Of course! What do you take me for, man? I’m not going to mess with your girl.”
“I’m serious, Chip,” I say, refusing to let him laugh this off like I’m the crazy one. “Don’t look at her inappropriately, don’t stand too close to her, and don’t ask her to get you anything. She’s my guest, not your servant. If you make her feel uncomfortable in any way, you’re the one who’ll be gone, not her. Are we clear on that?”
His grin goes stiff, and anger flashes behind his pale blue eyes. “I said, I get it. I’ll go straight up to my room and work on email. I assume it’s okay to ask her which room is free for me?”
I want to tell him I’d prefer he make tracks after dinner instead of