spending the night, but he’s already pissed, so it’s probably wise not to alienate him any further. He might be a dick, but he’s a dick who’s on my side, fighting to convince the record company to take me seriously.
And yes, I can find another manager if he quits, but I’d rather not switch horses so close to the finish line. When I head to Nashville to lay down the final cuts for this album at a sweet-sounding old studio where I’ve always wanted to record, I don’t want to be thinking about anything but the music.
I nod. “Sure, she can show you which rooms are empty. There are three or four. Feel free to take your pick.”
He inclines his head, his smile returning as he claps his hands together. “Great. Go make magic. I can’t wait to hear what you come up with. I have a feeling I’m going to love it.”
Lifting a hand, I jog toward the studio without saying a word.
I’m not sure he’s going to love it. I’m pretty sure he’s going to be offended as hell, in fact, but I’m trusting his mercenary side to be stronger than his pride.
Chip wants something edgy and catchy he can sell? Hopefully, he wants it badly enough to overlook the fact that assholes like him are my “angry” song’s target.
Either way, I have to write it. The lines of the first verse are already tugging at my chest, demanding my attention, threatening to bail if I don’t get my ass in a chair with a guitar and get going.
The need to capture the music is so intense that I head straight for the studio without running into the house to talk to Colette first. But I’m sure she’ll understand. And now that I’ve made it clear to Chip that his bad behavior wasn’t flying under my radar, I trust he’ll leave her alone until I’m finished.
He’s put a lot of work into launching my solo career. Surely, he wants this to work out as much, if not more, than I do.
Inside the cottage, I close the door, and the silence wraps around me, shutting out the distractions of the outside world. Instantly, the music in my head gets louder and sharper. It’s so clear, all I’ll have to do is take down the notes. This song is going to write itself. That doesn’t happen often, but when it does, I know better than to turn my back on a gift from the creative gods.
I’m all in with this song from now until whenever it decides it’s finished with me.
Excitement humming in my veins, I fire up the board, set the levels, and grab a guitar from the wall. Within five minutes, I’m locked in the soundproof portion of the studio, letting the music flow, so focused on creation I momentarily forget the other important things I should be fighting for.
Chapter Twenty-One
Colette
From my hiding spot behind the kitchen curtains, I watch Zack hurry across the lawn toward the studio, my heart in my throat.
I have a bad feeling about this…
Is it because I’m worried about what’s going to happen to Zack’s career if he can’t find a way to compromise with Chip and the record company? Or is it because Chip gives me the heebie-jeebies, and I’m really not looking forward to socializing with him while Zack’s in the studio?
“Don’t know, Colette,” I mutter beneath my breath, “but you’re about to find out.”
Plastering a smile on my face, I move out from behind the curtains, busying myself with laying out the ingredients for my signature Middle Eastern feast—Persian-spiced lamb shanks with roasted fennel and ginger mashed potatoes.
It’s not difficult to make, necessarily, but every dish has at least three steps, and the lamb takes a little over two hours to slow cook. I need to get started if we’re going to eat at a decent hour.
Hopefully, Chip will find watching a woman cook boring and decide to entertain himself elsewhere.
“Hello again,” he oozes as he steps back inside—even his voice is oily around the edges. “Zack was kidnapped by the muse, but don’t worry, I won’t bother you. I’ve been given strict instructions not to pester you while you’re creating.”
“Oh, it’s fine. You can hang out in here if you want,” I hear myself saying and curse the good manners inspired by years of living with someone who had no manners at all.
I spent my girlhood bending over backward to prove to the world that I wasn’t like my