well-respected music magazine, Layla. Do you know people read us to get an objective opinion about the music from reviewers whose expertise they value?”
“Yes. I know that, Gabriel. I think I even complimented you on your writing. If you recall.”
He moved an inch closer. “Yet, it’s funny what passes for journalism when you lose that objectivity.”
I stopped looking for ways to get past and met his eyes. “I’m sorry?”
“I read your article this morning. If you can call it that.” His jaw clenched. “You basically just gave free advertising to your boyfriend. And ‘hands off, ladies’? I don’t think I’ve ever read that printed in a music magazine in my life.”
Was he truly offended as a writer? Or just jealous? I rolled my eyes. “Are you fucking kidding me, Gabe? This very magazine once printed a fifty-page spread of the pretty boys of rock. You know who was in it? Micah Sinclair.”
“The fact that you know that is troubling.”
“The fact that you find it troubling means you don’t know your audience.”
He glowered at me, then moved out of my way. As I passed, he hissed, “Maybe I should write a balanced point of view of that new song you just posted.” His threat registered, and I paused long enough for him to know he’d made an impact. “The drumming sounded . . . what would we say? Maybe like a poor attempt to copy The Who?”
I tried not to laugh. Shane would no doubt find that insult rather amusing. Complimentary even. I flung the back of my hand dramatically across my forehead. “Oh, no. Please don’t compare him to Keith Moon.”
Then I shot him a death glare and stalked back to the kitchen in a much shittier mood. I muttered to myself, “Douche!” I let it go and focused on cramming the little coffee packet into the machine. I slammed the flap closed a little too hard. As the coffee sputtered out, sending lava-hot drops onto my skin, a Walking Disaster notification ringtone exploded.
I grabbed my phone to silence it and quickly check what the emergency was.
Ash had texted: Is that where you were last week? OMFG. Why didn’t you tell me?
Crap. I should have given her some warning. Now I was going to look like I didn’t trust her. Or worse. Like we weren’t close enough friends to share that kind of news.
I texted back: It was top secret. I lowered the volume on my phone, knowing she’d want more intel, and sure enough, it vibrated seconds later.
How did it happen?
I befriended Jo. That was the truth at the end of the day.
Congrats! It’s amazing. Can I post it to the forum?
It’s a public article, isn’t it?
Then I sent a follow up because I didn’t think she’d realize I couldn’t be connected to my own self. Don’t mention that I’m Pumpkin, okay?
Aye aye.
I shoved my phone in my back pocket and finished making my coffee, but I’d barely set it down on my desk before I heard my name.
“Layla.”
I craned my neck around to find Lars standing in his doorway. He waved me into his office then leaned against his desk, motioning me to a chair. I worried I was in for round two of Gabriel’s harangue
“Really loved the article. You totally captured the spirit I was aiming for. I’ve read fan blogs that had that same genuine enthusiasm, and already, I’ve seen a lot of positive responses in the comments section. I followed the trackbacks to some of the sites where the link was dropped. Fans wish they could have been you.”
I beamed, relieved and proud. “That’s great, Lars. Thank you.”
“You say you landed a similar gig with Walking Disaster?”
“It was Adam’s idea actually.”
“Oh, was it?’ He rubbed his chin. “Hmm. It got me to thinking. This seems to be something that bands might find useful.”
“I can see that. It’s free publicity for them.” I realized Gabe had said the exact same thing moments before. But how was that a bad thing? “Micah said it’s a great opportunity to connect with fans, but also to float some experimental songs and get honest feedback. Plus, it’s interesting content for you.”
I shifted in my seat because my hands suddenly wanted to talk for me, like Shane was rubbing off on me.
“That’s why I suggested it in the first place.” I didn’t correct him. Instead, I waited for him to piece together the bits of information and draw the conclusion I was hoping he was leading toward.