“Fine, let’s just get the fluff recorded, and then I can go home and wash all the positive happy shit off in the shower.”
Brix tries to cover a laugh with a cough.
“It’ll take us ten to get ready for the next track,” my producer says.
“No problem. I’ll go get some water.” I walk out of the sound room, but Jamie is hot on my heels.
“I can get it.”
I let her catch up to me. “Thanks, but I said it more as an excuse to get out of that room for a while.”
She gives me her pity eyes, which I don’t need. “For what it’s worth, I love all the songs you’ve recorded so far.”
“Thanks. Me too.” Which is why it sucks I’m not allowed to use two of them.
I take a plastic cup and fill it from the water cooler.
“Umm …” Jamie shifts from one foot to the other. “So, like, they’re all about Brix, aren’t they?”
I just about choke on my drink. Yeah, she knows—she’s seen us together—but I didn’t think she’d, you know, bring it up right to my face.
“Discretion, Jamie. Geez.”
She looks horrified.
I touch her arm. “I’m messing with you. Sort of. And …” My gaze goes to the closed control room door. “Yeah. They are. Although, not him entirely. The one about the troops was more about people in the military in general. Their sacrifice for God and country and all that.”
“I like that he knows how to handle you.”
“Thanks for calling me a diva.”
“Oh, come on, you know that’s not what I meant.”
I nod. “I do know.”
“You think he’ll stay when the six months are up?”
It’s not a question I haven’t asked myself, but it is one I’m purposefully avoiding. “Logically, no. Unless he still needs the money. I don’t know the full story, but he’s in debt, and apparently this contract will get him back on his feet. He doesn’t really have a reason to sign another contract to work for me after that.”
“Well, there’s you. He could do it for you.”
Also something I’ve tried to tell myself, but I don’t buy it. “Look at him, Jamie. He’s a full-on soldier type who thrives on action. With me, he has to check my damn bedroom like I’m a five-year-old afraid of monsters under my bed.”
Ugh. And this is why I’ve been avoiding thinking about it, because the bottom line is once his contract is over, he’ll be leaving. I don’t think our arrangement will change that. I can’t see anyone picking me as their number one when they know I can’t reciprocate. My number one has always been music.
Brix exits the control booth and makes his way over to us. He, too, has pity in his eyes. “Are you sure you want to stay and keep recording?”
No, but now I’m behind schedule. “I kind of have to if those two songs aren’t going to be included on the album.”
“No, you really don’t. That’s on the label, not on you. It’s their fault if the album isn’t done on time.”
“I appreciate you trying on this one, I really do, but thinking like that is a good way to lose a career. If I slack off even the tiniest bit and the album is late, the only one in jeopardy of pissing people off is me. Most people can’t see past the act to know who’s truly behind it. I put out a half-assed project, I’m the one who gets the blame. Just like all those boy band haters who think we got a choice in what we wore or what we sang.”
Brix steps forward and lowers his voice. “How much longer are you going to kill yourself for them?”
Shit, there he goes with the one question I’ve been asking for the last five years. The first five were good, but I was still new to the industry and had stars in my eyes while wearing rose-colored glasses.
“I don’t know,” I whisper.
“Fight harder for your songs, Harley. You deserve that much.”
“You make it sound so easy.”
“What’s the worst that can happen? They threaten to drop you from the label? You walk away from a shitty situation?”
Jamie, who’s been listening to all of this, butts in. “He has a point. Isn’t this the last album you’re contracted with them for? This could be your out to go to bigger and better labels.”