Spotlight by Eden Finley Page 0,24

want to get into this with him. “That’s not what I mean.”

“Mm, isn’t it?”

“Not this time.” I stand. “Look, I’ve said it before, but apparently I have to say it again. I didn’t take this job for your connections. I don’t need them.”

“Don’t you?” His lips twitch.

How this guy can be patronizing while trying to be nice is beyond me.

“No. I don’t. I’ll do this on my own time.”

“Fair enough.” Ryder stands too and takes small steps until he’s right in front of me. I’m only the tiniest bit shorter than him—not even an inch—so we come face-to-face.

He hasn’t shaved for a few days, so there’s scruff on his face that frames his perfectly plump lips even more.

Not what you should be focused on, Lyric.

“You might not like how I got my career,” Ryder starts. “You might think signing to a label and doing as they say is selling out, but if you fight every single little thing and refuse to compromise on trivial things like your clothes or your hair or your image, you won’t go far in this industry.”

I swallow hard. “I know you didn’t mean that to sound like a threat, but either way, I’m okay with that. I’d rather die a struggling musician and stand on my principles than become a shell of the person I used to be and die not knowing who I truly am anymore. I’m not going to kill myself changing and conforming to their demands only to land on my ass anyway.”

Ryder assesses me, taking in my words. He goes to say something, but I cut him off.

“Can we drop this? Please? I’m going to see if Kaylee needs help cleaning because that’s my job here.”

Ryder looks confused as I leave the room.

I never asked for him to step in and help, and I never asked for his opinion.

My footsteps vibrate along the floor down the hall, but that’s not enough to distract Kaylee, who isn’t cleaning like she should be but playing with the very toys she’s supposed to be putting away.

Not that I can blame her. I have about the same attention span when doing something I don’t want to.

Like talking about why I both hate and love music. Why it’s important for me not to conform.

I won’t compromise myself the way my father did.

Not only for me but for my mom. It’s the one promise I made to her before I left Fresno for college. I told her I wouldn’t let the industry change me.

I think the only reason she let me go was because Chord already lived in LA and could keep an eye on his little brother for her.

“Your feet are mad,” Kaylee says. She looks up at me with her big green eyes, all innocence and fear like I’m mad at her.

I sit next to her, gently taking her doll away. “Shouldn’t we be putting Mrs. Silly Face away?”

She yanks the doll back. “She does not have a silly face.”

“I thought that was her name!”

She tries to hide her giggle. “It’s Mrs. Silence because she’s one of my only toys that doesn’t make noise.”

“Let me guess. Daddy totally named her, didn’t he?”

Ryder appears from the hallway. “He sure did. She also has a teddy bear called Mr. Quiet. They’re in love.”

I gasp. “Scandalous.”

I can pretend I’m not annoyed in front of Kaylee. It’s not so much that him offering to help is annoying, but it’s that he’s just like every other person I’ve met in the industry.

There are the labels who run the music biz and the managers who try to keep both the labels and artists happy, but it’s always the artist who has to change, adapt, and become what people want.

When did art become about what sells the most albums?

I know it’s been that way for a long time, but I want to be able to express myself with all that I am, not who everyone else wants me to be.

This is probably why after graduating from Almost Famous, I’m floundering.

Ryder probably thinks I’m still the pretentious guy he met on day one, but I have my reasons.

Maybe one day I’ll explain them to him, but right now I want to focus on Kaylee and my job here.

Yeah, that doesn’t last.

“Bub, can you go wash up for dinner?” Ryder asks.

I jump up. “I’ll get started on making it.”

Kaylee runs off. Anything to get out of tidying this room.

Ryder follows me.

Damn it.

“I’m sorry,” he says.

I side-eye him as I get out chicken breasts and