borrow a guitar?” I point to the wall where he has a line of guitars that cost more than my car. Then again, that’s not hard considering I don’t have a car.
He holds out his arm to them. “Whichever one you want.”
They’re intimidating. I run my hand over them all and pick the one I think is the least expensive. It’s older-looking.
Then I freak out about whose guitar it might be and wonder if maybe it’s worth more than all the shinier ones in there.
Forget about the guitar, Lyric.
When I open the door to the booth, I breathe in the scent of felt and soundproofing foam.
It’s intimidating and exhilarating. It makes me freeze and take it all in.
“The headphones won’t bite you,” Ryder says through the intercom.
I narrow my eyes. “How fired will I be if I flip you off?”
“Don’t think of me as Kaylee’s dad right now. Think of me as your producer. We’re in this together, okay?”
“Okay.”
The lights in Ryder’s sound booth dim, but I want to see him.
“Can you leave those up?”
He reappears again. “Scared of the dark?”
“Nope. I want to see your face when I sing the fuck out of this song.” I want to try to get him to react the way I did.
“Rolling, so ready when you are.”
A loud breath leaves me, echoing into the microphone. “Uh, guess that was picked up, huh?”
A chuckle comes through the speaker. “Relax. I can only guess, but I’m assuming the reason you bomb in auditions is because of nerves. Make like Tay-Tay and shake them off.”
Easy for him to say.
“Have fun,” Ryder says. “Ready to go when you are.”
Here we go.
Chapter Eleven
Ryder
There are … no … words.
With just a guitar and his voice, Lyric connects me to the song, to the words, and to his soul.
I’m professional enough to focus on my job and drown out the twanging in the guitar and amplify his rasp to get the perfect sound while trying not to get lost in it all, but I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t a tiny bit distracted by him.
I’m distracted by the golden hair around his face, falling loose out of his man bun.
I’ve never seen Lyric with his hair down, but suddenly I want to.
And now I have a vision of him releasing his hair tie and shaking his head in slow motion while piercing me with his hazel eyes.
Through the glass, he smirks at me as if he can read my mind. Shit, I hope he can’t see what’s going on in here right now.
It takes me a second to realize the song is over.
I fumble to end the recording and give him a thumbs-up.
“How was that?” he asks.
How was it?
I don’t think there are enough words to describe what he’s done to me with this one song.
I clear my throat. “Come hear it for yourself.” I beckon him into the audio room.
He hangs up the headphones and puts the guitar back on the wall with the others and comes to take his seat once again.
I didn’t say anything when he chose it, but that guitar was the one I used on tour with Eleven.
Watching him walk into the booth like a scared little deer caught in headlights was kind of cute, but now I can’t tear my gaze away from him as he walks out all confident, biting his lip a little nervously. If he was anyone else besides Kaylee’s nanny, I’d probably crawl into his lap and offer myself up as a snack.
But he is Kaylee’s nanny, so I won’t do that. Think about it, sure, but I can’t actually do it.
Nope.
Stop staring at his lap, Ryder.
“Ready?” I ask.
“Yes. No. Maybe?”
I smile and don’t give him the option. I hit the playback button.
I’ve produced for a few newbs the label has sent me over the past few months, and one thing I’ve noticed is the first time an artist hears the roughest take they’ll ever have, they’re usually too excited about having a proper recording to really analyze the technical aspects, but as I watch Lyric listen to his voice, to the guitar, and to Hozier’s words, I can tell all those nitpicky things are running through his mind.
“It’s a bit rough there,” he says when he hears a part where he goes a tad off-key.
“No one ever uses their first take. We’ll redo it all. But how does it sound? How does it feel?”
“It feels unbelievable. It sounds not as sellout-y as I thought it would.”
“You’ll be