Spotlight by Eden Finley Page 0,93

can’t see Harley, I know he’s out there. Watching me. Listening to me choke.

Sweat drops off my brow.

Make like Taylor Swift and shake it off, Lyric.

For some reason, my conscience sounds like Ryder.

It eases me.

I think about him telling me to stop fighting everything and do what I enjoy.

After fumbling my way through the last of the original I’m singing, I pull over the stool from the corner of the stage and take a seat.

When I try to get out of my head, I imagine the last time I was truly excited about a song. Not singing a song because I thought it represented who I am and what I want. Not a song that has a meaningful message that I don’t connect with.

My fingers start plucking at the strings as if they have a mind of their own. It’s a melody I wrote, but when I start singing, it’s the words Ryder gave me.

It’s the original on my demo we wrote together.

I hadn’t let it out into the world yet. Not at any of my gigs.

I’ve been holding on to it tighter than I should have.

But as I release the angst and my fears about how I want to make it in this industry through a song disguised as a love ballad, my confidence builds.

The audience reacts, but I can’t tell if it’s positive or negative.

I only hear my guitar and my voice.

I thought that would be a good sign. Usually, there’s bar noise in the background, the steady low hum of a large crowd. Hell, some nights I feel like I’m being completely ignored up here.

Right now, there’s nothing.

It’s as if everyone in the room is collectively holding their breaths.

And when I finish out the song, the silence doesn’t stop.

For a beat or two, I think I’ve walked onto the set of some weird-ass movie where everyone’s gone mute because of some random gas leak or bioweapon attack.

It stretches forever, but in reality it’s probably only seconds before the bar erupts in cheers, whistles, and clapping.

The smile that pulls at my lips is probably boyish and not at all professional. It feels like my face is screaming, “You like me! You really like me!”

I clear my throat and tell myself to act like I’m used to this kind of praise from an audience.

I finish out the rest of my set with the songs from my demo and tell myself to ignore the giant bodyguard man and Harley as I exit the stage and head for my dressing room.

They’re not far behind, though.

I’m pacing the room with my hands on my head trying to dispel the leftover adrenaline from being out there when they enter the room without knocking.

My feet stall when a third person enters the room.

Brix closes the door behind them and stands guard. I guess he’s in bodyguard mode not boyfriend mode.

“Lyric Jones, this is Cameron Verikas,” Harley says.

My mouth dries. My palms fucking sweat.

Cameron Verikas is here. Like, right in front of me. He’s responsible for five of the biggest acts of the last twenty years.

“And judging by the look on your face, I’m guessing you already know who he is,” Harley says.

Cameron … The Cameron Verikas smiles at me. Me! “I’m gonna cut to the chase, kid. I want to sign you and find you a label.”

Harley steps in front of him. “I want to sign you to my label.”

“Together?”

Harley’s pouty bottom lip flattens.

Cameron scoffs. “This guy has no money to give you. And ten percent of nothing is nothing. So no. Not together.”

“I don’t have no money,” Harley says. “I have … little money, which, okay, is next to nothing.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Cameron could get your name in front of some big labels who could write you a big fat check for your first album, that’s true. But I can give you what you want. A label who wants to produce you as you.”

“But you’re both connected to Ryder, so I can’t—”

Harley smiles. “Ryder said you’d say that. I love that man like a brother, but no way would I risk a brand-new label on a favor.”

“I’m looking for a new act,” Cameron says. “I don’t go around throwing offers at mediocre artists because an old client tells me to. We’re businessmen first and foremost. Remember that whenever you believe someone is doing you a favor in this industry, okay? Favors are easy to repay with very little effort. I’ve already done more for you than any favor that’s been asked of me. I