Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 93301 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 467(@200wpm)___ 373(@250wpm)___ 311(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 93301 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 467(@200wpm)___ 373(@250wpm)___ 311(@300wpm)
“So you’re just going to trot along behind me? Lurking?”
“Yes.”
I lowered my shades over my eyes again. “This vacation sucks.”
“Don’t be so dramatic,” he said. “You won’t even know I’m there.” A hint of a smirk. “Unless you want to race me.”
“Xander! I’m not racing you! Your legs are twice as long as mine!”
“Come on, I’ll give you a head start.”
“You sound like Kevin—who always lied about the head starts, by the way.”
“Well, I play fair.” The big oaf tapped my nose. “You know, you’re getting kinda pink out here.”
Swatting his hand away with my book, I touched my nose—it did feel tender and hot. “Dammit, I put sunscreen on.”
“Maybe you should re-apply. Or wear a hat.”
“Maybe you should stop acting like my mom and go make your lunch.” I watched him walk away, and only when he was inside the house did I set my book down and pull out my sunscreen. And the hat.
I re-applied my SPF, plopped the hat on my head, then took the notebook and pencil from the bag. After rereading what I’d written last night, I found I didn’t love it as much and turned to a fresh page. But instead of writing down new words, all I did was doodle.
Xander came back outside carrying a plate with a sandwich on it and an energy drink. He dropped into the chair opposite me. Since I was wearing dark sunglasses and the big hat, I pretended not to look at him while I surreptitiously let my eyes wander over his wide shoulders, broad chest, and big hands wrapped around the sandwich.
“Whatcha writing?” he asked. “New song?”
“Yeah. It’s called ‘My Vacation was Ruined by a Big Bossy Goon.’”
He laughed. “Sing it for me.”
All I’d scrawled was nonsense, including a suspicious number of X’s. Disconcerted, I flipped to the next page. “I’m still working on it.”
“So you write your own stuff?”
“Yes. Not that the label lets me record any of it.”
“Why not?”
I pressed my lips together and started scribbling again—spirals this time, not X’s. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Okay.”
But words came tumbling out. “They have all these bullshit reasons, and some of them contradict each other—this song is too country, that one isn’t country enough, this one won’t get commercial acceptance, that one is too off brand. It’s so frustrating.”
“I thought you didn’t want to talk about it.”
“It’s like no one listens to me when I’m in the room,” I went on. “I’ve always known that to succeed, you have to dream big, but you also have to be willing to compromise. You have to listen to the people who know better than you do about what will sell records. You have to say yes to them. Sign their contracts. Sing their songs. Be easy to work with—especially if you’re a woman. A man makes demands, he’s a boss. A woman does the same, she’s a diva. Or worse.”
A big flock of birds flew overhead, squawking loudly. I watched them disappear over the treetops in a perfect V.
“What demands would you make?”
“For one, to record my own songs. For another, I’d like to choose my producers. I’d like more of a say in my cover art. My video shoots. My choreography. But I’m scared to stand up for myself,” I said, and suddenly I was admitting to this total stranger what I couldn’t even say to Wags. “I feel like I’ve become something I never intended to be and don’t particularly like. But if I say that, I’ll sound ungrateful.”
“It’s not ungrateful to want a say in your career.” Xander set his plate aside and folded his hands on his chest. His long legs were stretched out in front of him, crossed at the ankle.
“I know, but they have all the power. They own me and all my music. My contract is up, and everyone is pressuring me to sign the new deal, and I don’t know what to do.”
“Sounds like you gotta tell them all to fuck off and sing what you want. That’s what I’d do.”
I shook my head. “You don’t understand what it’s like. I’m twenty-nine already. If I started pushing back, they can just move on to the next girl singing for a few bucks at the county fair. There’s a hundred of them in every small town. And they’re just as pretty, just as talented, and just as hungry as I was.”
His shoulders twitched. “Guess that’s a risk you’d have to be willing to take.”
“It’s not just myself I’d put at risk, but everyone who works for me too. I feel responsible for a lot of people.” As always, when I let myself think about this stuff, my stomach began to ache. “If I get dropped from the label, what happens to them?”
“It’s not like they’re your kids.”
“Many of them are like family, though. And they count on me. Abandoning people who need you is selfish and disloyal.”