Page 125 of Burn the Wild

“Of course. I’m sorry. This is Geneva Ritchie.”

My eyes go wide. “Holy shit. It’s an honor.” Geneva Ritchie is one of the biggest names in indie music—a two-time Grammy award winner. She writes her own music, chooses her own clothes. No asshole manager screaming at her, no one cutting off her bank account. Dream career, right there.

“No way. The honor is all mine. Look, Reese, I’m not sure if you’ve gotten my message. I’ve been trying to get in touch with you for the last six months.”

Damn Gavin.

“I know the offer isn’t much, but right now the idea is still in its incubation period, which means I’ve had to get creative with funding.”

Gripping the phone tightly to my ear, I move to stand in the shade of an oak tree. “I’m sorry, but I need to stop you there. I haven’t heard anything about an offer.” I shake my head. “If you’ve tried to go through someone else, there’s a good chance I didn’t get it. So it’s best to tell me.”

Geneva inhales like she’s gearing up for a spiel.

“I’m looking to start up an indie record label run by women and that only represents women—a safe space for female artists. A space where we control our art and public image, not someone else defining us. But to do this, I need backing. I know calling you up for money is awkward. But it’s also an opportunity.”

It sounds beautiful.

“I’m searching for a few partners, co-founders. Right now, it’s me, Alabama Forrester, and Daisy Boots.” Her voice perks up. “And, hopefully, you.”

“Why me?”

“I love your music.”

I laugh slightly, surprised by how my heart warms. “You do?” Between Geneva and Ford, that’s all the fan club I need.

She laughs. “Hell yeah, Reese. It’s sappy pop-country, but sometimes that’s what I need on the night I have a bottle of white wine and want to dance around in my underwear.”

I smile. “I’m flattered.”

“Obviously, this is all new and you don’t have to agree over the phone. I can send you a contract and our business plan to review. Take your time.”

I bite my lip. It feels like the sound in my brain is cranked up to full-throttle. “Do backers get a say in what the label does?”

“Of course.” Curious, she asks, “Do tell, Reese.”

“What if…what if we offered courses. Like music production and business classes for young girls looking to get into the industry?”

A long silence stretches between us, then she says, “I fucking love that.”

I smile.

Soon, I’ll have enough money to do what I want. And if I can save one girl from making the same mistakes I did, it will be worth it.

“Put everything together,” I tell her. “I’ll send it to my lawyer to review.”

“Absolutely.”

After we hang up, I stand there, breath held, phone clutched to my heart. Did that really happen? I look up at the sky. The black hole is smaller than it’s ever been.

Ford.

I have to tell him.

Everything.

High on my conversation with Geneva, I rush across the ranch, searching for Ford. I spot Ruby heft a saddle and trek toward the pasture. Two horses are tied to the fence.

“How was your class?” I ask.

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