Page 134 of Hope & Harmony

He looked vaguely familiar, but I was too tired to really think too much about it until he walked in closer and sat in Gerald’s chair, spinning toward me like he owned the place. “Nice to see you.”

See me? As in he’d seen me before?

All the air left my body. Muscles spread down his forearms. Why would the universe punish us like that? He was fit, like super fit, and his face was chiseled like he’d found a doctor who knew how to shape liketheDavid. I looked down at his fingers as they gripped the chair and swallowed. Oh God, the veins in his arms.

They moved as if his body was so jacked and hydrated that they had to wave when exposed.

Gerald poked his head in again. “Sorry to interrupt the silence, but Hi”—the guy in the chair spun around and shook his head—“this artist is from an incredible K-pop group. He just got back from the military, treat him right, or you’ll probably be fired.” He laughed. “No, but I’m serious. I can’t fake laugh anymore, it hurts my soul too much. He’s here to record one of your demos, the one that dipshit...” He looked over his shoulder. “Sorry, thought I heard a noise and didn’t want to have to carry his puke again. Don’t ask. Anyway, he’s going to record the last song you were working on, he hand-picked it, called up the label and studio, and booked you last minute, have fun kids.” He shut the door before I could yell that I needed food, to pee, and a shot of tequila. I’d been working for over twelve hours already with a rapper who was not, in fact, a rapper!

The oddly familiar random K-pop dude leaned in, but I didn’t make actual eye contact. “My bandmates are coming in a week, but I’m performing my solo and hopefully a new song for the group for Award Season. So you see...” He grinned at me like he knew me. “...it’s a win-win!”

I waved him off. “Listen, I don’t have you anywhere on my schedule.” I grabbed my phone from my pocket just when my mentor and boss poked his head into the studio.

Another knock sounded while Gerald interrupted yet again. “Sorry, just had to add...be nice to Hills, he just got out of the military, maybe eat some candy? Get that blood sugar up?” I almost threw something at him when I realized.

Hills?

Why did that sound familiar? Hills, Hills, Hills.

The Hills are Alive...with the sound of.

Shit.

I forced a smile as Hills turned and stood. “It’s cool, man, sorry I got here a bit early.”

“Oh, she doesn’t mind.” Gerald waved me off.

She does, she one hundred percent does. “Plus, we just had an opening, stay as long as you want.” Or leave, buy me ramen, a hot dog, beer, seven shots of espresso, a puppy, just don’t stay any longer.

He checked his watch. “Looks like she has around two free hours, go over the tracks we discussed, and when the rest of the group comes in, we can start planning from there. We don’t have a lot of time, but I know you’ve been listening to all of the demos that have been sent to you for the last few months, so it should go pretty quickly. You know the label’s still against your plan of debuting your song before the group’s, but it might add in some excitement, so they gave you the go-ahead. Make it great, text me if you need anything. You’re in good hands.”

I almost gasped. As if this random stranger ever touched my hands.

Hills, was it? He got up and moved toward Gerald. Up until this moment, he’d been the best mentor.

Ugh, don’t, just don’t.

Don’t do it, don’t do the bro slap on the back.

Gerald’s hand moved.

Hills didn’t dodge.

Ah, and the heavens rejoiced at two more bros being bros while I had to sit and watch.

I turned back toward the soundboard, gently set my phone down on some free space next to my already half-empty Americano with its pitiful lack of ice, and stared straight ahead as the door clicked shut.

I smelled his cologne again, like a wave I couldn’t escape; it was clear like vanilla but had a bit of a spicy edge to it as well. He was warm, too, not that he was touching me, but he was close enough that I could feel the heat emanating from him. “So, should we start?”

No. I wanted to scream. I hated when this happened with VIPs—when I had no heads up, and no say in anything.

Grinding my teeth, I clicked on the file of the song we’d just used. “Sure.” I hoped my smile was sweet, demure. “If you can make this song work for you, then I’ll work with you, if you suck balls and waste my time, then you walk. Deal?”

He suddenly stood, sending his chair spiraling backward toward the couch. “So, you want me to nail it, and only then I get the supreme pleasure of working with you, Lyric? Did you want me to do it blindfolded, too? Should I play all the instruments and lay the track myself, no not enough time, how about a compromise? I’ll do the rap part first and I’ll do it better than the last guy that was in here.”

I snorted, should I clue him in that the last guy was drunk off his ass and most likely floating into the universe while touching both stars and grass at the same time? “Yeah, be my guest—that’s the hardest part, and something tells me you’re not the main rapper in your group.” It was a guess. Seriously though, why did he look so familiar? Had every single person I’d worked with in the last three and a half years suddenly melted together into one giant person?

I finally looked at him, really looked at him, our eyes locked. I counted the seconds, one, two, three.

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