Page 8 of Cleats and Pumps

6

Chapter 6

“So,youreadyforthis?” Anton asked as we drove through the busy streets of Manhattan.

I shrugged. “I guess. Honestly, I don’t know what to expect.”

“Work. You should expect long, frustrating hours of work.”

I chuckled. “Can it be that bad?” I asked.

He glanced over at me. “Listen, Linc, I know this is new for you, and in your world, you pop out a song, hand it to the artist and let go. That’s not what will be happening here. Rule by committee is the best way to describe things. Sure, you’ll have the creative control you asked for, but at the end of the day, we have to satisfy investors, producers, and a plethora of very opinionated performers. Not to mention the music and dialogue will have to be choreographed for a dance routine.”

“So, no playing around, then?” I asked, not even thinking about sex, but when I caught the blush on Anton’s neck, I smiled. Maybe the experience would be fun after all.

“There’s a lot to do, but I’ll guide you through it,” he said quickly, saving face and ignoring my accidental sexual innuendo.

It took forever to get to Anton’s brownstone, as he called the pretty townhouse we pulled up in front of.

I surveyed the opulent home before me—immaculate landscaping with built-in concrete structures shaped like big urns. I glanced up and down the street and immediately knew this was an affluent area. Knowing real estate in New York, I could only imagine what the place cost.

“I’ll show you where you’ll be sleeping and introduce you to our team. I hope you don’t mind, but I asked them to come over to get started immediately.”

“No, of course not. That’s why I’m here.”

“Good, then come with me.”

I followed him inside and sighed at how beautifully designed it was. My home in Nashville was an eclectic mix of odds and ends that I found pretty or functional. I didn’t pay much attention to design—a byproduct of living in a trailer on stilts until I sold my first song.

The brownstone was perfectly designed. Clearly, Anton was a professional designer, or he’d hired one. Everything matched, and the entire aesthetic was minimalist.

We walked up a flight of stairs and then another into an attic space, and when he opened the door, I gasped. The space was gorgeous. There were four windows and a giant bed in the middle.

The furniture was placed beautifully, accenting the open floor plan. “This is your bathroom. There are towels and even toiletries in case you forgot anything. If you have, just let me know. My assistant Charles will pick up anything you might need.”

I nodded and put my bag next to the bed. The expensive-looking duvet was cream and I was afraid to put my bag on it for fear of leaving stains from my long morning of travel.

“Feel free to freshen up,” Anton began, but I turned around and realized we were standing just a hairbreadth apart. “Um,” Anton said, his face flushing as he stepped back. “When you’re done, come down to the main floor. We’ll be in the conservatory.”

I stepped closer, amazed at my audacity, and whispered, “Maybe you can show me around when it’s just the two of us.”

Anton swallowed hard, then nodded. The energy between us was electric. “Yes, when it’s just the two of us,” he replied. For a delightful moment, I thought he might kiss me, but it passed, and he turned toward the stairs. “If you need anything, just let me know.”

With that, he disappeared down the stairs. “At least he’s as affected by me as I am by him,” I whispered.

I did a quick tour of the room and unpacked, mostly to give myself a moment for my hard-on to cool down after the sexual exchange between Anton and me.

I went to the bathroom and splashed water on my face. The flight to New York had been a good one. I had the money and no one else to spend it on, so I’d splurged on a first-class ticket.

That meant I wasn’t achy and grumpy like the other passengers as we exited the plane. I looked at myself in the mirror, spruced up my hair, and brushed my teeth because flying dehydrated me, and I was always afraid I’d get stinky breath. Then, I walked down the stairs and into the room Anton had called a conservatory.

Anton and two other men turned toward me. “Guys, this is Linc. Linc, meet Jim and Rodrick.”

Anton told me what each man did, and I was surprised to find myself anxious about the day. We were going to turn my songsand poorly-written screenplay into a for-real musical draft, and damn, I couldn’t wait.

7

Chapter 7

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