Page 98 of Sounds Like Love

“I know, I know, ayearlate, but whatever, it’s the Chappell Roan of it all,” Rooney went on. “It’samazing, and I’m sure this might also mean a nom for you … Maybe, I don’t know, Song of the Year? It’s too early but I smell something good on the horizon!”

I sucked in a sharp breath. My heart skipped. “Oh. Oh my god?”

“And,” she went on, “this is the perfect setup and spike for the Grammys.”

Of course it was. This was good—no, this was better than good. This wasperfect.Exactly what I wanted. Even with my stomach turning sickly. It was sickly in a good way, I told myself. This was full steam ahead. This was what my career needed. I’d been nominated for a Grammy before, but maybe I’d win this time? This was …

“Holy shit,” I said, pulling my hand through my hair. “Holy shit, I can’t believe this is real.”

“As real as it comes, Jo. How’re you feeling?”

“Overwhelmed,” I replied truthfully.

She laughed. “You deserve it. We’ll talk more about it when you get back. Getting some good relaxation in over your vacation? How’s your mom?”

Questions I didn’t want to answer. Especially Mom. Especially now. I had started to mull over never going back to LA, but now … I couldn’t pass up these opportunities. Icouldn’t.

“I just finished a song, actually,” I said instead, glancing at the notebook pages.

“Bird?”Sasha asked, but I barely heard him.

Rooney cheered. “Oh, good! I knew going back home would shake you out of your funk! When’s the soonest you can send it to me? What is it? We have artists already champing at the bit …”

I hesitated.Oh.“Well, actually, I think it might already be spoken for …”

She sighed, and I could just see her rolling her eyes. She sounded like she was somewhere busy—car horns blared in the background, people chatted, a city in motion. “Look, if Willa Grey wants it, she has to talk withhermanager and they have to come back to us with abetteroffer—”

“It’s not Willa.”

That surprised her. “Oh?Then whoever it is has no say.”

“No, he does—I kind of wrote it with him.”

“Him?” She sounded curious. “Okay, this is new for you … I’ll bite: Who?”

“Sebastian Fell.”

“Ah …”

I hesitated, chewing on my bottom lip. “What’s wrong?”

“That is not what I expected, honestly. I haven’t heard that name in years!”

“I know. We kinda bumped into each other and one thing led to another and …” I waved my hand in the air. “Stuff happened. But it’s good. I promise it’s good. I can send it to you.”

“And you’re excited?” she asked.

“I am.”

She was quiet for a moment.

“Rooney?”

“Sorry, sorry, I’m thinking, I’m thinking.” And on her end, there was some shifting and muttering. I twirled my finger around my hair nervously. What if she didn’t like this idea? What if it was a bad career move? What if—“So,do you think a cowriting agreement?” she asked.

The worry that had twisted in my chest unwound with relief. “I can do that?”

“Sure, why not? He wants cowriting credit, right? And I assume he’d want to perform the song. Obviously we’ll have stipulations with how long he’ll have the exclusive, but …” I could hear the shrug in her voice. “I don’t know how, but he got you writing again. That’s all I care about, Lark.”

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