Page 79 of Voice to Raise
“They’ve gone the last two years without incident. No reason they won’t return if they want to.”
Malik shot me a glance before focusing on Pauletta. “Why would they not want to?”
“Meg, their drummer, just had a baby. She and Big Mac will have their hands full.”
Big Mac was also a member of the band.
“Don’t they have a tour before then?”
“A smaller one, yes. Culminating in a performance at Massey Hall in Toronto.”
“Rocktoberfest is just one performance.” I pressed my knee to Malik.
“That’s true. I believe if they want a spot, it’s theirs. Several other bands won’t be attending, however. Also, they’ve opened up more slots since the event continues to grow in size.” Pauletta held my gaze.
“You think we have a shot?” Creed had rolled his contract into a cone. Like a child would so they could shout through it in an attempt to make themselves sound louder. Naturally, I hoped he didn’t plan to do that tonight. He always was the wild card in this group.
“I do.” Pauletta’s gaze traveled from every member of the band, but lingered on Malik.
Interesting. Does she realize he sort of leads this ragtag group? Likely.
“There’s a but.” Malik again pressed his knee to mine. “There’s always a but.”
“Carson Keriakos.”
Hell, even I knew the name. I might not have inhaled sharply—like every member of the band did—but I was damn curious.
“What about Carson Keriakos?” Reese scanned the contract with intense interest, her brow furrowing.
Creed dropped his to the table and picked up his hot chocolate. “Before it gets cold.” He took a sip.
I scanned the contract, specifically looking for the name.
Pauletta put her briefcase next to her chair and picked up her mug as well, taking a sip. “Mr. Keriakos is offering to produce your next album.”
Creed pumped his first in the air.
Reese managed to rescue the hot chocolate he nearly tipped—by dropping her copy of the contract.
“Uh, sorry.” Creed didn’t appear to be the least bit repentant.
Malik had assured me, quite some time ago, that they had every cleaning product known to man, and if for some reason he couldn’t get a stain out, his cleaner likely could.
I was still grateful to Reese.
“What’s the catch?” I placed the contract on my lap and snagged my hot chocolate. I knew, of course. Had absorbed enough through my scan of the contract.
“It’s not really a catch—” Pauletta cut herself off, clearly having spotted my arched eyebrow. “He’s asking for seven months.”
Freddie whistled.
Reese blinked.
Creed fist pumped again.
Malik inhaled sharply.
“Seven months is a long time. That would be the beginning of January until the end of July. I don’t know much about music, but I don’t believe it takes seven months to produce an album.” I wanted to ensure we were all on the same page.
