Page 1 of The Ballad of Us
Prologue
RHEA
My foot bounces against the marble floor, betraying my nervous energy. Waiting has never been my strong suit, but sitting here in the sterile luxury of the fifteenth floor, summoned by the CEO of Requiem Records without explanation, makes my skin crawl with unease. Never mind that it’s almost the end of my shift, and I’m ready to make the trek home before traffic becomes insane again.
People like me don't get called to executive floors. I'm just one of several assistants buried in the communications department, invisible to the glass-walled offices where real decisions are made. The only time I see the executives is when they sweep through the lobby in their thousand-dollar suits, never bothering to acknowledge the worker bees who keep their empire running.
The silence stretches until it becomes suffocating. It's broken only by the whisper of the distant hum of Nashville below. My palms are damp, so I wipe them against my black pencil skirt, wondering if I've somehow screwed up badly enough to warrant termination. The thought sends a chill down my spine. I can't afford to lose this job. Not when I'm finally building a stable life, and one that's all mine.
"Ria Blake?"
The voice cuts through my thoughts, crisp and professional. I look up to see a woman approaching. Her platinum blonde hair is pulled back into a high, tight ponytail. Everything about her screams corporate efficiency, from her pressed blazer to her perfectly manicured nails.
I've never seen her before, but her presence on the fifteenth floor marks her as an important enough person to matter. Forcing a smile to cover my confusion, I stand and smooth down my skirt, meeting her at the edge of the reception area.
"Yes, hi. I'm Rhea." I make sure to pronounce it correctly, Ray, though I already know she'll get it wrong. They always do.
"Nice to meet you, Ms. Blake. I'm Paige McConnell, an artist liaison." Her handshake is firm and businesslike, the kind that has been practiced in corporate seminars.
I accept her hand and shake it with just enough pressure to seem professional without being aggressive. "Nice to meet you, too."
An uncomfortable silence settles between us as her gaze travels over me, cataloging details I can't begin to guess at. She wears a calculating expression that makes my stomach twist.
"I suppose you're wondering why you're here?" Her tone suggests she’d rather get to the meat of things.
A nervous laugh escapes before I can stop it. "Yes, ma'am."
"Walk with me, Rhea." She turns sharply on her designer heels, already moving before I can respond.
I lengthen my stride to keep pace, my heart hammering against my ribs as we navigate the hallway. Everything up here is pristine and sterile. White walls are broken only by gold records in expensive frames, each one representing someone's dreams.
"Tell me, Rhea, are you familiar with Case in Point?" She can’t be serious.
The question catches me off guard. Of course, I know them. You'd have to be living under a rock not to know the Grammy-winning Southern rock band that's been dominating the charts for the past few years.
"Yes, I'm familiar." I keep my voice neutral, noncommittal. Getting excited about rock stars isn't my style, and I have a sneaking suspicion that showing any enthusiasm would be a mistake.
"We have a situation. I know it's last-minute notice, but you came highly recommended from the communications department. The fact is, we're short-staffed. And we can't exactly call a temp agency. Can you imagine getting that assignment on a Thursday morning? For obvious reasons, we can't slide just anyone into this role without expecting things to go sideways fast." She turns her head to look at me, eagerly waiting for my reply.
My pulse quickens, though I'm not sure why. "I understand."
"You'll need to sign an NDA, of course." Another expectant look.
"Of course." I'm playing along because I have to, even though I have no idea what game we're playing.
"Excellent." Paige pushes through a set of frosted glass double doors with the kind of dramatic flair that belongs in movies. "Here she is."
Every head in the room turns toward us, toward me. The urge to find a hole to crawl in overcomes me. Six pairs of eyes land on me with varying degrees of interest and curiosity, and I suddenly feel like a specimen under a microscope.
Six gorgeous men study me with casual attention that comes from being used to having people stare at them. The room practically hums with energy that only comes from talent and success, making the air feel thinner and harder to breathe.
I wasn't prepared for this when I got dressed this morning. Hell, I wasn't ready for any of this.
"Hi, I'm Rhea." My voice comes out smaller than I'd like, and my wave nearly throws me off balance. I regain my footing before I can humiliate myself completely.
One of the men steps forward immediately, confidence radiating from every line of his body. His light brown hair hangs past his ears, not long enough to pull back with a band, but not short either. "Andrew Garrison, band manager." His handshake is firm and professional. "Thank you for helping us out on such short notice. We'll take good care of you."
The room erupts into conversations, some in person, others on phones. Andrew's mouth is moving, explaining something about schedules and logistics, but the words fade into background noise as my brain tries to process what's happening.
