Page 21 of Next Time I Fall (Excess All Areas 2)

Quickly, she changed the quote.

Life is not a fairy tale. If you lose your moonboot at midnight, you’re drunk.

Hopefully Jase would see it and would realise she was sorry without her having to say it.

The light was on in her father’s office, and she intended to speak to him about the restaurant.

“They’re running too alternative rock, Jimmy. I listened to the run through just like you did.” Cerys was reasonably certain that it was Parker Moseley, although her father’s speakerphone was tinny.

“Yeah. I felt that too. Solid though. I actually really like them,” her father said.

Cerys knew she should make herself known. Knock on the door. Perhaps even join the call. But she knew her father wouldn’t let her. It was ridiculous she’d been reduced to hanging around in corridors to learn more, but so be it.

“Solid, but not what the label needs. We need them more mainstream. We need them to have a chance at breaking Top 10 Billboard. They’ve got sex appeal. They appeal to the women. Drinking and fighting appeals to the young guys. But we need max airplay. Too alt-rock and we lose the under thirty-fives.”

“I hear you,” her father said. “But let them slip too mainstream and they won’t appeal to the over thirty-fives who have the disposable income to fully support them. Strip them back too far and they’ll land too soft. It’s a balance.”

There was a pause before anyone spoke again. Cerys considered what she’d heard. A part of her understood. Record labels often wanted to mould acts to fill roles on their roster of artists, but also to prevent them dropping between the cracks of music genres. And Moseley was right, part of the reason they’d been able to capitalise on the song that had been used on Shamaze, the video app, was that as soon as people researched them, they realised Sad Fridays were as attractive as they were talented.

Her mind strayed to Jase. Memories of his pectoral muscles beneath her hands and not being able to stop her mouth from revealing her thoughts. Embarrassment flooded her cheeks.

Again.

“Jimmy. The brief was clear. It’s your job to get them where we want them. The album needs to sound a lot more like the song that went viral, otherwise, it’s no use to us.”

“Fine. I understand. I’ll send you a run-through at the end of the week.”

Cerys knew the record label paid her father a lot of money to produce albums like this. And for the first time, she realised what she’d always thought of as a pure working relationship could also lean towards manipulation.

From what she’d seen of the band during her research—from the way they’d performed in the studio, and the way they’d talked in the bar—being groomed for a particular style was not them.

Worse, their rawness was their magic.

She’d been right to book them into Studio Two, which was set up like a concert hall. There wasn’t even any glass between the production team and the musicians, so it felt like a live performance. Something had told her they’d not do well in the confines of Studio One’s more traditional layout.

Trying to stylise them into a box was never going to work. And knowing what she knew of Jase, he’d never allow himself to be backed into something he didn’t want.

Cerys took a deep breath as she heard the phone line disconnect, then knocked on the door.

“Jimmy. Do you have a minute?”

Her father looked at the clock on his phone. “Sure. What’s up?”

His response caught her off guard. “What’s up? You didn’t show at the restaurant on Friday.”

“Oh, right.” He nodded. “Here. Happy birthday.” He pulled a Tiffany bag from beneath his desk and passed it to her, but she didn’t take it. Instead, she fiddled with the small charm on the bracelet her mum had sent her.

“Oh, right? Here?Is that it? You could have at least called me to let me know.”

Jimmy placed the bag down on the table. “By the time I got out of the studio it was midnight. Figured you must be home by then, so it was too late.”

“Too late for what?” she asked.

“To let you know I wasn’t coming.”

Was her father really that clueless? “It didn’t occur to you to apologise maybe for leaving me sitting alone in a restaurant?”

Jimmy huffed with impatience. “You’re a grown woman. You know what I do. At least, you claim to with all those paper degrees you’ve got on the topic. You should know what it’s like to get wrapped up in your work. To get engrossed.”

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