"You, my friend, are a downer. And we didn't send a CD. We sent a digital file. To his personal email address. Come on, Kiki. This is awesome, and you know it."
She has a point. Holt has serious clout in the industry. He's a triple threat, and his company--Hardline Entertainment--has fingers in the music, film, and television industries. He has a reputation for being reclusive, dangerous, and brilliant. Some of the wilder rumors even say that he killed a man, but I think that's PR-driven hype. He doesn't sign many bands, but the ones he anoints inevitably climb the charts fast. And if Celia really has managed to get our music in front of him, that's one hell of an amazing feat.
I give in with a laugh. "Fine, fine! It's cool. And my fingers are totally crossed." I draw a breath. "I'm sorry for yanking your chain. I'm just--"
"Afraid someone's going to pull the rug out from under us?" she supplies. "Certain that the universe has it in for you? Convinced that every time your fingers touch something you want, it'll be ripped away from you?"
I swallow. She's hit a little too close to the mark.
Apparently, she realizes it, because the next thing I hear is her soft curse, followed by, "Oh, hell, Keeks. I'm sorry. Forgive me?"
I picture her biting her lower lip, her model-pert nose scrunched up as she waits for my answer.
"Fine." I say. "You're forgiven. So long as you stop calling me that."
"Phhhbt. It's cute. It suits you."
I glance at Ares, who looks toward the ceiling and shakes his head in exasperation. "The woman runs her own high powered marketing company," he says. "You're really going to saddle her with Keeks?"
"Hey, I think it's great that your consulting gig is doing so well, but right now we should be focused on the band. Seriously, you ought to move out here. It'll be easier to record more tracks."
"What track did you send Holt?" I ask, intentionally changing the subject.
"Back to You," she says, referencing the song I sang Wednesday night at The Fix. It was the first song I'd performed on stage in years, but not the first I've written. It took me years, but once I picked up my pen again, I realized how cathartic it was.
Now, I have quite a collection, and we've been culling through them, picking the best to score together. Kristi and Eden--the other two members of the band and my second best friends next to Ares and Celia--are both doing studio work in Nashville through the end of the year. But they come to LA at least once a month, and when they do, the three of them record the music and their vocal parts in LA. I record my vocals here at the studio Ares uses. And then Celia edits it all together. She's not a sound engineer, but she's done a damn fine job on the three demo tracks we've pulled together so far.
"I'm serious," she says, ignoring my change of subject. "You should move back here. We could re-launch Pink Chameleon so much faster if you were closer. You wouldn't even have to stop consulting. There are plenty of places out in LA that need a kick-ass marketing consultant."
I meet Ares' eyes, looking for support, but he just shrugs. "Don't look at me.
But if you are going to quit, then I think you should tour with Seven Percent. It's only a few months, and it would get you back in a performance rhythm."
"You're just frustrated because some of your new material really needs a female lead singer," I say.
"I admit it openly," he says. "Just tour with us for a month--even a few weeks. We can audition replacement girls on the road."
I let out a frustrated groan. "You guys, come on. I like my job, and I like Austin. Besides, LA is freaking expensive, and I'm living mortgage-free here." Cam and I had inherited Gram's house, where I now live alone, since Cam rented a place closer to campus. "And, the whole point of working and living on the cheap is so that I can stockpile money to live on so that I can focus only on the band when I do move out there." The when being once Kristi and Eden are back, and once we've got enough songs ready to go that it makes sense to book some studio time to record the tracks, start releasing them, and get serious about finding a tour manager.
"Plus," I continue, because now I'm on a roll, "I need Maia to be up to speed on Crown Consulting. She's got great ideas and works well with clients, so she could hold the business together for a few months. But she's still green, and I want her on this current Stark job with me. Because then--when, not if--Pink Chameleon goes on tour, she can babysit Crown Consulting and I don't have to worry that the business I built is going to crash and burn just because we're getting the band back together."
"Oh, please. Your business is going to be bigger than ever. Because you'll be the one promoting the shit out of Pink Chameleon."
"True," I say. "But why is it always on me to go to you? Why don't you come here? Austin. Music. They kind of go together, remember? We can work on band stuff while I finish this job. It's got a tighter time frame than I thought, so I should be clear by early next year."
I don't mention that I'll have little to no free time. I know Celia well enough to know she's not going to jump on that offer.
"You want me to give up the beach for Texas? Yeah, no. We'll stick with the plan. It's just that I'm really not a patient person."
That's such an understatement, I burst out laughing. "Believe me, I'm well aware. And I'm excited about getting Pink Chameleon back together, too," I assure her. "But I have to do this right. I screwed up my music career once before. I don't think I'll get a third bite at the apple if I screw up this chance, too."
"You didn't screw up," she says loyally. "The rat bastard screwed you up. Huge difference."
The rat bastard, of course, is Noah. And starting Monday, I'm going to be working side by side with him.
"What?" Ares is peering at me, his brow furrowed in question.
I shake it off. "Nothing," I lie. But the truth is that the enormity of that fact just hit me. Side by side with Noah.