“You can’t flake. It’s rude. Maybe you could disguise yourself,” he suggested.
“That’s not a bad idea. I was wearing contacts that night. I could wear my glasses and a hat…and jump out of sight whenever he shows up. Although I probably won’t see much of the bands. Data analysts are usually given a quiet cubicle in a forgotten corner of an office.”
“True.” Topher eyed me over the rim of his mug. “So, was he a good kisser?”
“I don’t usually kiss and tell, but yes. A million times…yes,” I swooned.
Topher snickered. “I bet. Hey, you never know, Cody. He might have a secret kink for sunburnt stalkers. Just please tell me you didn’t use binoculars.”
“They were in the car.” I sipped my coffee while my friend chuckled merrily at my expense. “Just wish me a speedy recovery and a lot of luck tomorrow. This may be my shortest internship ever.”
“You’ll do just fine.”
I wasn’t so sure about that. I was out of my depth. A minnow swimming with sharks. A sunburned one, no less.
Scratch Records was a modern wonder of glass and steel. The stark-white walls were offset with black leather accents and adorned with concert photos of the label’s top two bands, Zero and Jealousy. The whimsical circular chandelier over the receptionist desk swayed when the glass doors opened, sending a glittery prism over the lobby. I noted the rainbow arc across the back wall as Charlie gave a lively description of his experience with social media algorithms.
“Timing matters, right? When is the best time to post? What content does better on which sites? I have a general concept, but I’m looking for hard numbers to present to my PR team. And no, I don’t have a real team yet. It’s coming together though…piece by piece. And you are providing integral information for my conquest.”
“I’ll certainly do my best,” I assured him.
“I love that attitude. I have some new data for you to sift through. I just need to make sure someone is here to greet the distribution execs. Bianca had a dog emergency this morning. The poor thing was in tears on her way to the vet, but she called a few minutes ago to say she was on her way in. Do you want a cup of coffee while we wait?” Charlie asked, setting his hand on my forearm, then lifting it quickly. “Oh, no. I’m sorry. I forgot about your sunburn, and I’ve been told I’m a touchy person. I didn’t hurt you, did I?”
“No, it’s fine. I’m better today,” I replied with a reassuring smile.
“Good. Sunburns can be wicked. I haven’t had one in years myself. I live at the beach and avoid sun and sand as often as possible. When Ky drags me to a skateboard function or wants me to watch him surf, I insist on bringing an umbrella the size of a catering tent. He used to roll his eyes and try to talk me into braving the elements. Now he just grabs the umbrella and tells me to get my ass in gear.” Charlie chuckled as he skirted the reception desk and typed something into the computer.
I liked Charlie a lot. He was smart, funny, and extremely energetic. The man talked a mile a minute and always seemed to be juggling twenty ideas at once. His enthusiasm was contagious. This was only my second day at Scratch Records, but I already felt completely invested in helping him organize his data so he could effectively grow his company. And how cool was that? Charlie was just a couple of years older than me, and he already owned and operated a record label he started…wait for it…from scratch. At the moment, he also managed Zero and Jealousy, but he told me at my interview that he’d signed on a new band and had plans to delegate.
“I simply can’t do it all and stay sane. The problem is that I’m terrible at delegating. Ask my boyfriend. Ky literally picked me up and moved me from our kitchen to the sofa, handed me a book, and the cat, and told me to chill while he made dinner last night. He made spaghetti, in case you’re curious, and it was surprisingly yummy. Don’t tell him I said that. I’m a better cook for sure, but I swear the man could make scrambled eggs and I’d tell you they were the best damn things I’d ever had. ’Cause really, the fact that he tries makes me swoon.” Charlie batted his lashes and grinned like a maniac before segueing back to data trends.
That was Charlie. He talked a mile a minute, alternately setting his hands on his hips like a mini badass or twirling his wrists expressively as he warmed up to whatever story he was telling.
Charlie was a five-foot-eight dynamo with a halo of golden curls, blue eyes, and an interesting sense of style for a rock and roll band manager. Today he wore khakis with a blue floral oxford shirt and red loafers. I wore khakis and a blue button-down too, but nothing about my ensemble screamed “interesting.”