He’s put a lot of work into launching my solo career. Surely, he wants this to work out as much, if not more, than I do.
Inside the cottage, I close the door, and the silence wraps around me, shutting out the distractions of the outside world. Instantly, the music in my head gets louder and sharper. It’s so clear, all I’ll have to do is take down the notes. This song is going to write itself. That doesn’t happen often, but when it does, I know better than to turn my back on a gift from the creative gods.
I’m all in with this song from now until whenever it decides it’s finished with me.
Excitement humming in my veins, I fire up the board, set the levels, and grab a guitar from the wall. Within five minutes, I’m locked in the soundproof portion of the studio, letting the music flow, so focused on creation I momentarily forget the other important things I should be fighting for.
Chapter Twenty-One
Colette
From my hiding spot behind the kitchen curtains, I watch Zack hurry across the lawn toward the studio, my heart in my throat.
I have a bad feeling about this…
Is it because I’m worried about what’s going to happen to Zack’s career if he can’t find a way to compromise with Chip and the record company? Or is it because Chip gives me the heebie-jeebies, and I’m really not looking forward to socializing with him while Zack’s in the studio?
“Don’t know, Colette,” I mutter beneath my breath, “but you’re about to find out.”
Plastering a smile on my face, I move out from behind the curtains, busying myself with laying out the ingredients for my signature Middle Eastern feast—Persian-spiced lamb shanks with roasted fennel and ginger mashed potatoes.
It’s not difficult to make, necessarily, but every dish has at least three steps, and the lamb takes a little over two hours to slow cook. I need to get started if we’re going to eat at a decent hour.
Hopefully, Chip will find watching a woman cook boring and decide to entertain himself elsewhere.
“Hello again,” he oozes as he steps back inside—even his voice is oily around the edges. “Zack was kidnapped by the muse, but don’t worry, I won’t bother you. I’ve been given strict instructions not to pester you while you’re creating.”
“Oh, it’s fine. You can hang out in here if you want,” I hear myself saying and curse the good manners inspired by years of living with someone who had no manners at all.
I spent my girlhood bending over backward to prove to the world that I wasn’t like my mother. I could be trusted to arrive on time, keep my word, use my inside voice, and refrain from getting wasted and vomiting in inappropriate places. While I was still too young to understand the concept of “class,” I wanted to be classy. I wanted people to think good things about me, say nice things behind my back, and look at me as an example of kindness and consideration.
As an adult, I’ve learned to exclude certain people from the consideration bubble—creepy men like Chip, for example—but no matter how much I’d love to encourage him to find another room to occupy while I work, he’s Zack’s manager and important to his career and future. No matter how uncomfortable he makes me, I feel obligated to extend him at least basic hospitality.
“Oh, no. I don’t want to distract you.” Chip swaggers over to the island to claim the bottle of sparkling water I opened while he was gone. He takes a swig (without saying thank you, I notice) and swipes his forearm across his lips. “Looks like this is going to be quite a culinary masterpiece.”
“Not really.” I shrug as I pull out two small limes and some heavenly smelling dill and mint, grateful for the local grocery’s excellent produce section. “The dishes are labor-intensive but not all that complicated.”
“More about dedication than skill?” Chip grins, showcasing his blinding white teeth, making me wonder what lengths he has to go to in order to get them that particular, not-occurring-in-nature shade.
I nod. “Absolutely.”
“Well, I think that’s admirable. Hard work is as important as talent.” He takes another sip of his water as he claims a stool on the opposite side of the island, watching me across the sea of ingredients as I pull a cutting board from under the sink. “But Zack… Well, Zack has both, I think.”
“He does,” I agree. “He’s been working hard. This is the first day he’s taken off since we arrived. And that’s only because he knows I’m leaving soon.”
Chip chuckles. “I think it’s more of a ‘fuck you’ to me after our conversation this morning, but we’ll go with your explanation. It’s kinder to everyone.” He props his full cheek on his fist with a thoughtful expression. “You seem like a kind woman, Colette. I hope it’s not presumptuous of me to say that.”