“Because she’s a fucking flop. A kid with big dreams and no reality.”
I spin my chair around and shove up to my feet.
“Since when do you know the first thing about this? You can’t even carry a tune.”
“No but I carry the wallet. I crunch the numbers, remember? And right now, I’m not seeing the zeros you promised me. Well, I am. But they’re at the beginning instead of the end.”
“It’s not all about the goddamned money!” I bark out.
“Hey!” Amanda snaps and we both turn. “Both of you shut up.”
I’m not expecting that kind of sass from her, especially since I am her boss.
Not gonna lie– it’s kind of hot.
Okay, it’s really hot.
Noah and Cass are looking into the booth as well, both of them obviously concerned about what the next steps should be. With that, Amanda turns the mic on, giving us another death glare to keep it zipped before turning back to January.
“There is nothing wrong with the way you’re singing the song, honey.”
“But it doesn’t sound right. It shouldn’t sound so forced.”
“That’s because it’s the wrong song.”
All of us look at Amanda who grabs a guitar and a notebook and walks past us, through the door joining January in the booth.
“The fuck’s she think she’s doing?” Avery asks but I just point a finger at him before leaning on the table, my gaze zeroed in on her. I flip on the sound so I can hear everything they’re doing.
“These lyrics here? That needs to be the focus.”
“But that’s one line. From the bridge,” January looks lost.
“Sing it,” she tells January. “But slow it down.”
“Jealous. I wish I were jealous. Because jealousy is better than the truth. Envy doesn’t make you cry or waste your time or beg you for a truce. If I’m honest, I wouldn’t want to be you.”
Fuck me.
“Yes,” I say, rounding the sound board to go inside the booth. Noah is hot on my heels. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Avery storm out the door. But I don’t give a flying fuck.
“That’s going to be the driver in your chorus,” Amanda tells her, slipping the capo on her fretboard. “Let’s do it again. But really push it through this time.”
I watch, arms crossed, eyes locked on them as January sings it again. After she finishes, I cut in.
“Now sing that last part again, with a crescendo and add some grit. Yes…now draw it out.”
I close my eyes as she does as I say.
Yes.
There it is.
Me, Noah, Amanda and January spend the next hour and half wrapping the better parts of the lyrics from the demo around a new concept. And it is fire. We take a break, and Noah grabs a bottle of whiskey from the cabinet (because of course the BlueJay would have a minibar in the recording booth) and a couple of glasses.
“I think we need to celebrate. Because that was absolutely the skeleton of a hit,” Noah says, pouring a shot in each glass. He stops and looks at January. “Are you old enough to drink?”
“Last Thursday,” she says with rosy cheeks.
