He was dumbfounded. “Really? Who?”
She tried to stifle her grin by biting her lower lip. “You wouldn’t know him. He came to Lakeside during my senior year. He’s a songwriter in Nashville.”
“What’s his name?”
Katie rolled her eyes knowing that the Hartford Parker inquisition had just begun. “Clay Watkins. He’s known in the Nashville songwriting community as ‘Georgia Clay.’”
“Uh-huh…” Hart had fired up his cell phone and was efficiently scrolling the web, she was sure of it.
“Hart, don’t go nuts with this, okay? You’ll like him. He’s a nice, normal guy—”
“In the music business,” he muttered.
She waited for a beat, knowing the web was about to reveal how famous her new boyfriend was. His eyes grew wide, and his mouth formed an ‘o’ as he read from his phone. He sat up straight, setting his beer on the coffee table.
“Are you shittin’ me, Katie?” His eyes darted to her quickly before he continued to read.
“Hart! Stop. It’s all good.”
He continued to hold his phone and leaned back in the chair looking at her with surprise. “You’re dating that guy? Georgia Clay?”
“Yes.”
“I’ll be damned. That’s incredible. Do I get to meet him?”
“Well, if you’re staying here, yes, you’ll get to meet him. We trade weekends seeing each other. You’ll have the place to yourself this weekend because I’ll be in Nashville.”
“Damn, baby girl! You went and grew up on me.” His brown eyes displayed nostalgia. “Is he good to you?”
She nodded. “The best.”
“Do you love him?” he asked wistfully.
Katie looked at him pensively, not sure if she could answer his question. “I’m on the verge….”
***
There was absolutely nothing in the refrigerator except a few condiments, expired milk and two beers. Shaking his head, Clay grabbed one of the beers and flicked the top off, sending it skidding across the marble island. He was dog-tired after a full day of meetings with his new tour manager and the producer, and he didn’t have the energy to swing by the grocery store on his way home. Buddy was correct. Things were moving quickly. So quickly that he hardly had time to eat all week. His jeans felt loose, and his stomach clenched as the cold beer filled up the emptiness inside. He had managed to call Katie around ten that night while he was still at the Warner Music offices, but their conversation was cut short with people waiting to speak to him. Her voice tinged with disappointment, and he felt bad for having to hang up. Looking at the clock on his microwave, he contemplated calling her, but it was almost two in the morning. She’d be in Nashville in less than twenty-four hours, and he figured he could make it up to her then. He set the half-drunk beer on the counter and shuffled to his bedroom where he collapsed on the bed with his boots still on. Within minutes, he was fast asleep.
Five hours later, Clay was up, showered and dressed ready to meet the studio musicians who would be playing on his debut album. In three short days, he and his new team had agreed on most of the songs that would be featured. Clay already had music charts, and his new assistant had put everything in binders, efficiently placing them on stands ready for the talent that came in. His eyes lit up when he saw a massive spread of breakfast food, juice, and coffee when he walked into the studio. Sustenance was needed if he was going to be able to concentrate on the most important work of his life. As he piled a plate with eggs, bacon, and a bagel, Buddy came up behind him and patted his back.
“Good morning,” he said exuberantly. He held a Styrofoam cup of coffee, looking fresh as a daisy in a crisp, white-button-down shirt, khaki pants, and cowboy boots. “You excited? Trent said you landed on most of the songs for the album yesterday and secured the studio musicians at a moment’s notice. I’ve never seen anything move so fast in this town. It’s incredible.”
Trent McDonald was a top music producer from Los Angeles. He had made Nashville his home several years ago when there was a sudden boom in the business, producing multi-platinum albums with several of the top country artists at the time. The West Coast native had fallen in love with the Music City, and one of his female production assistants, marrying her six months after they met. Three kids and numerous award-winning records later, Trent was still at the top of his game, in high demand by all the up-and-coming artists in town. For Clay to have him as his first producer on his debut album was unheard of. To book him in a matter of days was a miracle. But with his reputation and catalog of award-winning songs over the years, Trent told him he didn’t have to think twice, humbled when Clay confessed he was his first choice.
“Yeah, I’m excited.”
Buddy nodded as if he understood what Clay was going through. “Enjoy the ride. You’re in good hands with this all-star team we’ve assembled. It’s going to be an epic day—and it’s only day one!” Clay chuckled nervously. Buddy eyed his plate. “Eat up. I’ll check in with y’all when you break for lunch. Just remember, these are your songs. You’re the driver of this bus. Show ‘em how you do it and make me proud.”
“Sure.”
Buddy patted his back again before he left him alone in the hospitality room. Clay took a big bite of food, hoping it would squelch the millions of butterflies that were flapping in his empty stomach.
