Her eyelids flutter. “Mmhmm.” She’s trying to keep a poker face, but I can see the reflection of the Spanish Steps and Trafalgar Square in her brown eyes. She takes her water glass and brings it to her lips.
“I’ve got two other backup vocalists you’d share a bus with,” I continue. “Kelly and Rose. They’re both great. I think you’d get along just fine. As far as pay, you’d get a flat rate for the tour, plus a small percentage of profits, but since I’m not sure how those profits will look, that’s not a solid enough selling point for me to focus on. The flat rate for the three weeks would be twenty grand.”
She sputters, then starts coughing, drawing the eyes of the tables around us.
Suppressing a smile, I take the glass from her and set it down while she regains control.
“You okay?” I ask.
She nods, her face tomato red as she clears her throat. “Yep,” she croaks. “Wrong pipe.” She glances at the table nearest us and gives an awkward, reassuring wave, then pulls the strap of her overalls back into place.
“Did you catch all that?” I ask. “I can repeat it if?—”
“No, no. I got it all, thanks.”
I continue with a few more details while Mia listens. She sits straight, clasps her hands, and rests them on the table. Her expression is totally sober. I think she’s trying to channel her inner businesswoman, but the effect is slightly ruined by the fact that she’s wearing oversized overalls and enough bracelets to stock a small jewelry store. “I need to think about it a little. I can get back to you.”
“Aha,” I say slowly. “Can I ask what reservations you have? Maybe we can talk through them together.”
She shakes her head. “I don’t think so.”
I smile, my curiosity roused again. “Mia, we haven’t even gotten our food yet. We’re going to be here a while. Besides, if we’re going to be on tour together for almost a month, we’ll get to know each otherprettywell. You may as well talk to me.”
She searches my face, like she’s wondering if I really mean what I’m saying.
“I promise I won’t hold your honesty against you.” I hold up three fingers. “Scout’s honor.”
She cracks a smile. “Were you a Boy Scout?”
“Eagle Scout, thank you very much.”
Her brows shoot up. “Did they add a Public Disrobing merit badge?”
“I think it’s in the works,” I say with a twitch at the corner of my lips. “Now stop deflecting. What’s keeping you from saying yes?”
She sits back and lets out a sigh.
“I’m not trying to rush you, Mia, but the tour is coming up soon. There’s music to learn, rehearsals, plane tickets to buy. So, if you don’t want the job, we need time to find someone else.” I hope I’m not pushing too hard. I don’twantto find someone else. I want Mia.
On the tour, I mean.
“Okay,” she says, relenting. “It’s just…” More hesitation.
I raise my brows to show her I’m waiting.
She squares her jaw. “Your music isn’t really my style.”
It takes me a second to process that. I was expecting something about a prior commitment or getting time off work or even some dig at my personality. “Top hits aren’t your style?”
“Yeah, if bytop hits, you mean shallow, generic pop songs.”
Ouch. That hurts. Probably because it’s true. “Okay. And what kind of musicisyour style?”
“I don’t know. Stuff with a little more feeling… and a little less objectification.”
I keep a smile on my face, but inside I feel a little sick. “For instance, the music of…?”
“Noah Hayes,” she says without hesitation.
