After a beat, Preston nodded. “I trust your gut.”
I dipped my head, knowing that he did. It’d never steered us wrong in the past three years since we started No Sweat.
Ten minutes later, Preston and I were in the gym, face-to-face with Eli.
“What’s the verdict?” he asked as he shoved his gear into his gym bag.
I stuck out my hand. “Welcome to No Sweat Management,” I said. He stood from the floor and shook it. I squeezed his hand firmly, pulling him closer. “Don’t make a liar out of me.”
He squinted, glancing between Preston and me.
“We’re drawing up the contract now, and we’ll have you sign in the morning.”
Eli nodded as he shook Preston’s hand.
“We should celebrate,” Eli suggested. “Protein shakes on me.” He pointed toward the gym’s kitchen, where they sold protein shakes, among other items.
“Can’t.” I took a step back. “I’ve got plans.”
Preston lifted an eyebrow, but I shook my head.
“Another time.”
Signing Eli was big for No Sweat, but I also had a personal situation I needed to tend to. It involved the one woman I couldn’t get off of my mind since she showed up at my brother’s wedding.
* * *
Lena
“Arrgh,” I growled, frustrated as I ripped the paper from my notebook, balled it up, and tossed it on the floor.
Like the previous three pages, it landed somewhere in the middle of the living room. I still hadn’t written a damn thing. Not one chorus, not one line, or even a title of a song that I liked. Nothing was happening.
When I tried to play the guitar, no notes came. Even old songs I tried to play came out wrong. Everything felt scrambled in my head. That made me feel more helpless, which led to deeper desperation, leading to me being less able to write anything.
I was on a freaking merry-go-round of inability to write, compose, or even sing.
My eyes watered, but I refused to let a single tear fall. Giving in to a crying fit wouldn’t serve me any good. Self-pity wasn’t going to win me this war against my lack of creativity.
Picking up my pen and notebook again, I inhaled before trying to think of something. It was only a matter of seconds before my phone rang. Usually, the ringing of the phone would’ve pissed me off if I were in the middle of a writing session. Yet, it was a welcomed distraction.
“Hello,” I answered without looking. I was confident it was either Rayven calling from the grocery store or Jodi calling to check in on me.
“Do you have any new music for me yet?”
I stiffened at hearing Nate’s voice on the other end of the phone. I pulled it away from my ear, recognizing the number, even though I’d previously removed it from my contact list.
I knew he’d call eventually.
“Nate, why are you calling me?”
I rose from the couch, kicking the balls of paper on the floor out of my way. The hardwood floors felt cool against my feet as I made my way into the kitchen.
“Because you owe me an album,” he answered.
“I don’t owe you a damn thing.”
He let out a chuckle. “That’s not what our contract says,” he reminded me. “You’re still signed to my label for four albums. So far, you’ve only delivered on three. You want out of the contract, then you know what you need to do.”
