There was nothing about Tucker and his slick appearance that projected dependability—hell, no one in this business even trusted him—but I did. Implicitly.
“I do trust you.”
He stopped walking. An expression I’d never seen on Tucker’s face emerged. Was it… gratitude? “I’m going to tell you something I’ve never told anyone. I made promises to my own kid that I didn’t keep. Biggest regret of my life. I swore to myself that never again would I lose myself to fame. You’ve given me a second chance to prove who I really am and what I really stand for. I won’t let you down, Quinn.”
His sincerity proved to me I’d made the right choice.
“Don’t you mean you won’t let the band down?”
“I didn’t misspeak. Don’t mistake what this is. The band is your smoke screen. You’re the star. Think of it like Bruce Springsteen and the E Street Band. They exist to prop him up. Your band will do the same.”
“Do those guys waiting to audition know that?”
“Every single one of them knows the deal. They saw you on stage and know who you are. They also know where you’re going. And they want a piece of the action. I mean, think about it. Would you rather play side gigs at bars the rest of your life, or be on stage touring the world? These guys have waited their whole lives for an opportunity like this. Trust me when I say, they are well aware of the stakes.”
Tucker had a way of making everything sound achievable. Whether it was or not remained to be seen, but I was inclined to believe the man. He had no reason to steer me wrong since both our livelihoods were tied to the success of this one shared mission.
“Final piece of business before we go in,” Tucker said as we resumed speed walking. “Have you given any more thought to that matter we discussed last night?”
I knew exactly what he was referring to: a shady backdoor deal to keep Hollis’s dirty little paws off my earlier music. Tucker wanted me to share the songwriting credits with a phantom cowriter. It was, he’d said, the only way to hold onto what was mine.
“We’ll have a separate agreement with that person so they can’t turn around and claim the songs as their own. But Quinn, I can’t stress this enough; it needs to be someone you trust with your life. Jake maybe? Would he be willing to sign something to that effect to protect your music? No one would doubt it, seeing that he’s a songwriter too.”
I knew Tucker meant well, but if he thought I was going to let Jake take credit for my music, he was seriously delusional. Besides, Jake and I weren’t the only songwriters in the family. There was another, and she was incredibly talented in her own right.
“No. Not Jake. My sister Grace.”
* * *
“He lives,” Grace teased the moment our Facetime call was connected. Knowing that Tucker expected an answer by tonight, I’d used the break in the audition process to contact my sister. “I was beginning to think you’d forgotten all about me.”
“There’s this funny thing about phones, Gracie. They actually work both directions.”
“You don’t think I haven’t tried calling you? I can only assume you haven’t answered because you’ve been busy with the show. I refuse to believe you’ve purposely been shading your own sister.”
“We weren’t allowed phones duringNext in Linerehearsals.”
“So, you’re saying you were rehearsing twenty-four hours a day?” she asked, trying to box me into a corner.
I came up swinging. “Pretty much. What about you, Grace? I heard from a reliable source that you’ve been holding out on me.”
The guilty expression on Grace’s face was all the confirmation I needed. She’d been actively keeping a secret from me. “Quinn, don’t make a big deal out of it.”
“What? You have a boyfriend. I’d like to know something about him. Is that not allowed?”
“It’s allowed. What do you want to know?”
“Why don’t we start with the basics first?”
“Okay. His name is Elliott. He’s a student here at UCL.”
“British?”
“Yes.”
“What’s he studying?”
“To be an economist.”
