“But—”
I cut her off, already knowing all of her concerns. “I already have a meeting with another security firm to pick up the contract. I’m meeting with them later today before I see Lena to go over some demos. Now since I was such a good and responsible adult today, come by my place tonight, we’ll get dinner.”
I heard her drumming her fingers against the desk before sighing. “Fine. See you later.”
I finish my work out, shower and head over to Lux Security. They spent an hour upselling me. I don’t care. Once they review my files and such, they’ll get back to me with a price and plan. Whatever. It’s one less thing that Alana needs to worry about. And now that we’re out in the open, I’m hoping there’s no deadline. I can breathe and really make sure we work this time. Which means winning over Lena, and then Lance. Lena will be easier.
She’s in a dance studio, finishing up with her choreographer. I wave at him. Amanda’s used him a few times for award show routines. Lena has her hair up in a ponytail, wearing heels and a tank top, zipping herself up into a hoodie.
“Really? Are we going through this again?” She glares at me.
“Twelve years and you had her number the whole time!”
She takes a sip of water and turns quickly enough to make her ponytail swish from side to side. “You never asked.”
“Would you have given it to me if I had?”
“No,” she says with a pout and grabs her gym bag. “It’s ridiculous that she’s giving you a second chance.” She shoves the bag into my arms. She’s making me her bag bitch, that’s fine. Time to move into phase two of winning Lena over.
“I’m getting rid of my couch, want it?”
“Why?”
“Reasons.” I push open the door and the temperature change from the stuffy dance studio to the breezy hallway makes me shiver.
“Are you trying to buy my forgiveness with a couch?” She has to take three steps for every one I do to keep up the pace.
“Maybe.”
The building is a multi-purpose building, funded by a grant from the Olympian Art Foundation. The bottom floor holds afterschool programs for the visual and performing arts. Floors three through seven are for new and noteworthy artists who are willing to donate their time and teach a few classes for a deeply discounted rental space rate. The top five floors are for professionals, and there’s extra security for people like Lena. I love it here. The air feels electric with creative energy, and I try to rent studio time here as much as I can. I push the elevator button before pulling out my cellphone.
“Plus, I’ve got demos.”
She frowns. “Are these Amanda Chase rejects?” The feud between Amanda and Lena goes back a decade, maybe longer. At this point I don’t know if they even remember why they stopped talking. The door opens and we step in.
“I wrote them a few months ago with your vocal register in mind.” She huffs and taps her foot waiting for the door to close.
“Let me hear it.” By the time we hit the music studio floor, she’s grinning from ear to ear. She knows the same thing I do. It’s an easy top-five song on the charts. “You’re really pushing hard to buy my forgiveness.”
“I’ve got three more songs and that couch if you’re willing to give me a chance.” The thing about singers is bribery usually works, and if that doesn’t then there’s always another option. “Alana’s coming over tonight if you want to hang out.”
She inhales, then puffs her cheeks out as she processes all the possible outcomes. “Four songs, a couch and I get to insult your shitty taste in anime.”
“That last one hurts, but ok.”
“I will consider it.” She twists fast enough to whip her ponytail around and whack me in the chest with it.
Removing professional hurdles, check. Mending bridges, check. Now it’s time to woo Alana with food and attention, making it impossible for her to ‘cancel her membership.’ The rest of the day, I busy myself with shopping for food and completing other adulting chores to pass the time until she texts.
Alana: On my way.
Alana: You invited Lena?
Me: I figured you might want to hang out with her too.
Alana: That’s very considerate, and stupid of you. She’s going to shatter your fragile ego.
Me: She’s a tiny terror.
