Total pages in book: 82
Estimated words: 78387 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 392(@200wpm)___ 314(@250wpm)___ 261(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78387 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 392(@200wpm)___ 314(@250wpm)___ 261(@300wpm)
“Can I call someone for you?” The porter approaches cautiously. “Do you need a taxi?”
I start to shake my head but then nod. “That would be great, thank you.”
He radios for someone to come to the terminal, and within minutes a yellow car pulls up. I climb into the backseat, shut the door, and fight a wave of tears.
“Where to?”
“Um . . .” I should give him my address, but I don’t. I give him the address to the studio. I have a couch in my office, and I’ll sleep there for the night. The fifteen-mile drive usually takes over an hour unless it’s three in the morning, and then it’s twenty minutes. I hand the driver a wad of cash and wish him a happy New Year before climbing out. He pulls away the second I slam the door, leaving me standing on the sidewalk. It’s cold, but nothing compared to what we experienced in Vermont. I look at the sky, wondering if Los Angeles will ever see snow, and then laugh at my thoughts. The entire city would shut down in straight panic if it snowed.
Thankfully, I have the keys to the studio and make my way inside and to my office. I collapse on the couch and let the anguish I feel rush freely. My sobs turn into hiccups, and any make-up I have on runs down my face. I don’t bother changing and lie on my couch with my knees pulled to my chest. I don’t know how to fix this issue with Ben, especially if I can’t get him to talk to me.
When I wake, it’s because of the sounds I hear in the other room. My assistant, Debra, walks in, startles at the sight of me, and then quickly closes my door. “What are you doing? Are you okay?” she whispers.
I sit up and rub my face. She hands me a box of tissues and then goes to my refrigerator and pulls out a bottle of water. “Thanks.”
“What happened?”
I shake my head. “Ben and I fought before I left for the cabin, and he hasn’t returned any of my calls or texts.”
“Oh, Elle.”
I sigh heavily. “I don’t know how I’ll face him this morning. I want to jump into his arms and strangle him at the same time. This meeting is going to drag on forever.”
“You need to get cleaned up.” She stands and starts rummaging through my bag, setting the things she needs on top of my desk. Thankfully, I keep a steamer in one of my desk drawers, and she gets to work on one of my shirts. “It’s a good thing you don’t work for someone because you look like shit.”
“It’s a good thing I like you, or I’d fire you for saying I look like shit.” I stand and head into the tiny bathroom attached to my office. Someday, I’ll be in a high rise with an ensuite and a view that looks over the city. Until then, I’m happy with what I have. The rented space is perfect for my bands and me.
Debra laughs, knowing I’d never let her go. She runs this place, and I know it. She appears in the doorway with my shirt and leather jacket. “You need to feel like a badass this morning.”
“But I don’t feel that way at all.”
“I know, but this morning, you need to. The meeting won’t take long. Plum are already here, all three women.”
“Plum,” I grimace. “I’m still not sure I like that name for a band.”
“It’s catchy,” she says. “It’s one word, and people will remember it. Plus, it fits the personality of the girls. It screams pop with an edge.”
Usually, I’d talk to Ben about it and get his take because he is the one who will do all their marketing. “I’ll ask Ben when he gets here; see what he thinks.”
Debra nods and tells me breakfast will be on the table. After she leaves, I finish cleaning my face and reapply my make-up. I take my hair and pull it into a high ponytail. It’s messy and yet perfect for this business.
When I enter the small conference room, the lead singer of Plum stands up. “Good morning, Justine, Wynonna, and Priscilla.” They echo my sentiment and sit down at the table. I first met Justine Floyd at Trixie’s. Quinn and I had gone to check out a new band, and Justine put on an acoustic set. That night, we spoke, and she told me she usually performs with sisters Wynonna and Priscilla but that they had the flu, and they didn’t want to lose their gig at Trixie’s. I brought them into the studio and fell in love with their sound, and I quickly offered to represent them. They have quite the backstory. Justine ran away from home at fourteen and somehow managed to escape the horrors of living on the streets. Wynonna and Priscilla, aptly named after Wynonna Judd and Priscilla Presley, are upper class and privileged. The three of them met at Trixie’s during an open mic night and decided to play together.