Sweet Little Thing(2)

There was no way Mia would be able to get June outside without leaving a trail of poop in her wake. “Put her over the toilet!”

I followed her as she ran down the hallway and into our tiny bathroom at the end. She held the squirming puppy over the toilet until the doggie business was complete.

Setting June on the ground, she glanced up at me, frowned, and then mumbled, “I’m gonna be a terrible mother.”

I helped her up and then stood behind her at the sink as she washed her hands. “No, you’re going to be perfect.” I smirked when she looked at me in the mirror. “You did exactly the right thing. First you screamed and charged at her with your arms flailing around, and then you basically held her by the neck while you ran around in a circle yelling. That is exactly what you will probably do if the same situation happens to play out with one of our babies.”

“Thanks a lot.”

“I’m kidding.” I pinched her butt.

“Ouch, jerk-face!”

“Baby, look at me.” Once she turned, I continued. “You are good at everything you do. Trust me… everything.” I let my eyes drop to her mouth.

“Oh, stop.” She tried to squirm out of my embrace.

“No, seriously, Mia. You’re gonna be a great mom.” I squeezed her tighter when she huffed into my chest. “I have to get down to the studio; that tool, Chad, and his people scheduled a jam session. Whatever the f*ck that means when you don’t play any instruments.”

“I’ll be down in a little bit,” she said. “Hey, why do you think they came to us? Chad and his people?” She held up air quotes when she said the word “people.” “It doesn’t really seem like a good fit.”

“You’re right, but the record label said we’ll basically write all his songs, play every instrument on the album, and then pretty boy can sit at the front of the stage playing air guitar and pretending he’s a musician. It’s Milli Vanilli shit.”

“What label?” she asked.

“Live Wire.”

She sucked in a breath. Live Wire was the label that had basically tried to make me their monkey back when I was looking for a record deal. I’d signed with them but hadn’t been able to deliver the bubblegum-pop shit they wanted. When I tried to get out of the contract, they sued me. Luckily, Frank had scrutinized the deal so carefully he was able to find a mistake on their end, which basically revoked the entire deal. I’d gone on and opened Alchemy Sound Studios, but remained cautious when it came to working with the labels.

“You’re not going to let them take credit for your songs, are you?”

“Our songs, and of course not. Frank is handling the contract on this one because they came to me with no material. A good-looking kid with a decent voice who’s willing to do anything comes along and bam, record deal, no songs required. He doesn’t care if the label makes him sing ‘You’re My Fucking Sunshine,’ all he cares about is screaming girls. We’ll get writing and producing credits on it, and we’ll get paid well. Frank will work it out so we don’t get screwed. I promise, baby.”

Frank Abedo was the talent agent who’d gotten me signed with Live Wire. He believed in me and thought I had a rare talent. He genuinely wanted the business to be about the music, so he’d understood when I’d wanted to get out of my contract. After I opened Alchemy Sound Studios, he stuck around, even though there was nothing in it for him. He brought a lot of talent my way, and he was well-versed when it came to contracts, so he was definitely an asset for our team.

When I got down to the studio, Chad was waiting in the lobby with his manager.

“Thanks for waiting, guys. Follow me.”

I’d hired another producer and an assistant just out of college. Both guys were already in the control room setting up the sound board.

“Let’s record everything today,” I announced. “We need to get some layers down.”

Chad followed me into the room beyond the glass where all the instruments were sitting. I picked up my acoustic guitar, took a seat, and motioned for Chad to sit in the chair near the vocal mic. I noticed he had a notebook under his arm. Chad was the darker-haired version of Zac Efron; he even had the adorable, chummy smile and glowing blue eyes.

“Whaddya got, bro?” I said to him, dipping my head toward his arm.

He looked nervous. “Oh, these are just some lyrics I wrote. Hey, by the way, I’m totally stoked to be working with you.”

“Thanks. You know, typically we get the music down first, but let me take a look.”

He handed it over and then crossed his arms and sat back in his chair.

I read the first line: Girl, you’re my girl.

I immediately shut the notebook, tossed it aside, and said, “We’ll revisit that later.”

“Oh, okay, no problem.”

I played a few rough versions of songs while Chad sat by, looking lost. Mia came in wearing black leather pants and a tight sweater. As I strummed the Gibson, she made her way over to the piano. She smiled and threw her hand up, waving to Chad. He smiled back and then I watched him study her as she passed. Then his dipshit, googly eyes dropped to her ass while she moved the piano bench out.

When he looked back at me, I glared at him and began strumming a dreary and much louder tune. His body sank into his chair and he dropped his head down to stare at his fidgeting hands. Mia began playing a sullen little melody in an attempt to accompany the monotonous song I was forming, and then she stopped abruptly and turned toward me.