“Common,” Oakley interjects. “We’ve heard it a million times before from a million other bands. Including mine.”

And he’s right. That’s exactly what doesn’t sit well with me.

King nods. “All music today sounds the same. That’s the problem.”

Oakley leans toward King, squishing me in the process. His face is so intent on the record producer that I’m not sure he realizes I’m here anymore. “Except for yours. I’d love to get into the studio with you,” he says gruffly.

King stares out into the crowd.

Oh, man, this is awkward. I haven’t felt this uncomfortable since freshman year when Leigh Mariner cried at lunch after she saw her ex-boyfriend with his arm around his new girlfriend.

Oakley tries again. “Your work is great, man. We need to do something together.”

I can see the wheels turning in King’s head. How do I turn this kid down without making it into a big deal…

Finally, he tilts his head, twisting his body a bit so Oakley has a harder time seeing his face.

I try to slink farther away from the bar counter.

“Your work skews a little young for me. I don’t think we’d mesh. Have you thought about giving Lance Buchanan a call? He’s producing sounds a lot like you’ve done in the past.”

Frustration clouds Oakley’s eyes. “I’m making new sounds.”

King sighs. It’s obvious he’s tired of this conversation. Me, I just want to disappear. Can I say I need to use the ladies’ room?

“Call me in a few years. I’m sure we can do something then.”

Oakley’s smile is tighter than a drum. “Sure thing.”

King turns to me and his smile is genuine. “Nice to meet you, Vaughn. Don’t let this world change you, ’kay?” He squeezes my hand and then wanders off.

An awkward silence falls over us after he’s gone. I feel Oakley’s resentful gaze bore into the side of my head, and it’s so unbearable that I frantically search for something to say.

“It’s loud in here,” I offer lamely.

“Then don’t talk,” he suggests with a glare.

15

HIM

1doodlebug1 @OakleyFord_stanNo1 Is she a model? Wasn’t that Gucci?

OakleyFord_stanNo1 @1doodlebug1 Definitely G. And trashy 2 bc hello, club? Dressed like that? Ho.

1doodlebug1 @OakleyFord_stanNo1 ho foshoe

1doodlebug1 @OakleyFord_stanNo1 that dress tho. So gorg

OakleyFord_stanNo1 @1doodlebug1 forget the dress. Can we talk abt how his hand is on her ass. That lucky btch.

1doodlebug1 @OakleyFord_stanNo1 I kno! Last night dreamt it was me.

OakleyFord_stanNo1 @1doodlebug1 same

As usual, everyone is pissed off at me. It’s not even nine in the morning, and already I’ve been yelled at by three different people.

My conversation with Jim went something like this:

“I told you to stay away from King! I’ve been greasing the wheels behind the scenes! And you show up at his club like a spoiled brat asking for handouts, ruining all the progress I’ve made! I’m your manager! That means I do the managing! All I ask—no, demand in return is that you keep your mouth shut, write your goddamn songs and leave the business to the grown-ups!”

I hung up on him halfway through his tirade, because I don’t need to take that abuse. I’m the client. The client is always right. End of story.

Claudia wouldn’t let me hang up on her, though. I tried, and she called back immediately, picking up midrant.

“A club, Oak! On your first public date! With your sweet, wholesome girlfriend! No. No, no, no! Your decision-making privileges are revoked! From now on, you do what I say! That’s why you hired me! I refuse to be sabotaged by my own client! TMI photographed you and Vaughn leaving the club at midnight—this does not look good, Oakley! Social media is speculating that Vaughn is a party girl! We need to kill this story! She’s supposed to be fixing your reputation, and instead you’re destroying hers!”

Then she hung up on me.

If I’m being honest, that’s the only thing I feel bad about. Not about destroying Vaughn’s rep, because that’s insane. Her image is fine. One night at a club isn’t going to change that, and the pap photos that showed up online this morning were harmless. Just a few shots of me opening the Escalade door for Vaughn, the two of us getting in the car. My hand was resting on her lower back, and at one point she touched my arm.

Harmless.

No, what’s making me feel like crap is the way I treated her last night. I acted like a jerk. Ignored her. Snapped at her after that disastrous run-in with King even though she tried to play the game. Ignored her some more. Used her to try to impress King.

The only reason I even went to the club was because someone texted me that King would be there. I figured having Vaughn by my side would show him that I’m serious. I mean, if I’m serious about my girl, then I must be serious about my music, right?

Except it backfired. He turned me down again. Squashed me like a bug under his thousand-dollar shoes.

Vaughn hadn’t said a single word during the car ride home.

With a loud groan, I stalk down to the basement to my home studio and throw open the door. There are a couple of couches in the corner of the soundproofed room, near the endless row of guitar stands. I swipe my favorite Gibson off its stand and sink onto the sofa cushions.

If I had her phone number, I would text her to apologize. But I don’t, and I’m too embarrassed to get Ty or Big D to call her for me. Ty already gave me a long lecture after we dropped Vaughn home. “You can’t treat girlfriends like props, brother. Even fake girlfriends.”

I spend the next hour fooling around on the guitar. There’s been a melody in my head since last night, but I can’t seem to make it work. The lyrics don’t come, either. I’m still blocked, and the ball of frustration in my gut grows bigger and bigger as I absently strum the guitar.

Maybe it’s not the creative block that’s getting to me today. Maybe it’s something else.

Gritting my teeth, I grab my phone off the side table and dial Big D. “Hey,” I say when he picks up. “Get Vaughn on the line for me, will ya?”

“Gotcha.”

I end the call then sit there impatiently until Big D’s heavy footsteps finally sound on the stairs. He strides into the studio and holds out his cell.

“Thanks,” I say.

“No problemo. Shout when you’re done.”

He ducks out of the room, and I take a breath before speaking into the phone. “Morning,” I say lightly.

Vaughn is nowhere near as friendly as I’m trying to be. “Do we have another date today?” she asks without saying hello.

She sounds alert for how early it is. I wonder why she didn’t sleep in. She’s taking the year off from school and she’s not waiting tables anymore. I mean, she’s pretty much just on call for me, so there’s no reason for her to get up before noon.

On call for you?

Guilt weighs me down. Okay, that’s kind of a raw deal for her, being forced to sit around and wait until Claudia decides what she’s doing and when.

Then again, she’s getting paid a lot of money to be on standby.

“Nah, we don’t have a date,” I answer. “Claudia wants us to wait a few days before we see each other again.”

“So what do you want?”

Yeah, she’s not happy with me. But the apology gets stuck in my throat. “Did you see the TMI pics?”

“What do you think? I’ve been answering Tweets about it all morning.” Her annoyance ripples over the line. “Not to mention getting yelled at by Claudia.”

I swallow another dose of remorse. The guitar is still in my lap, so I try to distract myself from the guilt by strumming the Gibson.

“Oakley? Did you hear me?”

I clear my throat. “Uh. Yeah.” I strum again. An idea occurs to me. “I’m putting you on speaker. Hold on.”

I click the speaker button then set the phone beside me and readjust my grip on the guitar.

“You still there?” I ask.

“Yes.” She sounds confused. “Are you playing guitar?”