Total pages in book: 78
Estimated words: 73930 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 370(@200wpm)___ 296(@250wpm)___ 246(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 73930 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 370(@200wpm)___ 296(@250wpm)___ 246(@300wpm)
“Yes, your musical career. After tonight, you’ll officially be a professional musician. Someone is paying you to perform. You should have a presence online, so fans can follow you.”
He’s right; I should. But I always worried that I’d only receive a pitiful number of likes and follows, and even when I talked myself into the idea of posting something, I could never decide what exactly I should share.
“Didn’t the person who booked you for tonight need to see a demo?” Adrian asks. “How did you get the gig?”
“They put out a call for musicians, and I tried out in person.”
After I pour a small amount of cereal into the bowl, he takes the box from me and closes the top. “For other venues, I’ll bet you need to show a demo. Do you need any help, recording or posting, or anything?”
“I don’t need any help for the technical side, but I guess I could use a push,” I admit.
“Happy to help. Is anyone recording tonight’s show?”
I shake my head.
“Well, I’m no professional, but I can at least get video with my phone and take some still images for you.”
I smile at him, surprised by his offer. “Thanks. I’d appreciate that.”
“My pleasure.” He returns my smile, and it’s glorious. How could someone be this kind and this good looking?
The day goes by too quickly. After a shower, Garrett drives me to his place so that I can get my car. We part with a tender, lingering kiss, and a promise that he’ll see me tonight at Rusty’s.
Back at Duke’s house, I borrow an iron and prepare the clothes I selected, basic black pants and a black blouse with a subtle red pattern. They’re nothing special, but they’re flattering and contrast well with my hair. With only a quick stop for a sandwich, and a mental note to replace the food items I’m eating from the men’s refrigerator, I spend the rest of my available time practicing.
And then it’s time to go to Rusty’s.
I don’t set out to look at the bright side of things, but on my drive to the bar, I realize that Lindsey’s fuckery has given me newfound determination. Of course, I’d have been trying my best either way, but I’m not going to let the obstacles she created keep me from succeeding. Without the harm she did, I might be overcome with nerves right now; instead, my focus is on delivering a good show.
Regardless of my spunky attitude, nerves hit me when I pull into the lot, which is already quite crowded. I enter through the side door as I’d been instructed, and check in at the office, where I find Rusty’s owner, Barrett Stone. I do a double take after I spot him behind the desk, because an identical man is standing next to him.
“Autumn, good to see you,” Barrett says, standing up to come around the desk. Turns out I had the right man. “How are you?”
“I’m good. Excited.” That’s half true. Half excited, half petrified.
“We are too. This is my twin brother, Bronson, by the way. You’re not seeing double. And more importantly, this is our partner, Caz.”
In the chair that faces the desk, there’s a woman who turns in my direction, flashing a lovely smile. “Autumn! I’ve heard so much about you.”
“You have?” My tone makes it obvious how surprised I am by this.
“I’m really looking forward to hearing you play,” she says.
I’m wondering if she’s a business or personal partner, and the answer becomes clear when Barrett lays a hand on her shoulder and caresses her in a way that would be very inappropriate if they were merely coworkers. “Caz doesn’t come in often, and I was glad to be able to lure her here with the promise of live music,” Barrett says.
“Oh, well, I hope I don’t disappoint,” I say.
“I’m sure you won’t,” Caz says, offering an even bigger smile that somehow boosts my confidence.
“I’ll show you where to set up,” Barrett says, leading me out of the office and toward a corner of the bar where there’s a small stage. A few people watch us pass, but most of the crowd are busy with their own conversations and don’t pay any attention to us. He shows me where to set up and goes over the power cord situation and a couple of other details. “Need help carrying in your equipment?” he asks.
“No, thanks. I can handle it.”
“Okay. Let me know if you change your mind,” Barrett says. “And feel free to have a drink at the bar while you’re waiting to go on. Just tell either of the bartenders who you are, and it’ll be on the house. They can also set you up with bottled water.”
After I thank Barrett and he leaves, Garrett appears.
“Oh, hi. I wasn’t expecting to see you here already,” I tell him. It’s barely seven-thirty.