Total pages in book: 65
Estimated words: 60750 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 304(@200wpm)___ 243(@250wpm)___ 203(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 60750 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 304(@200wpm)___ 243(@250wpm)___ 203(@300wpm)
“Not even if I buy you a drink?”
“I already have someone buying my drinks tonight. Thanks.” I nod over at Marina again. “But it’s cool that you like my music, th—”
“Fuck you!” the stranger screams at the top of his lungs. “I’m going to tell everyone on the music forums that you’re a stuck-up bitch in real life!”
“Wait. I’m a stuck-up bitch because I wouldn’t go home with you—”
“Fuck off!” The stranger soon storms off in the opposite direction of the bar, as pure confusion comes over my expression.
“What the hell was that?” Marina asks, rushing to my side. “And who the hell was that?”
“I think that was one of my biggest fans,” I reply, before I sink further into my chair. “You were right, Marina. It looks like I’m going to be famous.”
Chapter 2
Alyssa
I’m watching Marina unpack her suitcase in the corner of a hotel room, her hands flying as she pulls out different combinations of crop tops and jeans, her face scrunching up like she’s lost in thought. She’s calling herself my emotional support animal since she agreed to come to L.A. before this meeting with a big-time record-label executive. I felt like I was going to be sick just from reading his email invitation.
Thankfully, Marina jumped at the invite, seemingly more excited about the situation than I could ever hope to be. She also convinced me to quit my job at the diner, even though I hadn’t gone back in since one of my songs started charting on the Billboard Top 100, something I never could have predicted in a million, billion, jillion years. Honestly, I haven’t been interested in going anywhere too public after that weird run-in at the bar with Plaid Guy. I’m not looking forward to any other encounters with strangers that end with them screaming in my face.
“Do you know what you’re going to wear to your meeting?” she asks, her focus still on her suitcase.
“I…was just going to wear this?” I reply, genuinely wondering what’s wrong with my plain, lime green T-shirt and dark blue jeans.
And Marina looks over at me like I just said I’m a goddamn serial killer.
“Alyssa, are you serious?” Marina frowns. “Tell me you’re joking right now.”
“What’s wrong with what I’m wearing?”
“You look like you just went for a walk in the park.”
“And what’s wrong with that?”
“You’re really going to your first big-time record-label executive meeting wearing a pair of old jeans and a T-shirt you’ve had since sophomore year of high school?”
“…Yeah,” I answer, my tone confident. “It’s bad enough that everything else is changing around me, Marina. At least dressing like things are still normal makes me feel like things could maybe go back to normal someday, too.”
“Is that really what you want?” she presses. “For things to go back to normal?”
“You know what I mean.” I sigh. “I just…I’m happy everyone likes my music. I just don’t like that everyone—”
“Likes your music?” Marina chuckles. “You’ve got to get used to it, babe. Soon enough, you’re going to be walking red carpets with other music superstars, and I’m going to be right by your side because I’ll be hooking up with some famous rock star, too.”
“Hooking up with some famous rock star?” I grin right along with her. “I thought you were going to use your time in L.A. looking for acting roles—”
“Uh, hooking up with a rock star is an audition?” she replies with a smirk. “Trust me. As soon as I’m in front of the cameras, people are going to be begging me to star in their films. It’s just a natural process, you know? Going from someone’s famous girlfriend to being handed an Oscar in a super-expensive dress.”
“You know what? I can’t pretend like that isn’t a valid, actual path to fame.”
“Oh, it’s bulletproof.” Marina beams, before she pulls a curling iron out of her suitcase. “Now, come over here. If you’re not going to change your outfit, at least let me do something different with your hair.”
“Alyssa Smith?” an older man greets me, as soon as I walk through the office door. I’m holding back an inner squeal, excitement coursing through my veins as I realize that I just walked through the halls of one of the biggest record labels in the country.
And now, one of the biggest record label executives was casually welcoming me further into his office. It takes me a second to recognize Gregory Hanson, the gray in his hair not matching my memories of him standing beside his famous clients in photos, a younger version of him still ingrained in the back of my head.
“That’s me,” I smile, as I take a seat across from his desk. “I’m…it’s…I’m so excited to be meeting with you, Mr. Hanson.”
“I’m excited to be meeting with you, too, Ms. Smith.” He smiles right back at me. “It’s extremely rare we have someone unsigned shoot up the charts so quickly. For a moment, I even wondered if we’d already signed you a few years ago and you’d just somehow slipped my mind. You can imagine my surprise, then, when I realized that one of the newest voices on the airwaves wasn’t anywhere in our records.”