Chapter 5 #2
After climbing the steps to the hallway landing, he led her up the other steps that went to the upper level.
At the top there were only two doors, and he moved to the one to the left.
When he placed his hand on the doorknob, he seemed to tighten his fingers, then relax before gripping the knob again and opening it.
Raine didn’t say anything…but she hadn’t missed it.
Was he…nervous?
When they entered the studio, she was surprised because there wasn’t a single window here.
After all the glass in the rest of the house, it seemed like a completely different place.
Considering the glass and wood separation between the two parts of the studio, that wasn’t entirely true—but there were no windows looking outside at the landscape.
There would be no distractions in here.
Although this room seemed no nonsense like the rest of the house—it was absolutely gorgeous.
Here was likely where this man had sunk most of his money, and he’d spared no expense.
She’d been in both high-end and bargain basement studios during her short career, and this was near the top.
The equipment both in the control room and outside it where she’d probably spend more of her time appeared to be the best of the best.
But she noticed that everything seemed to have a place and it was in it—meaning she’d probably have to watch herself.
“Can you see yourself working here?” he asked, his voice reserved.
“Yeah. This place is amazing.” It was the first pleasant surprise she’d experienced in a long time, especially since having to commit to this. “But is there anything to do around here?”
“You’d be surprised if you opened your eyes.”
“I just don’t get why you’d be living in a place like this with nothing.”
Quentin’s face was unreadable. “It’s got a lot of things going for it and the best thing is lack of distractions. You might be interested to know Wayne Static lived here at the end of his life.”
“Who?”
“Have you heard of Static X?”
“Maybe.”
When he let out a slow breath, she asked, “When do we start?”
“First, we need to go over a few ground rules.”
No doubt bullshit from the label. Rules didn’t set well with her. Her compliance depended on what the hell they’d be—but just thinking about it made her bristle. “Like what?”
“Follow me.” Down the stairs they went back to the main level.
They passed a couple of doors in the hallway—a bathroom and a room with weights and a treadmill.
“You’re welcome to work out in here—and feel free to take walks around the property when we’re not working, but keep your eyes peeled for rattlesnakes and scorpions.
They won’t go out of their way to attack you, but if they feel threatened, they can inflict harm. ”
“I think I’ll stay inside. It’s cooler in here anyway.”
As if he hadn’t heard her, he continued walking down the hallway, expecting her to follow.
Although she’d noticed the kitchen earlier, now she got a better look.
The stone floor was practical, the wood cabinets functional, the black features throughout the room understated—and there was nothing on the counters, not even so much as a toaster.
The wooden table had six chairs around it, but she doubted he ever had people here to use them all.
And, of course, even in here there were plenty of windows.
One thing the house had going for it: plenty of space.
“You can eat anything you find in the kitchen, but you’re also welcome to eat what I cook. Your manager told me you didn’t have any food allergies. Is that true?”
“Yes.”
“Good. Now…I don’t care when you get out of bed, but we will begin work at eight o’clock sharp—so, if you want breakfast, you’ll need to get up earlier than that. We’ll take a lunch break from twelve to one, but then we’ll be back at it.”
“What about creativity? I’m not always ready to work on a schedule.”
“We’ll account for that. If you’re not there mentally, say the word and we’ll call it a day.
And if I’m not up for it, I’ll leave and let you do your thing.
But we will plan on a regular schedule, and when we are working, there will be no distractions.
Do not bring your phone in the studio. We’re there to work and nothing else.
We’ll end the work session at five unless we’re on fire—or if we’re exhausted. ”
Nodding, Raine bit the inside of her cheek to stop herself from lashing out. Even though his rules made her rankle, she could handle them.
Except Quentin wasn’t done. “And, in case your manager failed to tell you, there should be absolutely no substances of any kind here. No alcohol, no drugs—including pharmaceutical shit.”
Oh…he must’ve read about the Xanax.
“And no visitors. I choose who’s here and when.”
Jesus. As much as Raine would have liked to have a friend or two visit…
she hadn’t had any close friends in a long time.
Despite that, it was pretty rude of him to be such a dick about it.
But the only person she could think of who might want to visit would be Mal—and she was more than happy to deny him the pleasure.
“Also, my bedroom is the room next to the studio. I expect you to respect my privacy—and I’ll do the same for you. I suspect you know a little about me as I do you, but from here on out, I think we need to take each other at face value.”
She didn’t hate that.
“And clean up your own messes. I’m not your housekeeper or your babysitter. And if there’s something you need that you can’t find, ask. I have Wi-Fi, and you’re welcome to use it appropriately when we’re not working.”
Raine could barely stop herself from rolling her eyes. These rules assumed she was a stupid little kid. “I’m here to work…not to be told how to spend every waking hour.”
“Good. If you focus on work, then you won’t have to worry about anything else.”
Clearly, this man didn’t know shit about her. From the get go after walking in this place, she’d felt stifled and couldn’t help bristling at every single order he’d laid down.
“Questions?”
“No. But, just for the record, I’m not sixteen and you’re not my father.” After that, she pursed her lips because she didn’t trust her tongue.
“True, but you’re my guest and my rules are non-negotiable. Can you deal with them?”
Raine gave a simple nod of her head, allowing herself to finally roll her eyes.
“Why did you move here of all places? It’s like you’re hiding from something.”
His voice had an edge when he spoke. “You’re here to work, not speculate who I am or what I’m doing.”
Jesus. This guy should’ve come with a Beware of Dog sign. Fuck. She’d try to keep that in mind. Raising her eyebrows, she gave a short nod. “Fair enough.”
“Dinner will be at six if you want to join me.” Unlike the defiant nod she’d given him, he gave her a brief one of understanding, and she took that as an invitation to leave.
A minute later, she was in her room—but she wasn’t ready to unpack, because she wasn’t sure if she was going to stay. Here she was in BFE away from everything—and given a list of rules she might have to obey—as if she were an inmate or a child. Would this work out?
But if she wanted to save her career, did she really have a choice?
Cracking open one of the suitcases, she pulled out her notebook and sat on the bed, needing to write down her feelings. Getting it all out on paper would help her process and calm—and deal with all the emotions around this move.
Not long after she’d started writing, she heard something.
It took a few seconds for her to recognize that it was music wafting down the hall.
It was so quiet, she finally got up off the bed and walked to the door so she could hear it better.
But it was still impossible to make out, so she opened the door and walked down the hallway to the foot of the stairs.
It was hard rock, a song she’d never heard before…but, as she strained, she was able to make out some lyrics:
Dead air, dead eyes, dead skin,
But you put on a good show.
Flat hair, flat voice, flat face,
You’re someone I don’t know.
Walking back to the bed, she typed in some of the lyrics she could remember…and discovered that the song was “Dead Air” by none other than Quentin Russo. She’d never tell him to his face, but this song was pretty good.
Quentin might have been just another motherfucker—but at least he was a real artist. That was saying something, especially as she considered some of the producers she’d worked with in that past. Maybe she was in the right hands.
But she couldn’t help but feel trapped here in this prison. Still, some deep part of herself was grateful for it.