13. Quinn
13
QUINN
T he elevator doors slide open to reveal four hungover faces and their manager Monica beaming like she's about to host a children's party. My stomach drops.
"Good morning, everyone!" Monica chirps, way too enthusiastic for 9 AM. "Welcome to our first team building exercise."
"You've got to be fucking kidding me, I'm way too hungover for this," Jarron groans, slumping into a chair.
"Lightweights," Beau huffs as he rolls his eyes.
I hover near the door, contemplating if I could make a break for it. The conference room feels smaller than yesterday, especially with Austen sprawled across two chairs and Lyle face-down on the table.
"No kidding here." Monica claps her hands. "We're going to start with a fun little exercise-"
"I'd rather eat glass," Austen mutters.
"What was that?" Her smile doesn't waver.
"He said he can't wait," Beau translates, shooting me an apologetic look.
Monica pulls out a stack of cards. "We're going to share three things about ourselves. Two truths and one lie."
"I've got one," Jarron sits up. "I think this is stupid, I'd rather be anywhere else, and I respect our opener."
My cheeks burn. "Well, that's easy. The lie is that you think this is stupid, because you're acting like a child who definitely knows it is."
Lyle's head pops up from the table. "Oh snap."
"My turn," Lyle sits up straighter. "I once ate an entire pizza in under five minutes, I have a tattoo of my mom's face on my ass, and I think Quinn's got more talent in her pinky than most people I know."
"The pizza thing has to be the lie," I say, grateful for the attempt to lighten the mood.
"Nope. Won it at a county fair." He grins. "The tattoo's fake news though."
Austen rolls his eyes. "Nobody cares about your eating habits."
"I care," Beau chimes in. "Quinn, what about you? What's your story?"
Before I can answer, Jarron cuts in. "Let me guess - daddy issues drove you to Nashville, you've got a notebook full of break-up songs, and you actually think you belong on this tour."
My hands ball into fists under the table. "Wrong on all counts, cowboy. I came to Nashville because I'm good enough to be here. I write about real life, not just break-ups. And the only issue I have with my dad is that he sounds just like you - thinking he knows better than everyone else."
"Enough!" Monica slams her hand on the table. "Jarron, this attitude stops now. Quinn proved herself last night, and if you can't be professional-"
"Professional?" Austen jumps in. "Quinn you have four hundred followers on Youtube I'd hardly-"
"It doesn't matter," I stand up, my chair scraping against the floor. "Now I'm here, whether you like it or not. And I earned my spot."
"By sleeping with someone at the label?" Jarron sneers.
The room goes dead silent. My blood boils as I lean across the table. "Say that again. I dare you. I'm not like you, trying to fuck anything with a pulse…"
"Oookay, let's try something different," Monica interjects, stepping between Jarron and me. "Studio. Now. All of you."
The tension in the room could be cut with a knife as we follow Monica down the hallway to the studio. My heels click against the polished floor, each step fueling my anger. Jarron's accusation still burns in my ears.
"What, are we gonna sing the 'I love you, you love me' song from Barney?" Beau's deep voice breaks through the silence. "Because I gotta warn y'all, I only know the chorus."
A snort escapes me before I can stop it. Lyle starts humming the tune, and even Monica's shoulders relax a fraction.
"I always pegged you more as a Teletubbies fan," I say, glancing back at Beau.
He adjusts his baseball cap, a slight smile hidden beneath his beard. "Nah, those things gave me nightmares. Though right now, they might be less scary than Monica's team building exercises."
"I can hear you," Monica calls over her shoulder.
"That was the point," Beau says, winking at me.
Jarron shoves past us both. "If we're done with the preschool reunion, some of us have actual work to do."
"Yeah, like nursing that hangover," Lyle mutters, still humming the Barney theme song under his breath.
"What's the plan here oh fearless leader?" Austen asks, running his hands through his hair.
"Singing. Together." Monica's tone leaves no room for argument. "Quinn, you're going to harmonize with Jarron on 'Midnight in Memphis.'"
"That's our biggest hit," Jarron protests. "She doesn't even know-"
I cut him off by humming the opening bars. His jaw tightens.
"Actually," I say, settling onto a stool with my guitar, "I've covered it a few times. Though I usually do it in A minor instead of G."
"We're not changing the key," Jarron snaps.
"Fine by me." I strum a G chord. "Original key it is."
The first attempt is painful. Jarron deliberately speeds up the tempo, throwing off my timing. I catch up, but Austen's harmony is completely out of sync.
"Stop, stop," Monica waves her hands. "Jarron, quit trying to lose her. Again."
The second try, I match Jarron note for note, but he cuts off my verse early.
"This is ridiculous," he throws down his guitar pick. "She's butchering it."
"I'm following your lead," I shoot back. "Maybe if you'd stop trying to sabotage-"
"You want to see how it's really done?" He grabs his guitar. "Beau, Austen, let's show her."
They launch into the song at breakneck speed, Jarron's voice aggressive rather than emotional. I sit back, watching them burn through it like they're trying to set the studio on fire.
"Happy now?" Jarron demands when they finish.
"That was terrible," Monica states flatly. "You just turned a love song into a declaration of war."
"Beau, what's that book with that quote, all's fair in love and war?" Austen shouts towards him.
Monica crosses her arms, her gaze sweeping across the studio. "You know what I think? I think it's pretty sad that four grown men feel so threatened by one woman with a guitar."
"We're not threatened," Jarron scoffs, but his fingers fumble with his guitar strap.
"Really?" Monica arches an eyebrow. "Because from where I'm standing, you're acting like a bunch of territorial tomcats who just had their favorite sandbox invaded."
Austen slumps against the wall. "We just don't want-"
"To be shown up?" I interject, packing away my guitar.
"Listen here-" Jarron starts, but Monica cuts him off.
"No, you listen. Quinn, honey?" She turns to me with a knowing smile. "Remember this - haters are your biggest motivators. And right now?" She glances pointedly at Jarron and Austen. "You've got plenty of motivation."
"This is bullshit," Jarron mutters, storming out of the studio.
Austen follows, but not before throwing me one last glare. Beau lingers by the door, looking like he wants to say something, but Jarron's sharp "Let's go!" sends him shuffling after his bandmates.
Lyle pauses beside me. "For what it's worth, your version was better."
"Thanks," I say, shouldering my guitar case. "Though I think I just made myself some powerful enemies."
"Nah," Lyle grins. "Just some powerfully bruised egos."
I watch them leave, Monica's words echoing in my head. Haters are my biggest motivators. Well, in that case, I should be unstoppable by Christmas.