Chapter 2
LYRIC
Once Gerald left, I just shook my head and went back to the song I’d been working on and listened to the rap again, then turned it off and tossed my headphones onto the table. My frustration was strong with that one. It wasn’t just the attitude, it was that it was a really good song, and he wasn’t here for it, and I was sick and tired of working my ass off at weird-ass hours only to have an artist come in drunk.
They weren’t all like that... I wasn’t stupid, I was just tired, maybe? Jaded a lot? Depressed a bit, and my anxiety was constantly through the roof. The labels put so much pressure on us, and while we often worked as a team with the other writers, I craved a moment to shine. To see my song performed at a musical award ceremony, so I told myself it was okay to skip meals, I lied and said it was fine that I got three hours of sleep and smiled when I got yelled at.
Then there were always the amazing team members that would come in with coffee and a hug or those who would sit with me and complain, yay for NDAs, or even the artists who were genuinely incredible human beings who worked their asses off the same way we did.
That was life in any industry, quite frankly. I knew that, but it didn’t make it any easier.
“It wasn’t good,”
I said under my breath after listening to the shit rap for the thirtieth time and shutting it off in frustration. “It won’t get better.”
“It might, though?”
A deep male voice sounded, followed by the quiet shut of the door, a damning shut.
Why did that voice sound familiar? The smell? Even the way the door softly closed. I was used to the loud walking and perfume or cologne to cover the smell of weed.
This was fresh.
The smell.
The quiet sound.
“Sorry. You have to book the studio time, did you walk into the wrong one?”
What was with man buns these days? His jet- black hair was pulled into a messy bun on his head, and I was pretty sure we were wearing the same brand of baggy black cargo pants.
His loose Supreme white shirt was different from my black hoodie, but still...
He looked vaguely familiar, but I was too tired to really think too much about it until he walked in closer and sat in Gerald’s chair, spinning toward me like he owned the place. “Nice to see you.”
See me? As in he’d seen me before?
All the air left my body. Muscles spread down his forearms. Why would the universe punish us like that? He was fit, like super fit, and his face was chiseled like he’d found a doctor who knew how to shape like the David. I looked down at his fingers as they gripped the chair and swallowed. Oh God, the veins in his arms.
They moved as if his body was so jacked and hydrated that they had to wave when exposed.
Gerald poked his head in again. “Sorry to interrupt the silence, but Hi”—the guy in the chair spun around and shook his head—“this artist is from an incredible K-pop group. He just got back from the military, treat him right, or you’ll probably be fired.”
He laughed. “No, but I’m serious. I can’t fake laugh anymore, it hurts my soul too much. He’s here to record one of your demos, the one that dipshit...”
He looked over his shoulder. “Sorry, thought I heard a noise and didn’t want to have to carry his puke again. Don’t ask. Anyway, he’s going to record the last song you were working on, he hand-picked it, called up the label and studio, and booked you last minute, have fun kids.”
He shut the door before I could yell that I needed food, to pee, and a shot of tequila. I’d been working for over twelve hours already with a rapper who was not, in fact, a rapper!
The oddly familiar random K-pop dude leaned in, but I didn’t make actual eye contact. “My bandmates are coming in a week, but I’m performing my solo and hopefully a new song for the group for Award Season. So you see...”
He grinned at me like he knew me. “...it’s a win-win!”
I waved him off. “Listen, I don’t have you anywhere on my schedule.”
I grabbed my phone from my pocket just when my mentor and boss poked his head into the studio.
Another knock sounded while Gerald interrupted yet again. “Sorry, just had to add...be nice to Hills, he just got out of the military, maybe eat some candy? Get that blood sugar up?”
I almost threw something at him when I realized.
Hills?
Why did that sound familiar? Hills, Hills, Hills.
The Hills are Alive...with the sound of.
Shit.
I forced a smile as Hills turned and stood. “It’s cool, man, sorry I got here a bit early.”
“Oh, she doesn’t mind.”
Gerald waved me off.
She does, she one hundred percent does. “Plus, we just had an opening, stay as long as you want.”
Or leave, buy me ramen, a hot dog, beer, seven shots of espresso, a puppy, just don’t stay any longer.
He checked his watch. “Looks like she has around two free hours, go over the tracks we discussed, and when the rest of the group comes in, we can start planning from there.
We don’t have a lot of time, but I know you’ve been listening to all of the demos that have been sent to you for the last few months, so it should go pretty quickly.
You know the label’s still against your plan of debuting your song before the group’s, but it might add in some excitement, so they gave you the go-ahead. Make it great, text me if you need anything. You’re in good hands.”
I almost gasped. As if this random stranger ever touched my hands.
Hills, was it? He got up and moved toward Gerald. Up until this moment, he’d been the best mentor.
Ugh, don’t, just don’t.
Don’t do it, don’t do the bro slap on the back.
Gerald’s hand moved.
Hills didn’t dodge.
Ah, and the heavens rejoiced at two more bros being bros while I had to sit and watch.
I turned back toward the soundboard, gently set my phone down on some free space next to my already half-empty Americano with its pitiful lack of ice, and stared straight ahead as the door clicked shut.
I smelled his cologne again, like a wave I couldn’t escape; it was clear like vanilla but had a bit of a spicy edge to it as well. He was warm, too, not that he was touching me, but he was close enough that I could feel the heat emanating from him. “So, should we start?”
No. I wanted to scream. I hated when this happened with VIPs—when I had no heads up, and no say in anything.
Grinding my teeth, I clicked on the file of the song we’d just used. “Sure.”
I hoped my smile was sweet, demure. “If you can make this song work for you, then I’ll work with you, if you suck balls and waste my time, then you walk. Deal?”
He suddenly stood, sending his chair spiraling backward toward the couch. “So, you want me to nail it, and only then I get the supreme pleasure of working with you, Lyric? Did you want me to do it blindfolded, too? Should I play all the instruments and lay the track myself, no not enough time, how about a compromise? I’ll do the rap part first and I’ll do it better than the last guy that was in here.”
I snorted, should I clue him in that the last guy was drunk off his ass and most likely floating into the universe while touching both stars and grass at the same time? “Yeah, be my guest—that’s the hardest part, and something tells me you’re not the main rapper in your group.”
It was a guess. Seriously though, why did he look so familiar? Had every single person I’d worked with in the last three and a half years suddenly melted together into one giant person?
I finally looked at him, really looked at him, our eyes locked. I counted the seconds, one, two, three.
The smirk.
I gasped and nearly fell out of my chair. Hands shaking, I bit down on my lip to keep myself from asking all the vulnerable questions, the explanations—no, the excuses.
“Ah, so she does know who I am.”
He winked. “Whiskey really doesn’t taste the same after you, or was it maybe after the military?”
He could rap.
He could use his tongue—voice, I meant voice, very well.
His hands played the guitar like I’m assuming he played every other person the way he played me.
“Just one song.”
He’d teased after we wrapped up after a late night. “Come on, we’ll write it together. It could be a hit.”
“They should all be hits.”
I was a bit drunk and a lot high off the way he moved around the room, finally spreading out on the couch in the corner. “Come on, Lyric, we’re practically best friends now.”
I rolled my eyes. “We met this morning.”
“It was three in the morning, and now it’s three in the morning the next day, so technically, we’ve known each other for at least two days.”
“Wow, someone’s reaching.”
“Reach for the stars.”
He fell back against the couch, and his black joggers fell low over his hips, making his grey shirt ride up across his abs. His Yankees hat, too, had fallen off his head. “They always tell you it’s possible if you work hard enough, and then you realize the industry is full of liars with perfect smiles.”
He jerked up to a sitting position. “Do you think it’s the veneers? Should we blame those?”
I burst out laughing. “Does it matter that I had braces for five years?”
“Oh.”
He shot to his feet. “Well, that means you win, it means you’re a natural.”
He leaned down next to my chair. “I’m manifesting it.”
“What?”
I leaned forward. His hair was short and messy against his head, his brown eyes were bright and innocent; they matched mine. “What are you manifesting?”
“Us,”
he said it so simply, like he was making a promise to the universe. “And, of course, the hit song we just recorded. I can’t wait to show the rest of the group.”
“Ah, and I can’t wait to meet this new crazy talented K-pop group. Be proud, you guys only debuted a little while ago, and you’ve already managed to get on Billboard.”
I leaned forward and crooked my finger. “Be honest though, was that merch?”
“Wow!”
He fell back on his ass. “Shots fired, and no, that was all organic, incredible talent from the lead singer.”
He pointed at himself.
I got up and stumbled onto the ground, nearly kneeing him in the balls. “That wasn’t on purpose.”
“Even if it was...”
He wrapped his arms around me and spun me onto my back, pinning me to the floor. “...I’d be okay with it because now I have you.”
“Do you, though?”
“May I?”
he asked, oh God, he asked.
I opened my mouth and shut it, then opened it again like an idiot. “Nobody can know.”
“Who would find out that I kissed the words, the lyrics from Lyric right out of her mouth?”
His thumb spread across my bottom lip. “Hmm?”
Everyone, was what I said in my head.
What ended up coming out was. “Nobody.”
“Good.”
He leaned down and tugged my lower lip between his teeth while sliding his hand down my side. “Still okay?”
Why was it sexy that he asked?
Why did I care?
He wasn’t taking advantage, and I wanted him, he’d been brilliant during our session, and once I found out who he was, I was so intimidated I wanted to puke.
The new golden voice of K-pop.
I nodded. “I want this.”
“Good,”
was all he said before tugging at my shirt.
But it hadn’t been good two days later, after more moments together, when I was met with a sticky note from him on my computer that said, “Sorry, management wants us back in Seoul.”
I’d been in LA at the time with our sister label, so I had no choice but to stay, and it was good for me because TMZ, for the most part, didn’t cover them.
MINE: the biggest up-and-coming K-pop group with their gorgeous singer. I didn’t have to look, and I refused to. I stuck to celeb tabloids, and I’d kept my head down.
Until now.
Finally, I found my breath and managed to get words through my teeth. “It took me a while to see through all the bullshit and muscle, but I think I just managed. Get in the booth.”
Still shaking, I spoke up. “You’ll have the eight count before you jump into?—“
“—I got it.”
Arrogant as ever.
More beautiful than before.
Fuck.