Chapter 28
Merritt half-heartedly offered to split the driving, but Niko waved her off, giving her full control of the music instead.
It was an assignment she took seriously, wanting to defer to his tastes rather than dominate with hers, and soon they were trading old favorite songs and albums and the memories that came with them, the parties and crushes and kisses and adolescent embarrassments.
She’d originally been booked in a hotel that night, and he’d wanted to camp in one of the parks, so they compromised by renting a cabin deep in the woods of Fishlake National Forest. They pulled up just as the sun was setting, and Merritt stood on the shore, taking deep, crisp breaths, the dappled oranges and purples of the sky mirrored in the glassy surface of the lake.
“This is incredible,” she said, as Niko came up beside her.
“It’s no Crested Peak,” he huffed, and she could tell he was only half joking.
Their drive the next day was more of the same, and Merritt almost found herself disappointed when they finally arrived at the house the label had rented for her in Beachwood Canyon.
It wasn’t extravagant—her place in Crested Peak was twice the size, though probably half the price—but it was a mid-century modern dream, with a beautifully maintained garden of succulents in the front, and a trellis blooming with bougainvillea winding around to the pool in the back.
There was a view here, too, of the city that had been her home for almost fifteen years.
Looking out at the expansive sprawl, Merritt realized with a jolt that she felt like nothing more than a visitor, any lingering familiarity firmly tied to nostalgia.
It was half-comforting, half-unsettling—especially considering the reason she was here in the first place.
She was due at the studio the next morning, so they went out to an early dinner at one of her favorite sushi spots, took a long shower, then fell into bed. Niko passed out immediately, but Merritt slept fitfully, tossing and turning for most of the night.
When she checked her phone and saw 3:38 a.m. staring back at her, she considered texting Audrey to cancel.
Sadie Rose didn’t know she was coming, so she’d never be the wiser.
And maybe she would’ve done it, if she hadn’t spent the past month listening to Sadie’s EP, plus the demos for the songs they’d be working on together.
Merritt had never been one to overestimate her own talent—she knew her success had mostly been a matter of being in the right place at the right time with the right look and the right marketing angle.
The music industry had an insatiable appetite for moody, waifish young girls with so-called wisdom beyond their years.
Sadie Rose, though, was good. Really good.
Catchy hooks and crisp lyrics and a voice that was half silk, half sandpaper—plus the wide eyes and rosebud mouth of a silent film star.
A combination that would have any executive with a brain looking at her with dollar signs in their eyes.
As someone who had been on the receiving end of plenty of those looks, Merritt felt a stirring of fear for her, her fight-or-flight activated.
She wasn’t going to cancel.
The next day, she blearily opened her eyes before her alarm, early enough that she couldn’t blame it on the one-hour time difference between California and Colorado.
She spent way too long picking out what she was going to wear, especially considering she hadn’t brought many options.
Long days in the studio meant comfort above all else, but since it was her first time in one in more than a decade, she didn’t want to look like a total out-of-touch slob.
Niko had run out to get them coffee and breakfast burritos, though she was too nervous to swallow more than a few bites. She felt his eyes on her as she brushed out her hair, put on her makeup, and pulled on ripped black jeans and a white T-shirt.
She met his gaze in the mirror. “Are you sure you don’t want to come? There’s always a bunch of people hanging around. I can’t promise it won’t bore the shit out of you, though.”
He shook his head. “No, I’ll let you do your thing. You’re at work. You don’t need me there distracting you.”
She glanced back at him with a teasing smile. “I’m there when you’re at work all the time, though.”
He grinned, too, coming up behind her and resting his hands on her hips. “And that’s why it took me twice as long to finish as it should’ve.”
She turned around and looped her arms around his neck.
“Maybe that’s all part of my evil plan.”
She thought that would make him laugh, but his expression turned earnest, his eyes searching her face, the words feeling more loaded than she’d meant them to. Before they could say anything else, though, her phone buzzed on the bed next to her.
“I think my car’s here,” she said, picking up her bag.
“Text me if you need more ideas for things to do.” They’d spent part of dinner the previous evening putting together a list of trails, museums, restaurants, and landmarks to keep him busy while she was working.
He nodded and pulled her in for one last kiss, squeezing her hand encouragingly.
Outside, a shiny black car with tinted windows was idling in the driveway. She was startled to open the door to the back seat and discover it was already occupied: Audrey Aoki herself was there, thumbs flying over the screen of her phone, not slowing down even as she looked up at Merritt.
“Merritt!” she said, her smile wide and gleaming, British accent as posh as ever. “So wonderful to see you. You look great. So healthy.”
“Uh, thanks, you, too,” said Merritt, sliding in and shutting the door behind her.
Audrey did, in fact, look great: the decade that had passed since they’d last seen each other was barely visible.
On the other hand, she had definitely just called Merritt fat—but by Los Angeles standards, she was, and she no longer gave a fuck. “You were worried I’d bail, huh?”
Audrey shut off her phone but left it sitting on her lap, where it immediately lit up with another flurry of notifications.
“You have, historically, been a bit of a flight risk,” she said, lightly enough to make it sound like it was a cute little quirk of Merritt’s instead of one of the things that had destroyed their working relationship.
“I wouldn’t do that,” said Merritt, trying to conceal her guilt about how close she’d come to doing exactly that. “It’s been ten years. I’ve grown up a little since then.”
“Glad to hear it,” said Audrey, her smile genuine now. “Because I’ve found that time passing doesn’t always equal growing up.”
“Don’t I know it,” Merritt said with a rueful laugh.
She could take a little playful ribbing from Audrey, who, as much as Merritt had built her up to represent everything she hated about the industry, was just a person doing her best, making her living wrangling self-involved and unpredictable people in a soul-crushingly toxic environment.
At least she, unlike most people Merritt had met with her level of power, seemed to have a kind heart under her flawlessly tailored blazers, and a genuine desire to do right by her clients.
Audrey glanced down into her phone, tapped out a few brisk replies, then set it down again.
“Feeling good about today?” She continued without giving Merritt a chance to respond.
“I just wanted to give you a heads-up that this is going to be filmed. Social media is crucial to build buzz, and fans love getting a peek behind the scenes. We think this has the potential to be a huge viral moment for both of you.”
“Great,” said Merritt dryly. “I’m always looking for my next huge viral moment.”
Audrey ignored her, passing her phone over, where a Docusign form was open to the signature line.
“Would you mind signing this appearance release? Totally standard.”
Merritt thought about protesting, irritated that she was getting ambushed with this now rather than having a chance to look it over with a lawyer or a manager, like she’d just tumbled off the turnip truck and didn’t know any better.
Still, the last thing she wanted to do today was rock the boat.
She sighed and scribbled a malformed version of her signature with her finger.
They pulled up to the studio, an iconic legacy establishment that was coasting on its reputation to charge outrageous session fees—the same thing Merritt herself was doing, now that she thought about it.
She’d recorded her second album there, and as they drove through the gates, she was hit with a bittersweet wave of déjà vu that had bile rising in her throat.
A guy with a camera rig hoisted on his shoulder greeted them at the front door, and another woman wired Merritt for sound, tucking the lav mic into the collar of her shirt. Merritt considered warning them in advance that it would probably pick up nothing but her thrashing heart.
The hallways smelled exactly the same, memories overwhelming her to the point that she had to dig her fingernails into her palm to keep herself grounded.
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw her own face—her album cover framed on the wall, next to the platinum records for the first three singles.
She had identical ones buried deep in a storage unit in the Valley that she and Niko needed to sort through on her day off.
She’d forgotten that three singles had gone platinum, actually, because all she’d heard from the label was how disappointed they were in the album’s performance compared to her first one.
But she didn’t linger, all too aware of the camera hovering over her shoulder.
She was relieved when they turned down an unfamiliar hallway, away from the studio she’d recorded in, but she did a double take at one of the pictures on the wall, stopping so short that the camera guy almost crashed into her.