Chapter 3 Musepiration #2
“It all sounds good in theory, but it’s the execution where it will all fall apart. It would come with so many strings, and I don’t know about you two, but I’m too clumsy to navigate them without falling flat on my face.”
“But—”
“She’s not wrong, Bailey,” Maxi agreed. “While Mom would jump at the chance to help us out, everything we’re trying to do with Happily Ever Forever would get strangled in all the strings that come with dealing with the gods. There’d be way more negative fallout than positive in the long run.”
“But it was a good idea,” Addie quickly added. “Unfortunately, we just can’t use it. At least not that part of it.”
Bailey sighed. “Yeah, I already figured that would be your response, but that makes it even more important to bring in a big-name client. I’m not even talking about one with deep pockets.
Someone everyone is watching right now. Someone who would benefit from all the extra attention of a social media campaign as much as we would. ”
“And where exactly are we supposed to find this miracle celebrity?” Addie asked.
Bailey shrugged. “I’m just an idea person. You two are the ones who execute the plans … so get planning.”
A big client. A big PR campaign. And magazine-worthy nuptials that happen without so much as a flower out of place, no oversized cake s’mores, and definitely no Furies executing a revenge plot on behalf of scorned lovers everywhere.
In other words, they needed nothing short of a miracle.
Phoenix
Growing up, their neighbors called them trouble.
Now, Phoenix and his best friends were the Stone Talons, a rock band formed in his parents’ garage what felt like a million years ago and who were now, according to the national music magazines, upcoming rock gods ready to break records along with the hearts of adoring fans.
But right now, the only thing Phoenix envisioned breaking was the glass box currently protecting their snide-comment-hurling producer.
“Let’s break for fifteen.” Indy, the producer, released a shifter-like growl. “In the meantime, everyone needs to get their shit together. And Nix?”
Phoenix glanced up, already knowing what was coming. “Yeah?”
“Spend those fifteen thinking up lyrics that we can actually fucking use.”
Phoenix’s hands twitched on his sticks as he contemplated hurling them straight through the soundproof window.
“Ignore him.” Easton’s beefy hand transformed from gargoyle stone to flesh and bone, and landed on his shoulder. “He’s had a stick up his ass all morning.”
“If he doesn’t shut down the attitude, he’s about to have another one,” Phoenix quipped to his best friend.
The four bandmates headed to the corner couches where they’d stashed their gear.
“Just give the cranky man what he wants.” Gavin, their lead singer, threw himself onto the overstuffed chair, legs draped over the massive arm.
Phoenix shot the griffon shifter a glare. “How can you seriously be okay with more of the same? Parties. Girls. Sex. Repeat. You realize there are other things to sing about besides those three things, right?”
“Yeah. But it’s not what the label wants to hear from us and the last time I checked, they’re the ones throwing all the green our way.”
Gavin wasn’t wrong, but that didn’t mean Phoenix had to like it—and he didn’t.
Their debut single, “Flying Undies,” had been a song he’d written as a joke, but that their new label announced was “their breakout.” Now, with every panty party song written, a musician lost his soul—or at least Phoenix did.
He hadn’t written anything notable for months, unless you counted the two lines of potentially lyrical genius that came into his head following a brief hallway encounter with a certain gorgeous redhead.
Something about his feisty neighbor sparked something in him, and he hoped it was the end of his lyrical dry spell.
Only time would tell.
Xavier, a Titan descendant who played bass guitar, sat on the other end of the couch and tossed them each a water bottle.
“I saw an advertisement for that Musepiration service on the subway. They match up creatives with their ideal Muse. They supposedly have a high success rate. If you’re that down about things, maybe give it a try. ”
Gavin smirked. “I saw that, too. They’re trained at that fancy-ass Muse Academy in Olympus. It’s not a bad idea.”
“I’m not renting a Muse.” Phoenix glowered. Picking up his guitar, he played around with a few chords. “It’ll happen when it happens.”
“Then expect Indy and Marcus to be on your ass until it does.”
A commotion sounded from the other side of the box. The label owner, Roger Kinkaid, stood in front of their manager, red-faced with his hands flailing wildly. They volleyed back and forth, the exchange looking more heated by the second.
“What the hell is going on out there?” Xavier asked.
Gavin grunted and played on his phone. “Fuck only knows with those two.”
East, his eyes narrowed in concentration, put his lip-reading skills to use. “Someone did something that the label doesn’t like and they’re blaming Marcus for falling asleep on the job and letting it happen.” East paused. “He needs to fix it.” He paused again. “And quick.”
Xavier smacked Gavin’s booted foot. “What the fuck did you do now, man?”
“Nothing. I’ve been a fucking angel.”
“Not Gavin,” Easton added before his eyes snapped to Phoenix. “What the hell did you do to make Kinkaid throw an aneurysm?”
Phoenix’s head shot up. “Me? Nothing. When I’m not with you assholes, I’m at home. How could I have done something?”
The label head stormed off, and Marcus turned toward them, shooting a lethal glare right through the window—at Phoenix.
A tablet in hand and smoke spewing from his ears, he barged into the booth.
“What the ever-loving fuck is the meaning of this, Cross?” Marcus waved the tablet before tossing it onto the couch between him and Easton. “Please. Explain it to me. So that I can then go back to the label and convince them that you’re not shitting on everything they’ve done for you four.”
“I seriously don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about, Marcus.” Phoenix gestured to his guitar and his notebook. “It’s coming. It’s a work in progress, and it’s not coming as fast as I’d like, but it’s coming.”
“What’s coming is the label terminating your contract if you don’t deliver the types of songs you promised.” He waved his tablet, showing an open email. “This drivel is not what you promised them!”
“I know it’s not exactly what the label expected, but it’s not that bad.”
“Your eyes sent a dart to my heart.”
Phoenix felt the rest of the band watching the back-and-forth like a table tennis match. “It’s more than I had last week.”
“Listen up, and listen good.” The vein in Marcus’s temple throbbed. “Nix from the Stone Talons does not write about hearts, or anything close to feelings—unless that feeling is—”
“Horny?”
Marcus’s eyes narrowed. “You’re skating on thin ice, Nix. Get with the program—and quick. You need to start taking this seriously.”
“I am. I think I may have recently found my Muse.” The words left Phoenix’s lips before he could contain them, and damn if they didn’t sound true.
“Since when?”
“Since recently.”
“And why am I only hearing about this now?” Marcus demanded.
“Because it’s new and I’m not sure where it’ll go. I wanted to make sure there was some concrete progress before I brought it up.”
Their manager looked like he was chewing his tongue as he played a mental Jenga game. “Fine. See where it goes … just don’t go overboard.”
Phoenix lifted an eyebrow. “What the hell does that mean?”
“No hearts, flowers, or feelings. Keep the love sonnets for your personal journal.”
Marcus stormed off, slamming the studio door behind him.
East turned to him, smirk firmly in place. “You’re royally screwed. A Muse? If you’re gonna lie you could just say that you’ve been working on some new material.”
“It’s not a lie,” Phoenix declared.
“Yeah? Then why haven’t I heard about this creative Kickstarter before now?”
“Like I told Marcus, it’s—”
“Recent,” the guys finished in unison.
Indy dropped back into his seat on the other side of the recording booth and flipped on the intercom. “Let’s get back to work, and this time, play it like there are half-naked people in the crowd slinging underwear at you with fucking slingshots.”
Phoenix failed to swallow a groan.
When did his life start revolving around airborne panties?