Risky Business

After reviewing our strategy for this meeting, she retreated into her planning and plotting, and I logged onto my laptop to get some work done too. But still, I couldn’t help but glance over as she’d cross and uncross her legs, lick her lips as she read silently to herself, and do a giddy wiggle as she received an email from another social media artist hungry to participate in the festival.

“Have you flown in here before?” I ask.

“Huh?” Jayme says, her finger marking her place on the page. “Oh, yeah. Bunches of times. Anytime I’ve had to come to LA, this is where I fly in if I can. Van Nuys is better for private planes, but you can still get where you need to go with relative ease, or what constitutes as ease in LA.” She laughs at her own joke, but LA’s traffic is truly no laughing matter.

“How long do you think it’ll take us to get to the record label’s office?”

“Well, it’s roughly five miles away, so probably . . . an hour?”

“Perfect,” I answer dryly, “so nothing crazy.”

The plane touches down, and we roll to a smooth stop. The ding lets us know we can unbuckle and prepare to deplane. Before we get very far, the flight attendant comes out from her area near the cockpit. “Do you need anything for your ride? Coffee, water, a snack?”

“No, thank you, Lisa,” Jayme tells the woman. “We appreciate the easy flight. See you this afternoon?”

Her camaraderie with the woman is natural, much like with everyone. Jayme puts people at ease within moments of meeting them, Lisa included, and then works her magic.

“Yes ma’am. Have a lovely day, Jayme . . . Mr. Steen.”

See? Lisa is calling me by my last name, but she and Jayme could probably go out for drinks tonight and be besties before morning. She’s amazing that way, and I’m glad she’s with me for this meeting with Jazmyn Starr.

Today has to go right. There’s no other option.

I take the steps down first, offering Jayme a steadying hand, but she alights the stairs to the tarmac below as though she’s floating, not balancing in precariously sexy heels. Damn . . . those heels!

We climb into a waiting Mercedes, and the driver begins expertly navigating through the airport traffic.

“Let me send a text to Steve confirming our arrival,” Jayme says, clicking on her phone.

Steve Capetti is Jazmyn Starr’s manager, and a surprisingly slick one considering Jazmyn is still relatively new to the scene. But her star is rising fast, and Steve is a big part of why that’s happening. It was a process just to get his personal cell number, and now Jayme is texting him as though it’s no big deal.

This festival is going to happen. We’re going to make it happen, and Americana Land will be not just recovered from the bad press but the feature of tons of good publicity. All at my hand, with Jayme’s guidance. For once, I’ll be the best I can be.

I think it over and over, letting it become a mantra, never considering that anything but this will be true.

“Shit!” Jayme hisses.

“What’s wrong?” My fight or flight instinct flips on instantly, and I’m ready to fight . . . for the festival, for Americana Land, for myself.

“Steve says Jazmyn is hungry. She wants to meet at a restaurant instead of his office.” Jayme looks thoughtful, her fingers poised to respond but not until she considers every angle.

“What do you think? It feels spontaneous, but I’d bet it’s not,” I suggest.

Jayme looks up at me, smiling. “Oh, it’s a total power play. But I think it’ll actually work in our favor. A fun mimosa-filled brunch instead of a dry office meeting? Done. Plus, I think we might be able to get some fake-sneaky shots and plant some gossip about ‘why is upcoming sensation Jazmyn Starr meeting with Americana Land’s bad boy?’ That would get some buzz started before we even promote the festival.”

“Impressive.”

She preens at the compliment dramatically, slipping her hair behind her ear. “I know.”

I wait while she types out a response to Steve and then clarify, “I thought we wanted to show me as a good guy?”

Jayme throws me a sassy wink. “We do, but people love a bad boy too. It’s all about the nuances.” She frowns at her phone. “Uhm, excuse me, Carlo?” The driver looks up into the rearview mirror. “Change of plans. Can you take us to . . . Green Goddess? It’s on Victory Boulevard.”

Carlo nods in answer, then carefully types on the large screen on the dash. “About a twenty-five minute ETA.”

Jayme types on her phone once more and then sets it down to give me her full attention. “Do we need to go over things again?”

We don’t. We’ve talked about this meeting, the contract we had legal prepare, Jazmyn Starr herself, and dissected the whole thing from every angle. Still, I’m nervous. Or excited. Or both?