I shrug. “I’m me.”
“And that is?” he asks, leaning on his hand, and I smile.
“Amazing,” I say, taking a page out of Jace’s book, and he grins back at me. “I moved here from Princeton, New Jersey to follow my dreams. My parents didn’t believe that I could or would do it when I started talking about it back in March, but I knew I was leaving. I want to be a singer or a songwriter. Maybe even both. I go to school at Bellevue, pursuing a music degree, and I start my internship at Empress Records in January. I do at least four gigs a week, and I’ve gotten pretty popular on campus—”
“Yeah, I came to your show downtown at Lyrics last week.”
I cringe. “You did?”
“Yeah, it was great. I love how you work that loop pedal.”
“Thank you.”
“Very Ed Sheeran of you.”
“I learned how to do it after watching one of his shows. I thought it was amazing.”
He nods. “For sure! Awesome, yeah. I mean, you’re great, love your style, love your voice. It’s very smoky, I love it. Kinda a mix between Alanis Morissette and Sara Bareilles.”
“Wow, thank you,” I say, and I pray he doesn’t see that I’m freaking the hell out. Those women are my idols, and he’s saying my voice is like theirs? Eek!
“For sure, and you are good lyrically. You could be better, and I think with some work, I can get you there.”
“You can?”
“Oh, yeah. I’m not sure if I can sell you, though,” he says, shaking his head as he looks me over. Sell me? Why? Am I doing something wrong? Shit, I wasn’t ready for this. “You’re like every other girl out there with this dream, a female version of Ed. And I don’t know, I don’t think it will sell.”
“I think I would sell well.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. I mean, sure, I’m like every girl out there, but I feel my voice is unique, rustic, and I’m likable. Plus, I have drive. I fight for what I want.”
He nods. “Yeah, I agree. I like you, but I don’t know if everyone else will. Okay, hold on. Let’s see what you think about this,” he says, pausing before leaning forward and hitting the button on the phone in the middle of the table. He then leans back in his chair to cross his arms as the receptionist’s voice fills the room.
“Yes, Stu?”
“Hey, do we have any internships open?”
“Yeah, you fired that kid last week, remember?”
He pauses. “What? I did?”
“He spilled your coffee down your shirt in front of Diddy.”
“Oh!” he says, laughing, and my eyes widen. “That’s right. But I fired him?”
“Yes.”
“Hm, seems a little drastic, don’t you think?”
“Diddy didn’t think so.”
“Then I’m awesome! Okay, and I haven’t hired anyone else?”
“Nope, you have a whole stack of applications on your desk.”
“Cool, thanks,” he says before clicking the button again and looking at me. “Blow off that unpaid internship at Empress and come work here now. My interns get eight bucks an hour.”