Only I hadn’t realized until I’d already accepted it that the call was coming through via FaceTime.
Ardy popped up on my screen, wearing a confused expression as he stared back at me. “Hey, kid, I know it’s early. Sorry to wake you.”
It wasn’t early, he was being polite. “No, it’s fine. I was up.”
He lifted an eyebrow. I was in my bedroom and shirtless, and my hair was a mess, so he clearly didn’t believe me. “Right. Anyway, we’ve got a bit of a situation on our hands. You got a minute?” When I nodded, he said, “Great. Let’s have you put on a shirt first.”
“Yes, sir.” I set the phone down on the dresser and scrambled for the first half-decent thing I could find. Fuck, my room was a mess. I snatched up a gray t-shirt off the floor and tugged it on, raked a hand through my hair to make it presentable, and picked my phone back up, turning so the only background was the tan wall behind me. “What’s the situation?”
Ardy was satisfied with my transition. “I’m going to let her explain.” He winked at me. “I just needed to make sure you were camera ready.” His image blurred as he lowered his phone, and the screen abruptly rolled over to a new caller.
“Troy?” the girl asked. “You there?”
For a second, thoughts vanished from my brain. It made it really fucking hard to remember how to speak. “Yeah.” I fumbled. “Hi, I’m here.”
Stella Mills was only a few years older than I was. She had sandy blonde hair and eyebrows that were like notches. When she’d started out, she’d been the down-to-earth girl next door, but she’d shed that image with her latest album. Now she was more like a lioness. Elegant and classy, and not afraid to flash her claws.
This girl on the other end of the call was the OG Stella. Her hair was piled on top of her head in a messy bun, and she was wrapped in an oversized sweatshirt from Vanderbilt. Her makeup was minimal, and the lighting on her tour bus was harsh as it sped along, making her look very real and normal.
But she was still Stella Mills, on my phone, talking to me.
“Hi!” She brightened. “It’s nice to meet you.”
Don’t be weird, don’t be weird . . . “Yeah, you too!”
It came out too loud and excited, making me cringe.
She didn’t seem to notice. “So, listen. I’ve been talking with Ardy, and the concern over at Warbler is about your level of experience.”
My heart thudded to a stop. This was where she told me they’d decided to go in a different direction. My shoulders sagged. “Okay.”
“I don’t have those concerns,” she added.
I blinked, unsure of what to say. That sounded good, but I didn’t trust it.
“My concern,” she continued, “is with who you are as an artist. Like, I love your tone, but I’m not looking for a good cover band. I want to discover someone who has a voice. Do you know what I mean?”
“Sure.” I didn’t really, but I was kind of starstruck, and my brain wasn’t functioning at full capacity.
She lifted her gaze away from the camera so she could glance out the window and appeared deep in thought. Then, her attention abruptly snapped back to me. “I really liked what you said. I felt it in my soul when you talked about how much it meant to you to be on that stage. It’s been a while since I thought about it, but I remember being there at that point in my career, just starting out.”
When she smiled, it was so genuine and contagious, I smiled too.
She squeezed her earlobe with her fingers, thinking. “I guess what it comes down to is, what kind of show are my fans going to get from Troy Osbourne? I know what I get with Lauren, because she’s put out an album, but I don’t have anything else to go on with you.”
My heart banged a furious tempo. It felt like my and Erika’s dream all hinged on the next thing I said or did. I swallowed an enormous breath. “Can I play you something?”
Her smile was polite and bright. Hopefully, she wasn’t just humoring me. “Sure.”
“Let me grab my guitar.”
And some pants since I’m not wearing any.
I’d never gotten ready so fast. I tugged on jeans and cleared my throat as I stumbled into the living area. I wasn’t warmed up at all, and I fumbled to get the phone angled right on the TV so she could see me, but it didn’t seem to matter. I got out my guitar and sat on the edge of the couch with the guitar positioned across my leg.
“What are you playing for me?” Stella asked.
“This is ‘Power.’” I was relieved at how confident I sounded. “An original written by Erika Graham.”