Читать книгу Crazy in Love - Crystal B. Bright - Страница 11

Chapter 3

Truman stomped his way toward the elevator as some bald-headed black guy tried to stop him. In his suspenders and with a fancy gold watch, the dude didn’t look like security. Then again Truman never thought he would have seen a big star like Shauna Stellar on her hands and knees chucking her guts out in a men’s bathroom toilet.

“Just wait, Mr. Woodley.” The pleading tone in the man’s voice sounded desperate.

Oh, so now he was Mr. Woodley. So this guy knew him. Couldn’t have been from Truman’s shows at county fairs or the dive bars. Hearing Shauna talk, Truman wouldn’t have an album.

Damn it. He didn’t want to go back home to Tennessee with his tail stuck between his legs. He wanted to prove he could make it, especially to his parents who would welcome him back with that I-told-you-so look and the keys to the family business he didn’t want to run.

“I don’t know who you are, man, but you’re in my way.” Truman didn’t stop moving.

“I’m Craig George.” He presented his hand. “I spoke to you on the phone a couple of days ago.”

Truman had never turned down a man’s handshake. He grabbed Craig’s hand, gave him one solid hand pump, and marched toward the elevator.

Craig continued. “I don’t know what just happened with you, but I would like to talk before you leave.”

Truman stared into Craig’s eyes. He seemed sincere. He didn’t have that sleazy look most record execs had. Looking at him closely, Craig seemed anxious. No. More like scared.

Truman understood desperation. He wanted to sing more than anything else. Fatima Evans seemed to be on his side when she’d signed him a year ago. After she died, Truman felt like no one would be in his corner.

God, he needed this record to make his career. Kids half his age made careers for themselves by singing on YouTube. He didn’t want to propel his music on a gimmick.

Truman punched the down button for the elevator. “There’s nothing to talk about.” He peered over Craig’s shoulder and saw Shauna creeping to a set of glass double doors. Truman pointed to her. “She said enough.”

Craig turned to her. She held the glass door open, staring through it at the two of them until she finally ducked inside. She couldn’t mask the scared look on her face, the little bit he could see of it. She had on that ridiculous hat that looked cartoonish.

Truman had been nervous about meeting the infamous Shauna Stellar. Stories of her diva attitude and tough demeanor paled in comparison to the heap he found on the bathroom floor.

Maybe the other stories he’d heard about her held some merit. Charisma Music had been nicknamed Ca-Razy Music by some insiders. Truman understood why now.

“What did she say to you?” Craig turned back to Truman.

“She said exactly what I thought you called me up here for in the first place. Me and my boys won’t get to do our album.” He kept his stare on Craig’s eyes to see if the man flinched.

The elevator dinged. Truman didn’t know what he would do once he got on, but he knew his dignity mattered to him a lot more than some record deal. He’d lived on tuna fish and crackers before. He could do it again.

Hell, who was he kidding? He didn’t want that life again. Not when he and his friends could see the finish line.

Stop being so irrational, man, and hear him out.

“Wait.” Craig put his hand on Truman’s shoulder. “Please listen. I only want a few minutes of your time. And if you decide after what I propose you still want to walk, then I’ll be the first to wish you luck.”

The doors opened. Truman remained in his spot. He’d never been known to walk away from a bad situation. If he couldn’t see this thing through, what kind of man would he be?

“What would you have to lose?” Craig’s tone started to border on a car salesman’s, but still with a hint of desperation.

“Five minutes.” Truman backed away from the doors.

The elevator descended without him on it. His chest tightened at his decision. He took a deep breath to relieve the pressure. To properly manage the group, he needed to weigh out all options, which meant he had to hear them.

Craig exhaled and put his hand on his chest. “Thanks, man. It’s all I ask.” He led Truman back down the hallway. “And don’t listen to Shauna. Sometimes she speaks before she thinks.”

“Nothing wrong with that. Means you’re speaking from the heart. No barriers.” Truman had to admit that although he didn’t particularly care for what Shauna had said, he appreciated her honesty. That trait didn’t come along so often in the music industry.

After opening the glass door for Truman, Craig followed him inside. His gentlemanly side took over and Truman took off his hat. He found Shauna sitting still in front of a large desk with her back to him.

She didn’t move. Didn’t flinch. For her impressive height, she seemed small. Her light brown hair in braids hung below the brim of her hat.

When he’d first seen her in the bathroom, he assumed the office intern had partied a bit too hard the night before. From the curve of her waist and roundness of her backside, he could tell a woman had made her way into the wrong bathroom. From the way she threw up, he knew she needed some help.

Truman took residence in the chair next to her, being sure to keep his gaze forward. He didn’t know what would blurt from her mouth if he looked at her.

Craig stood in front of his desk, splitting his attention between the two of them as he leaned back.

“Everyone comfortable?” Craig kept smiling like a pleased preacher at a wedding. “Either one of you want something to drink? There’s coffee or I could get you a soda from the machine, and there’s juice in the refrigerator. I don’t know who it belongs to but I’m sure they won’t mind if you—”

“Your time is ticking, Mr. George.” If Truman’s dream ended here and now, he needed to start looking for a job.

“You don’t have to be so snippy with him.”

Hearing Shauna’s voice drew Truman’s attention to her. Her low, breathy tone commanded his interest. He also wanted to catch the quiet queen’s expression.

“I’m not being snippy, as you call it.” Truman sat up straighter. “You know it would be easier to talk to you if I can see your eyes.”

Shauna turned to him. Instead of taking off her hat, she flipped up the brim. “Happy?”

Seeing her clear light brown eyes, her high cheekbones, and her full lips, he could honestly say that the sight didn’t make him unhappy.

He’d recalled seeing images of her in this glamorous way. Tons of makeup, glittery outfits, a seductive look in her eyes, skinny little stiletto heels that pumped her ass up like on a pedestal. Without her makeup and in a plain white T-shirt and long denim skirt that rested way below her exposed belly button, she didn’t look like that same larger-than-life celebrity.

Still pretty. A pain, but pretty.

“It’s better.” Truman brushed a nonexistent piece of lint from his pant leg. “I want you to tell me to my face that me and my guys aren’t recording our album.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa.” Craig held up both hands. “Who said you wouldn’t be recording?”

Truman said, “She did,” the same time Shauna said, “I never said that.”

“I said that I shouldn’t be the one producing your album.” She lowered her hand, and the brim of her hat remained in its spot, folded up and keeping her face exposed.

“Why would you want to produce our album?” Truman turned to Craig. “I wanted to produce it—that is if we get to record. I know what songs I want and what artists I want on it with me.” He turned to Shauna. “And I don’t think you would do my music justice.”

“Why is that?” She folded her arms. She started to look a lot more like her celebrity self and less like that real, vulnerable woman who seemed tiny a second ago.

“Because you’re—” Truman waved his hand to her, but cut himself off.

She raised her finger at him. “If the word black or woman comes from your mouth, I swear I’ll—”

“How about this word: R&B?” He tilted his head. “What would you know about country, and I mean real country, not this pop country that’s out there now.”

“Music is music. It’s all beats and rhythms.” Shauna glared at him.

Truman sat up straighter, ready to bolt in seconds. “I’m here to talk about my music, not get into some argument with a temperamental diva.”

She turned her full body and attention to him. “Oh, no you didn’t.”

“Stop it. Both of you.” Craig stood between the two of them but Truman felt Shauna’s heat even through Craig’s mature voice of reason. He pointed to Truman first. “You and the Sliders are going to get your album.” Then he pointed at the two of them. “You’re both going to coproduce.”

Truman’s mouth dropped open and from the corner of his eye, he noticed that Shauna did the same, but then composed herself.

“If this is my studio, why does it feel like I’m not running it?”

“Have you ever run a music studio before?” Craig cocked his head as he regarded her.

“Have you?” She responded with the same look back at him.

“Are you kidding me with this?” Truman shook his head.

Maybe Sully had been right. Maybe Truman should ask them to tear up the contract and he should walk away.

“Unlike you, Shauna, I know how to manage talent. Until you get to that level, I’m going to be here to guide you.” Craig flashed a grin. “And I have a surprise.”

Truman didn’t want or need any more surprises.

“We need to have the album done and a Shauna-produced song of yours on the air in a month.” Craig volleyed his attention from Truman to Shauna.

Truman breathed a sigh of relief, afraid Craig’s next request would be something outrageous like a duet or something. “That’s something I can agree on.” Truman put his hand to his chest. “All I want to do is sing and perform. Getting the album out there fast is fine with me. Doesn’t leave us much time for promotions, but we’ll do all we can.”

“And one more thing.” Craig made his way around to the other side of his desk, out of striking distance. “I want a duet on the album.”

Truman’s heart pounded. He still had a chance to control this. “Okay. There’s a country artist I’ve been dying to work with.”

“No.” Craig pointed to Shauna. “You and Shauna.”

The bottom of Truman’s stomach felt like it fell to the floor along with his chin. He and his band had sung songs about staying away from women like Shauna, flashy women with no substance, heart, or morals. How could he go back to his band, his friends since childhood, and admit to them that he’d made a deal with the devil?

“Excuse me.” Shauna leaped from her seat and ran from the office.

Truman felt an immediate pang in his stomach. Did Shauna get sick from the idea of singing with him? Was there anything about Truman that didn’t make the woman ill?

Craig nodded and pointed in the direction where Shauna ran. “Don’t worry about her. She’ll be fine on recording day.”