“Thank you.”
“Also,” he hesitates for a second, “you’re loyal. Feel I can trust ya. I won’t have to be checking for a knife in my back every five seconds.”
Dang. That must be a hard thing for a man like Dawson to admit. “I’m not sure what to say.”
“Think about it.” He slaps his leg. “I wanted to talk to you first before gettin’ my lawyers involved.”
Lawyers, holy shit.
This is real.
“I don’t need an answer this minute,” he says. “Take your time.”
Chapter Forty-Three
Shelby
With Rooster in New York, my universe has a gaping hole in it. But I use the ache of missing him to push myself in the studio.
Our writing session goes even better today. Dawson’s offer has boosted my confidence and added fuel to my creative fire. I’m determined to prove Dawson’s making the right choice for his new label.
Focus. Breathe.
Today, I’m here to work on a song or two with Dawson for his album. It was a huge deal when it was a simple collaboration. Now it has the potential to be so much more.
If I bring my best work to the table.
“All right,” Dawson announces. “I’ve been working on this since you two told me I suck mothballs.”
Chaser snorts. “That’s not what we said. At all. But go on.”
“Here goes.” Dawson strums a few notes, giving us a feel for the basic melody before opening his mouth.
“You can stomp your feet.
Go on and pout.
Get mad all you want.
Shit talk me to all our friends.
Tell the world I did you wrong.
Even fuck every guy you meet.”
I chime in with, “Bitch, you need to take a seat,” without even thinking about it. Slightly embarrassed by my outburst, I slump in my chair and shut my mouth.
“Woo!” Dawson whistles. Genuine laughter pours out of him, erasing my doubt. “Damn, girl.” Grinning wide, he sets down his guitar.
“Nice, sassy line, Shelby,” Chaser says.
When the two of them stop laughing, I jerk my chin toward Dawson’s notebook. “I’m pretty sure you can’t use the big F, Dawson.”
He shrugs. “I got the fire of rebellion in me now.”
“Screw is a good alternative,” I suggest. “And it feels more country.”
“She has a point.” Chaser’s still smiling. “Let Shelby have the sassy line. It’ll be a nice contrast.”
Dawson nods, mouths a few words to himself, scribbles down a note or two, then picks up his guitar again.
“Tell the world I did you wrong.
Screw all the guys you meet.”
He raises his eyebrow at me.
“Bitch, go on and take several seats.” This time, I stand and add some wild hand gestures.
Chaser doubles over laughing, but Dawson continues the song.
“You caught me by surprise.
No amount of pretty outside can hide.
You’re the devil in disguise.”
“Oh, that’s good. I like that,” I encourage.
“I don’t want no olive branch.”
He stops, face in deep concentration.
“You can stick it up your ass?” I hope to heck he realizes I’m kidding.
Dawson and Chaser crack up.
Shaking his head, Dawson slaps his leg. “I like that, but it might be one too far.”
“Save it for a ‘special remix’,” Chaser adds.
“All right, Ms. Morgan, your turn. Whatcha got?” Dawson asks.
“Whoa, is it my turn again?” There go my nerves fraying.
“Yup.” Dawson motions for me to hurry.
Ugh. I flip through my notebook. “This one’s a little corny, but I kinda like it.”
“Corny’s good.” Chaser’s dark eyes glitter with humor. “Corny pays the bills for years to come sometimes.”
I’m dying to ask if he’s referring to Candy Jar, his old band’s biggest hit, but it’s probably rude so I keep the question to myself and focus on my own song. “Here’s what I have so far.”
“My first love was a guitar.
The only path out of this town.
Couldn’t wait to turn eighteen years old.
To find my way.
My second love was a winding road.
The rocky surface leading me away…”
“I’m sensing a theme here,” Dawson says. “Man, I like it too. What kid livin’ in a small town can’t wait to escape? I know I couldn’t. Jesus, that took me back.” He slaps his leg. “Keep that one. You’ve got the start of something special, there.”
My cheeks glow with pride but I try to downplay it, like it’s not the biggest deal in the world that Dawson Roads likes my song.
We work quietly for short spells of time, then share what we’ve come up with. Fine tuning and expanding on our ideas.
I swear, I’m high from what has to be one of the best writing days I’ve ever had.
But by the end of the afternoon, I’m dead tired.
Chaser checks his phone. “Angelina’s flight comes in at nine. Mal and I are going to head to the airport early just in case.”
Dawson’s head jerks up. “Your daughter’s coming to visit?”
He sure seems to have radar whenever her name’s mentioned.
Something Chaser also seems to notice. His eyes narrow. “I thought she and Shelby might try writing together since Shelby’s partner can’t be here.”
“Sure. Sounds like a great idea.” Dawson hesitates and glances at me. “Listen, I already talked to Shelby about this. I’m gettin’ her out of her contract. I want to sign her to the label I’m starting.”
Chaser slides his phone in his pocket and straightens to face Dawson. “Figured you might be up to something like that when you were chattin’ up Buck the other night.”
“If I can get things worked out, Buck’s willing to produce her album.”
Chaser whistles. “Nice networking on short notice.”
“We’ll do it here,” Dawson says, indicating his studio.
Works for me. I’m already comfortable in this space and wasn’t looking forward to getting used to somewhere new.
“I got plenty of room.” He gestures toward the cottage where I’m staying. “You and Angelina can take over the guest house if you want, Shelby. Have all-night writing sessions, whatever you need.”
While I’m not sure how I feel about having a roommate all of a sudden, if we mesh well, it might be nice to share the same space. I’d rather wait and see if we even get along before I agree to be roomies with a girl I barely know.
“Thanks,” Chaser says slowly. “But she’s going to stay in town with us.”
Especially when Chaser looks like he’s ready to sharpen his papa-bear claws on the nearest tree.
“All right then.” Dawson claps his hands together. “Let’s get back to work.”