She couldn’t decide why he hid the rest of himself from the world.
At first, she’d thought it was alcohol. But then, she realised Matt and Luke weren’t there. All the reports she’d read in preparation for their visit suggested it was Matt and Jase who didn’t get on with each other.
It was still on her mind after she’d gotten ready for work and completed her commute.
On Friday, she’d removed her quote from the board, but over the weekend, somebody had added letters.
May the bridges you burn light the way.
She looked around, which was dumb, really. It could have been anybody. The quote was an odd one. At first glance, it felt petulant. But then, with further consideration, perhaps it meant that leaving toxic people and relationships behind was a good thing.
For some reason, her father popped into her head.
Quickly, she changed the quote.
Life is not a fairy tale. If you lose your moonboot at midnight, you’re drunk.
Hopefully Jase would see it and would realise she was sorry without her having to say it.
The light was on in her father’s office, and she intended to speak to him about the restaurant.
“They’re running too alternative rock, Jimmy. I listened to the run through just like you did.” Cerys was reasonably certain that it was Parker Moseley, although her father’s speakerphone was tinny.
“Yeah. I felt that too. Solid though. I actually really like them,” her father said.
Cerys knew she should make herself known. Knock on the door. Perhaps even join the call. But she knew her father wouldn’t let her. It was ridiculous she’d been reduced to hanging around in corridors to learn more, but so be it.
“Solid, but not what the label needs. We need them more mainstream. We need them to have a chance at breaking Top 10 Billboard. They’ve got sex appeal. They appeal to the women. Drinking and fighting appeals to the young guys. But we need max airplay. Too alt-rock and we lose the under thirty-fives.”
“I hear you,” her father said. “But let them slip too mainstream and they won’t appeal to the over thirty-fives who have the disposable income to fully support them. Strip them back too far and they’ll land too soft. It’s a balance.”
There was a pause before anyone spoke again. Cerys considered what she’d heard. A part of her understood. Record labels often wanted to mould acts to fill roles on their roster of artists, but also to prevent them dropping between the cracks of music genres. And Moseley was right, part of the reason they’d been able to capitalise on the song that had been used on Shamaze, the video app, was that as soon as people researched them, they realised Sad Fridays were as attractive as they were talented.
Her mind strayed to Jase. Memories of his pectoral muscles beneath her hands and not being able to stop her mouth from revealing her thoughts. Embarrassment flooded her cheeks.
Again.
“Jimmy. The brief was clear. It’s your job to get them where we want them. The album needs to sound a lot more like the song that went viral, otherwise, it’s no use to us.”
“Fine. I understand. I’ll send you a run-through at the end of the week.”
Cerys knew the record label paid her father a lot of money to produce albums like this. And for the first time, she realised what she’d always thought of as a pure working relationship could also lean towards manipulation.
From what she’d seen of the band during her research—from the way they’d performed in the studio, and the way they’d talked in the bar—being groomed for a particular style was not them.
Worse, their rawness was their magic.
She’d been right to book them into Studio Two, which was set up like a concert hall. There wasn’t even any glass between the production team and the musicians, so it felt like a live performance. Something had told her they’d not do well in the confines of Studio One’s more traditional layout.
Trying to stylise them into a box was never going to work. And knowing what she knew of Jase, he’d never allow himself to be backed into something he didn’t want.
Cerys took a deep breath as she heard the phone line disconnect, then knocked on the door.
“Jimmy. Do you have a minute?”
Her father looked at the clock on his phone. “Sure. What’s up?”
His response caught her off guard. “What’s up? You didn’t show at the restaurant on Friday.”
“Oh, right.” He nodded. “Here. Happy birthday.” He pulled a Tiffany bag from beneath his desk and passed it to her, but she didn’t take it. Instead, she fiddled with the small charm on the bracelet her mum had sent her.
“Oh, right? Here? Is that it? You could have at least called me to let me know.”
Jimmy placed the bag down on the table. “By the time I got out of the studio it was midnight. Figured you must be home by then, so it was too late.”
“Too late for what?” she asked.
“To let you know I wasn’t coming.”
Was her father really that clueless? “It didn’t occur to you to apologise maybe for leaving me sitting alone in a restaurant?”
Jimmy huffed with impatience. “You’re a grown woman. You know what I do. At least, you claim to with all those paper degrees you’ve got on the topic. You should know what it’s like to get wrapped up in your work. To get engrossed.”
“Okay. Two things, Jimmy. One, I honestly do understand getting caught up in your work. Bizarrely, I can do that too. But you could have at least called me and apologised like a decent human being. I ended up eating there because I didn’t know if you were going to show up, and I would definitely have chosen somewhere cheaper if I’d known I was going to eat alone. And second, the paper degrees. Why do you think I’m here? Because I know I have a lot to learn. And I want to learn from you because you’re the best. But so far, you’ve given me nothing to do beyond book studios and do tours and show people where they can find cables. You want me to have more than paper degrees, you need to let me do something.”
She didn’t tell him about the loan. She wanted to work up to that in the hope he’d offer to be more than a reference, that he’d be a guarantor.
Her father placed both hands on his desk. “Listen, Cerys. I didn’t work as hard as I did for as long as I did to be lectured by you. You wanted to come here, I let you. You expected me to just let you sit at the controls, ahead of my experienced team and take one of their jobs, which is foolish.”
“I didn’t want to take a job. I wanted to learn. I wanted to sit with them, with you. I wanted to watch, I wanted to be trusted to try. I thought you might find someone on your team who could help me get experience and grow. Stop putting words in my mouth.”
Jimmy slumped back into his chair.
Cerys stood her ground.
There was an uncomfortable silence. But she’d said what she needed to.
“Fine. I’m sorry. I should have messaged.”
“Apology accepted.”
He pulled his wallet out of his back pocket and began unfolding bills. “Here, this should cover dinner.”
“I didn’t end up paying.”
Her father looked confused. “Who did?”
“A man who realised I was sitting all alone on my birthday and felt that was wrong.”