He caught sight of his profile in the glass, catching his natural swagger, the set of his shoulders making him look like the confident lead singer. Yeah. The word fraud popped into his head.
Cerys pushed the studio door open, and Jase noticed the little strip of skin between the waistband of her jeans and the hem of her T-shirt. “I think you’re going to love this,” she said, as she let him pass ahead of her.
Holy fucking shit.
“It’s actually the largest of the studios we have here,” she said. “Ben and Matt, we’ve got an array of guitars depending on your sound preference. There’s everything from a Gibson ES-335 to a Fender Mustang to a Charvel acoustic. You name it, we’ve probably got it or can get our hands on it. Luke and Alex, for drums we’ve got everything from a vintage Slingerland from the late 1930s, which sounds so big and warm, to Gretsch Catalina, if you want a more classic tone, to Yamaha, Tama, and Pearl.”
It was like a fucking sweet shop. Equipment was meticulously lined up and labelled against the wall.
He ran his fingers along the neck of the Gibson, and then tapped his fingers on the Zildjian cymbals.
She turned to Alex, who looked as shocked as Jase probably did. “Alex, we’ve got a Yamaha C3 grand piano in here, but it can easily be switched out for the Bösendorfer 170CS grand in Studio One. And we’ve also got keyboards like the Baldwin Fun Machine.”
Alex’s eyes lit up. “The 1970s polyphonic-type synth, right? Makes all those sound effects.”
Cerys laughed, and Jase couldn’t help but notice her entire face just radiated joy. “Totally. Squelches and beeps, and you can even add a foxtrot rhythm to them if you want. But we’ve got a whole storage room full of unusual equipment, like a vintage Star Instruments Synare drum synth that totally sounds like an eighties arcade game. Anyway. Go. Take a look around. Play with whatever you want. Today is just about settling in.”
While Matt and the rest of the band began to pull out instruments, Jase remained rooted to the spot, overwhelmed. As a kid, when Nan would take him into a posh shop, she’d warn him about keeping his hands by his side because he’d have to pay for something if he broke it. He could hear her voice in his head.
“What’s your preference, Jase?” Cerys asked, as the others moved away.
“What?” he asked, shaken from his thoughts.
“Equipment? Come with me.”
He followed her out of the room with a quick look over his shoulder at the rest of the band. They were so fucking excited, but he just couldn’t feel it.
Cerys opened a huge cupboard. “Ta-dah,” she said, accompanying it with cheesy jazz hands. “Which do you like?”
He’d never seen so many microphones. AKG, Beyerdynamic, Neumann, Sennheiser, ART, Flea, Telefunken.
“Whichever makes me sound best,” he answered. He didn’t want to admit that he didn’t really have a clue. The one he used for gigs had always been good enough.
“Do you want my opinion?”
He looked down at her, guessing she was nearly a foot shorter than his own six two. “You’re the expert, right?”
“Shure.”
He waited a moment, but no answer was forthcoming. “Whenever you’re ready then.”
“No, not sure. Shure. A Shure Beta 57A. You get maximum isolation from other sounds while singing, but it’s got a warmth to it without losing ruggedness.” Her smile softened. “From what I’ve heard of your voice, I think it would be a great place to start.”
“Why?”
She crossed her arms and he tried not to notice the amazing things it did to her cleavage. “Because you sound better when you sound like you’re singing a live gig. One fuelled by an audience. This mic will leave that rawness.”
Cerys reached for the microphone and offered it to him. He took it from her hands, their fingers touching again.
Shit. He was most definitely not getting a spark from snow angel girl.
Because fucking the sound engineer, no matter how sweet the idea, would be peak stupidity.
2
Cerys fiddled with the fader, removed a speck of dust from the third input jack, and looked up at the ceiling.
Twice.
Anything to stop staring at Jase Palmer as he lounged in the chair listening to her father speak. One leg was bent, the other stretched out in from of him. His dark hair framed his face as he looked down at his folded arms. It had been hard to miss the way his biceps looked in the faded black T-shirt. Ink wound its way down his forearms and peeked above his collar.
And the fact she felt the need to stop looking at him was a problem.
Because he was a sullen mood killer.
The room was full. The band. Her and Jimmy. Four sound engineers who’d be working with the band over the next month. Parker Moseley, the band’s A&R rep from Upper Street Records, and a handful of people from the label who’d accompanied him.
“I’ve got one last thing to say about us working together, beyond being honoured I get the chance to help you guys record a first full-length album that will hopefully take your career to the next level,” Jimmy said. “I’ve seen the footage, heard the rumours, and spoken to your management team. I know you guys don’t get along.”
Cerys watched Jase’s head pop up. No reaction other than that.
“It’s all good,” Matt said, and Cerys caught the way Jase glanced from the corners of his eyes in Matt’s direction before huffing.
“I don’t care if it’s all good,” Jimmy said. “Simon and Garfunkel couldn’t stand each other. Fleetwood Mac were tempestuous. ABBA were in and out of love with each other. And don’t get me started on David Lee Roth and Eddie Van Halen. And there’s the pair from Manchester, just like you. The Gallagher brothers. Frankly, I don’t give a shit, unless it gets in the way of what happens here. Healthy tension, creative tension, is a good thing. But if instruments get broken or recording is slowed because you’re in each other’s faces, then it’s going to become a problem.”
Jase’s shoulders were so raised they were touching his ears. His lips were pursed, as if it were taking every ounce of energy to not tell Jimmy to go fuck himself.
Cerys wondered if there was a way to channel the rawness that Jase had. Not put him on a leash, but hell, give him some kind of process to put that rawness into their songs.
She felt a flicker of electricity flowing through her, like the hum when you plugged a guitar into an amp. Energy coursed through her. It happened to her every time she sat in a studio. The absolute joy that came from helping someone refine their talents. Right now, she wanted nothing more than to help Jase lay down track after track filled with the very essence of who he was.
“It won’t be a problem,” Alex said. “They’ve been like this since we were kids.”
Jase looked over at Alex with a scowl.
Alex huffed. “Look at me with your death stare all you want. It’s the truth.”
Jimmy clapped his hands twice. “Right. So, let’s make a start. Thanks for the list of songs, Matt. Let’s take a listen. Play them through for us. From the top.”
There was a confidence, a swagger, as they approached their equipment. Luke pulled his hoodie over his head, then rolled his shoulders backwards and forwards to loosen them. When he finally sat behind the drums, sticks in one hand, he adjusted the microphone she had placed by the kit, just in case it was required. Alex stepped behind his setup, and Cerys liked the instruments he’d selected. He ran his fingers along the glockenspiel, across the timpani drumhead. She did the same thing when she sat down at a piano, running her fingers over it and thanking it for helping her to sound amazing. Matt picked up his bass and confidently passed the strap over his head. Ben did the same with his guitar before he leaned in to say something to Jase, something she couldn’t hear, but made Jase grin.