Our Song Read online

  “What about my second album?” I asked defensively with narrowed eyes, trying to make a mental list of potential comebacks in rebuttal to whatever dig he was about to throw at me next.

  “It’s the complete opposite of the name you built for yourself with your first album. It makes you sound whiny—”

  “It does not,” I argued.

  “‘Even if you died a thousand deaths, you still wouldn’t know how it felt when you killed me’?” Jimmy said, quoting a lyric from one of my songs. “It makes you sound really hateful, even if that’s not what you intended.”

  “Okay, so what if it is hateful? Maybe I have a lot of hatred in me.” I blinked back angry tears. “Music is my therapy. Where’s the problem in that?”

  “The problem is your fans want the old Viola Pierce—the fun, happy party girl whose music they fell in love with in the first place. If they wanted to listen to someone who they can cry to while they reminisce about their old boyfriends, they would just listen to Taylor Swift.” He paused for a moment and then glanced down at me. “And there’s also the fact that most of your listeners know who all the songs on your album are about.”

  “There’s no way anyone can know for sure who they’re written about,” I insisted. “It’s not like I’ve made any statements anywhere to imply it’s about him—err, any specific person, I mean.”

  Of course, everyone in the room already knew that by him, I was referring to Jake Palmer. Everything in my life revolved around Jake; he was both my reason for being and the bane of my existence. We’d broken up earlier this year and nothing had been the same ever since. I hadn’t been the same ever since. When he left me, he took a piece of me with him—a piece I’d never been able to get back.

  How could I continue to write happy music when he’d taken my happy with him?

  “You can say it’s not about anyone, but you’d only be fooling yourself. And the problem is that your fans like Jake better than they like you, pure and simple. They don’t want to listen to you bashing him.”

  “How do you know that? Have you polled them all?” I asked defensively. Not that it would’ve been all that surprising if my fans decided to side with Jake over me. It was the story of my life. For whatever reason, everyone seemed to think he was this perfect angel and me? Well, I was just the devil who wore Jimmy Choo’s, apparently.

  “No, I didn’t poll them, but trust me on this. You don’t want to Google yourself right now.”

  Not like I planned to. You couldn’t have paid me enough money to Google myself. “Okay, so you’ve made your point. My fans hate my pathetic music, they like Jake better than me, and they’re no longer buying my albums. What do we do now?”

  “Your next album needs an entirely new direction. That means you need to scrap everything you’ve come up with for it so far.”

  “Everything? But that would mean I’d be losing months’ worth of work,” I protested. I knew I probably sounded whiney, but I didn’t even care. I had every right to whine, considering the amount of time and work I’d put into the songs I’d been prepping for my next album.

  “Work that no one will ever buy,” he pointed out.

  I folded my arms over my chest and shrugged. “I guess.”

  He glanced over at me and let out a sigh. “I know this is all a hard pill for you to swallow, Viola, but you know that I see a lot of potential in you as a musician. I believe your career could go really far, but your third album is either going to make or break you. It comes down to this: are you going to be the feel good musician that you wanted to be from the beginning or are you going to disappoint your fans with songs that there’s already an oversaturated market for? What you decide will either make you sink or swim.”

  “I understand.” I nodded, swallowing hard. I wasn’t going to sink. This career was all I’d ever wanted. “So, where do we go from here?”

  “I have a plan.” Jimmy stared at me evenly. “We’re going to bring in someone else to help give you more perspective, someone who will help you get back in the direction you need to go in.”

  “You want someone else to write my songs for me?” I asked with a frown. I hated the idea of giving Regal Records any creative control over my music. I didn’t want to become some songwriter’s falsified, half-assed version of myself. I wanted to be Viola Pierce. I wanted to write my own lyrics, damnit.

  “No, you’ll still be able to write your own songs, but you won’t be doing it alone. There’s a musician I want you to collaborate with. You’ll write and record a few tracks together.”

  “But I’ve never written or recorded with anyone else,” I protested. And it wasn’t just that I didn’t want to work with anyone. I would’ve killed to work with Katy Perry, Rihanna, or Ed Sheeran—actually, anyone, really—but I knew I wasn’t cut out for working with someone else.

  It wasn’t like I wasn’t a likable person or that I even had a hard time getting along with other people, but when it came to work, I liked things to be a certain way—my way, to be specific. That made working alongside anyone else a nearly impossible feat.

  “There’s a first time for everything.” He shrugged. “There’s something else you need to keep in mind. This other musician is really hot right now. Adding his name to one or two of the tracks on your album should help give it the financial boost it needs.”

  So, it was mostly about money. It fucking figured. “So, let me get this straight. You want me to mooch off this other singer’s fan base?”

  God, what did he think I was—some sort of sellout?

  “I wouldn’t call it mooching. The other musician would be benefiting from it, too.” He paused and stared me straight in the eye. “Listen, Viola… whether you believe it or not, your career matters to me. I want to see you thrive, because you have a lot more potential than some of the other crappy artists out there. You just need to trust me on this. If we can get him to agree to work on this with you, I believe it will have a very positive outcome on your career.”

  I narrowed my eyes at him. “Wait, this guy hasn’t even agreed to this yet?”

  “Not yet, but I’m confident he will. He’s actually going to be meeting with us here shortly.” He glanced at his watch. “I just wanted to get you here first so I could talk to you alone. I had a feeling you’d be the difficult one—the one who would need convincing.”

  Apparently, that was what I got for being stubborn.

  “So, what do you say? Are you willing to do it?” Jimmy asked.

  “Yeah, I’ll do it,” I replied with a shrug, knowing I didn’t have much of a choice. I didn’t think Jimmy would actually drop me from the label, but he was right; I needed to trust him. He’d helped so many other musicians succeed. The last thing I wanted was to be a failure.

  Almost as soon as the words escaped my lips, I realized exactly what I’d agreed to—working with someone without even knowing who it was. I hesitated for a moment. “Are you at least going to tell me who it is?”

  Please be Justin Timberlake, please be Justin Timberlake, I silently begged the Gods of Musical Collaborations.

  Jimmy’s lips curved into a smile. “I thought you’d never ask.” He reached into his briefcase and pulled out an issue of People magazine. “They’re calling him the King of the Current Pop Industry.”

  I glanced down to see whose face was plastered on the front cover. Just as I felt that all-too-familiar urge to puke again, there was a knock at the door.

  I glanced up to find Colton staring back at me. His blue eyes pierced through mine as he stood there in the doorway. I could’ve sworn there was a look of amusement behind his stare, but it quickly passed.

  “Sorry. Am I late for our meeting?”

  Chapter 3

  “Colton, please have a seat.” Jimmy shot him a grin as I tried to process what the fuck was going on. The guy I’d just woken up next to was the guy I was expected to work with? My life sucked.

  My eyes lingered on him as he stood in the doorway. If it was even humanly possibl
e, he looked hotter than he had when I’d left him in the hotel room earlier.

  As Colton took a few steps forward and slid into a chair across from mine, he glanced over at Jimmy. “What’s this meeting about, anyway?”

  “Viola needs a new direction for her upcoming album. We’re looking for someone who’d be willing to write a few tracks with her—something upbeat, something fun and catchy. I feel you would be the best man for the job.”

  Colton let out a laugh.

  I avoided his gaze. All I could think was there was no way in hell this guy was going to agree to help me salvage my career. Even though he’d somehow ended up in the same room long enough to get his wham, bam, thank you, ma’am on with me, I had this gut feeling he didn’t actually like me for some reason.

  Jimmy stared into his face for a moment. “I seem to be missing the humor in the situation.”

  “I’m sorry. Let me explain.” Colton’s jawline tightened. “You want me to write songs for her album? A lot of hard work goes into writing a song. What do you think I am? A vending machine you can just pull a song out of? I don’t just give them away for free.”

  Even though I completely agreed with what he was saying, I couldn’t help but find it sort of irritating, too. See, the same thing could’ve just as easily been said about my vajayjay. I didn’t give access to it away to just anyone, but for some stupid reason, I’d apparently made an exception for Colton…even if I was intoxicated at the time.

  “No one expects you to give them away for free. I want you to record them with her, too,” Jimmy explained.

  “And what exactly do I get out of this?” Colton questioned with raised eyebrows.

  He shrugged. “The satisfaction of knowing you helped save another artist’s sinking career.”

  I swallowed hard, trying to conceal my anger. Way to let Colton in on the fact that I couldn’t be trusted to make smart decisions while I was drunk or when I was sober, clearly, since I was about to be a loser with no career if he didn’t help me turn it around. It seemed like my day was getting more and more awesome with every passing moment.

  Colton paused for a moment and then said hesitantly, “If I agree to this, where are we going to be doing our songwriting?”

  “You could do it in the studio, if you want,” Jimmy suggested.

  “No, you know me. I hate writing in the studio,” he said, shaking his head.

  Jimmy shrugged. “As long as you get the songs written, I don’t really give a shit where you do it. That’s for you to work out.”

  “We can write at my place,” I spoke up. Of course, the last thing I wanted was Colton to come to my apartment, but if the guy was actually considering helping me out, the very least I could do was offer up a place to make the songwriting magic happen.

  His blue eyes met mine from across the table. He held my gaze for a long moment before nodding. “Okay, done.”

  “Done?” Jimmy’s eyebrows lifted in question. “Does that mean you’ll do it?”

  “Yeah, I’ll do it. Just have my assistant contact me with all of the details. I have someplace I need to be.” He rose to his feet and, without another word, walked out of the room.

  I was pretty sure that we were all in complete bewilderment over the fact that he’d just abruptly ended the meeting with Jimmy Jones on his own accord. That was a pretty big no-no. If I had been the one to walk out, I could almost guarantee that bad things would happen. I would lose my record deal or my creative freedom or something I didn’t want to part with. But apparently Colton could get away with whatever he wanted—or he thought he could, at least.

  Once he was gone, I stared at the closed door, trying to get a grip on my emotions. I should’ve been happy that he was willing to work with me on this, right? It meant that my career actually stood a chance and I was ecstatic about that. But I also couldn’t deny the overwhelming sense of dread that I felt about the fact that this was really happening.

  Math and hangovers may have been a painful combination, but the only thing that seemed to come to mind was this equation:

  Me + Colton King + songwriting at my place = what had to be the most awkward combination ever.

  *

  Later that night I walked into Emma’s Gourmet Cupcake Shoppe, where I was meeting my best friend, Finn Archibald. As I pulled the door open, my shoe got caught on something and I almost ended up falling face-first onto the pink and white checkered floor. Luckily, strong arms reached out just in time to stop me.

  I breathed a sigh of relief when I stared up into Finn’s sparkling green eyes. “Careful, Vi. The last thing we want is for you to hit your head. I’m pretty sure you were already dropped on it enough when you were a baby.”

  “Shut up!” I smacked him on the shoulder playfully. “It’s these freaking shoes. I hate them.”

  “Sure, Viola. Just blame it on the shoes, why don’t you? It’s all their fault. It couldn’t possibly have anything to do with the clumsy person who’s wearing them, could it?” He laughed, pulling out a chair for me to sit in. He’d already ordered our usual: a mint chocolate chip cupcake for himself and an orange creamsicle cupcake for me, along with two raspberry iced teas.

  I plopped down into the chair and glanced over at him. “I’m telling you, these are bad luck shoes. They made me trip earlier today and it was, like, the worst time in my entire life for me to fall.”

  Call me melodramatic but I’m pretty sure I would’ve rather fallen at the Grammy awards or on stage, in front of my fans. Those things would’ve been a hell of a lot easier to recover from—trust me.

  Finn laughed. “Is there ever a good time for a person to fall? Except for when you’re falling in love, of course.”

  “You are such a hopeless romantic,” I said, rolling my eyes at his lame joke. “But, yeah, I can think of lots of good times to fall. Like any time that doesn’t involve me falling into Colton King, especially right after I’ve woken up naked in bed with him, to be more specific.”

  I didn’t bother lowering my voice. Even if Colton had made me sign a non-disclosure agreement, I was pretty sure any judge in his right mind would’ve decided it was completely useless. You can’t expect an intoxicated girl to actually remember what she’s signing. That’s just plain stupidity.

  Finn gaped at me. “No way! Did that really happen?”

  “Yeah. Like I said, it’s the shoes. They’re bad luck,” I insisted, dabbing my finger in the buttercream frosting and licking it.

  “I didn’t mean the tripping part. I meant the other part,” he said with an eye roll. He glanced around to make sure no one was listening and then lowered his voice. “You had sex with Colton King?”

  “Apparently.” I shrugged. “I don’t know why else we would’ve woken up in bed together, but I have no memory of it.”

  I wasn’t going to lie… I felt mildly disappointed about that. I may have still been in love with Jake Palmer, but let’s be real—even though I may have hated the idea of being with Mr. Arrogance, my vajayjay controlled my brain sometimes. Of course I’d wondered how big Colton’s, um, member was or if he had acrobat-like skills in the bedroom. I may not have wondered about those things often, but they’d definitely crossed my mind at some point in time. And if I absolutely had to have a drunken one night stand with one of the world’s hottest musicians, it would’ve been nice to at least remember it.

  “Wow.” Finn’s eyes had gone wide.

  “Anyway, the worst part of it all is that my label is pretty much forcing me to work with him,” I went on. Granted, I wasn’t technically being forced; I was the one who had agreed to do it… but still.

  My best friend’s eyes lit up. “That’s so exciting!”

  “How in the hell is that exciting?” I asked, my eyebrows knitting together at the center of my forehead. Had he not heard anything I’d just said? There were lots of possible adjectives to describe being forced to work with someone you’ve just had a one night stand with—awkward, humiliating, even torturous, maybe… but excit
ing? It was anything but exciting.

  “Viola, have you even looked at this yet?” Finn reached into his bag and pulled out the same issue of People magazine Jimmy had shown me.

  I took a closer look at the cover. Colton had on a black t-shirt and his arms were folded across his chest, showing off his sculpted, tattooed shoulders. His dark hair was slightly longer in the photo than it had been at the meeting today, and he stared head-on with those sexy blue eyes of his.

  Ugh. He was so cute. I mean, obviously. I didn’t just have one night stands with random, unattractive celebs. Even when I had my beer goggles on, I still had damn good taste. Score.

  “All I saw is the front cover,” I told Finn. “What’s the article about?”

  He lifted the magazine from the table and flipped through the pages for a few moments before landing on the one he was looking for. “Colton King is the King—of the current pop music industry, that is.”

  Oh, yeah, that was right. Jimmy had mentioned that part. But for People to call him a pop music King? Pft. How cliché. I would’ve been willing to bet Michael Jackson was rolling around in his grave.

  “This year, his hit singles, ‘Fly Away with Me’, ‘You’ll Always Be My Hero’, and ‘Dead Sexy’ all reached the number one spot on the Billboard Top 100,” Finn went on. “King’s biggest hit, ‘Fly Away with Me’, held a record-breaking number one spot on the chart for twenty-one weeks.” He stopped reading and glanced over at me. “I know you may be a little biased about him after last night, Vi, but you have to admit this is all really impressive.”

  I couldn’t even say that Colton’s success wasn’t for good reason. I wasn’t ashamed to admit that I had a few of his songs on my mp3 player. I sometimes listened to them when I was working out. I had to admit his music was pretty catchy. Actually, it was more than just catchy. It was downright addicting. In all honesty, Jimmy could’ve chosen a far worse musician for me to collaborate with.