Read Online Far Too Tempting by Lauren Blakely - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Lauren Blakely
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inspiration out of myself soon.
“But wait. We don’t just want to do that. That’s just the starting point. I want to follow you, spend time with you as you embark on this next album. I want to sit in on some of the recording sessions, observe as you and Owen brainstorm and create. To really get into the creative process.”
“You want to know how the sausage gets made.”
He quickly taps his nose and points at me as if to say, You’ve got it .
“So you want to sit in on our recording sessions and have the freedom to write about all the dredge that comes out before we maybe write something remotely decent?”
“Yes.”
“And you want to have total access to Jeremy and Owen and me?”
“Yes.”
“And you want to know what goes into this—how we plan the album, the songs?”
“Yes. You’ve already started, right?”
“Of course.” Three mediocre songs that I can never use. But hey, there was that little melody I stitched together this afternoon on my couch . “And would you like to know which brand of toothpaste I use too?”
He shrugs playfully. “Suppose it couldn’t hurt. Jane’s Tips For a Brilliant Smile has a nice ring to it.”
“You’re asking for a lot.”
“I know. So what do you think?” There’s a childlike glimmer in his eyes.
“Why me?”
“Because Glass Slipper is redefining how independent music is marketed, because Jeremy doesn’t give a shit about appearances and corporate accouterments and rules. And because I fucking loved your album and I can’t wait to hear what you do next.”
I don’t say anything immediately. I want to bask in the glow of his compliment for a moment. I want to savor the fact that he likes my music. But hell, I don’t have a goddamn clue what I’m writing next, so how can I let a journalist into my creative process when it’s on a standstill? And even though Jeremy wants this, I’m going to need to keep Matthew at bay until I get a grip on some words and music.
“Maybe,” I answer.
He leans in closer across the table, looks me straight in the eyes, and when he does that my resolve starts to weaken because his eyes are so beautiful, and he doesn’t break my gaze. “When you were younger, when you were a teenager, did you read the music magazines?”
“Of course I did.”
“And did you read those in-depth features where you really get to know a musician, how she works, how she operates? And did you ever wonder, ‘When I am a famous rock star someday, will they do this kind of feature on me?’”
“Did you get a hold of my diary from high school or something?” I say playfully. Because, though I didn’t keep a diary, Matthew is uncannily hitting all the right notes.
“I have a hunch you didn’t keep a diary,” Matthew fires back .
I smile at him this time but don’t let on that he is right. “I will think about it. When do you need to know by?”
“How’s a week?”
“Fair enough.”
Matthew raises his glass to toast. “To my hope that you’ll say yes.”
I clink my wine against his vodka tonic.
He adds, “So you’re doing David Letterman before your Roseland show on Friday. And I also saw on CRB Radio’s website that you’re doing Words and Music Sunday morning with Max Cohain.”
“Wow. Letterman, Roseland, CRB Radio. You are thorough.”
“I’m trying to impress you. Win you over with my encyclopedic knowledge of your career now. But listen, watch out for Cohain. He loves the pretty ladies.”
Matthew smiles at me and I can’t think of anything to say as a tingling feeling sweeps through my body. Pretty . Does Matthew think I’m pretty? I swallow, a touch of nervous hope racing through me. Holy fuck. Maybe this isn’t a one-way street. Maybe he’s has a thing for me too. Because he’s holding my gaze, almost as if he’s waiting for me to say something. But I haven’t a clue how to respond. All I know is my body is buzzing, alive with possibilities. Something shifts, too, in his expression.
“But wait. We don’t just want to do that. That’s just the starting point. I want to follow you, spend time with you as you embark on this next album. I want to sit in on some of the recording sessions, observe as you and Owen brainstorm and create. To really get into the creative process.”
“You want to know how the sausage gets made.”
He quickly taps his nose and points at me as if to say, You’ve got it .
“So you want to sit in on our recording sessions and have the freedom to write about all the dredge that comes out before we maybe write something remotely decent?”
“Yes.”
“And you want to have total access to Jeremy and Owen and me?”
“Yes.”
“And you want to know what goes into this—how we plan the album, the songs?”
“Yes. You’ve already started, right?”
“Of course.” Three mediocre songs that I can never use. But hey, there was that little melody I stitched together this afternoon on my couch . “And would you like to know which brand of toothpaste I use too?”
He shrugs playfully. “Suppose it couldn’t hurt. Jane’s Tips For a Brilliant Smile has a nice ring to it.”
“You’re asking for a lot.”
“I know. So what do you think?” There’s a childlike glimmer in his eyes.
“Why me?”
“Because Glass Slipper is redefining how independent music is marketed, because Jeremy doesn’t give a shit about appearances and corporate accouterments and rules. And because I fucking loved your album and I can’t wait to hear what you do next.”
I don’t say anything immediately. I want to bask in the glow of his compliment for a moment. I want to savor the fact that he likes my music. But hell, I don’t have a goddamn clue what I’m writing next, so how can I let a journalist into my creative process when it’s on a standstill? And even though Jeremy wants this, I’m going to need to keep Matthew at bay until I get a grip on some words and music.
“Maybe,” I answer.
He leans in closer across the table, looks me straight in the eyes, and when he does that my resolve starts to weaken because his eyes are so beautiful, and he doesn’t break my gaze. “When you were younger, when you were a teenager, did you read the music magazines?”
“Of course I did.”
“And did you read those in-depth features where you really get to know a musician, how she works, how she operates? And did you ever wonder, ‘When I am a famous rock star someday, will they do this kind of feature on me?’”
“Did you get a hold of my diary from high school or something?” I say playfully. Because, though I didn’t keep a diary, Matthew is uncannily hitting all the right notes.
“I have a hunch you didn’t keep a diary,” Matthew fires back .
I smile at him this time but don’t let on that he is right. “I will think about it. When do you need to know by?”
“How’s a week?”
“Fair enough.”
Matthew raises his glass to toast. “To my hope that you’ll say yes.”
I clink my wine against his vodka tonic.
He adds, “So you’re doing David Letterman before your Roseland show on Friday. And I also saw on CRB Radio’s website that you’re doing Words and Music Sunday morning with Max Cohain.”
“Wow. Letterman, Roseland, CRB Radio. You are thorough.”
“I’m trying to impress you. Win you over with my encyclopedic knowledge of your career now. But listen, watch out for Cohain. He loves the pretty ladies.”
Matthew smiles at me and I can’t think of anything to say as a tingling feeling sweeps through my body. Pretty . Does Matthew think I’m pretty? I swallow, a touch of nervous hope racing through me. Holy fuck. Maybe this isn’t a one-way street. Maybe he’s has a thing for me too. Because he’s holding my gaze, almost as if he’s waiting for me to say something. But I haven’t a clue how to respond. All I know is my body is buzzing, alive with possibilities. Something shifts, too, in his expression.
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