Page 54 of Ravaged By Lust

“Um… yep.”

“Why the hesitation? I’ve heard you’re a songwriter. Well, that’s what you told my assistant. Show me some songs.”

I nod. I know I’ve gotta act more confident. This is my chance. “Sure.”

I reach into my bag and pick out my notepad.

And I immediately proceed to drop the damn thing on the fancy carpet like a clumsy idiot.

Shit.

I chuckle nervously before bending over and picking it back up. The producer just watches me without a word being spoken.

The silence is killing.

Oh God.

I carry the notebook over to him. He doesn’t reach for it, instead, he motions – with just his eyes – to his desk. I leave it there. Eventually, he leans forward and, with the least amount of effort, flips through it.

I can’t tell what he’s thinking as he browses through an entire lifetime of songs. His eyes are reading, though. That should be good, right?

It’s hard not to keep repeating in my head as Mickey reads through each page that this man’s word has ultimate power in the music industry.

After skimming through a few more pages, he shuts the notebook.

“I saw your video,” he says. “You are good at writing songs, Chloe Stoll, but you have no real experience. I want you to have some before you come back. Goodbye.”

That’s it?

He leans back in his chair with finality. Like that’s the entire meeting over.

“I’ve been doing music for my entire life,” I blabber out. “I’ve been making videos for seven years. I’ve flown all this way from my hometown because you asked to see me.”

“My assistant asked to see you, not me. I didn’t know who you were until ten minutes ago.” I want to cry, but I hold back the tears. Other than him laughing me out, this is the worst way this meeting could’ve gone. And Mickey Miller isn’t finished with me yet. “I’ve been in this business for thirty years. I don’t go for wannabe musicians and definitely not for someone who simply has had a viral video. I’m looking for solid talent, not a flash in the pan. Maybe I should tell my assistant to be more discerning in future. Or I could fire her.”

But I’m not leaving without a fight.

“Please reconsider,” I say. “I’ve worked my ass off to be here right now.”

Mickey regards me up and down. I feel like it’s the first time he’s properly looked at me since I’ve entered. I can see the thoughts turning in his head.

“Okay. Fine. Sing. Right now.”

“Sing?”

“Yes, go ahead.”

“Can I get my guitar…”

“Sing.”

Now?

I open my mouth to sing, but no words come out. My whole body is tense with nerves. Sitting here, in his massive fuck-off office surrounded by trophies of all his glories, is not exactly the best environment to burst out a capella.

Mickey allows me a moment of songlessness before he simply sighs and gestures a finger back towards the double doors, guiding me to the exit.

No word spoken.