Diva (Ironclad Bodyguards Book 2) (26 page)

So WISH ME LUCK.

Lola

*

Ransom Gutierrez

([email protected])

June 25 1:47 PM

Dear Lola,

GOOD LUCK. You’re going to kill it.

I have my fingers crossed for you.

Ransom

*

Ransom almost missed
the red-eye flight to L.A., then his cab got caught in traffic, so he showed up ten minutes late to the Vanguard offices. At least he was able to sign into the lobby with his Ironclad credentials. He looked around but he didn’t see Lola or her pink hair. Damn it. She must already be in the meeting.

He blew out a breath and collapsed into a cluster of chairs by the reception desk. With any luck, he’d catch her on the way out. He had no doubt her meeting would be successful. He’d listened to her demo songs a hundred times by now, marveling at the way her clear voice blended with the layered guitar tracks. Little smarty pants with her laptops and mixing table. She was an accomplished music producer at the tender age of twenty.

No, twenty-one.

But twenty-one was still too young. He had to remember that. He looked down at the small ivory bag he’d brought, her birthday present.
Why are you here, Ransom?

She’s still too fucking young.

He silenced the chiding voice in his head. He’d practiced great restraint to this point. No nightly phone calls. No sexting, even if he thought about sex with her at least a dozen times a day. No hops over to L.A. to see her, not until now, but he had to come because this was a big day. He understood how much this meant to her, because he’d been on the bus with her as she strummed away on her guitar, seeking deeper feelings and deeper truths, and sometimes just making up ditties about his penis.

It was good. He wanted her to be happy. He’d gotten her a delicate silver wrist cuff with two words engraved on it:
Love Yourself.

He looked up from the bag and noticed that the man sitting across from him was wearing Ironclad credentials. He noticed Ransom’s badge at the same time. They acknowledged one another, then leaned to shake hands.

“Hi. Ransom Gutierrez.”

“Oh. You’re Lola’s last bodyguard.” A muted grin cracked his taciturn regard. “The famous Gilberto.”

Ransom grimaced. “Yeah, that’s me. I came to wish her luck.”

He gestured toward the elevator. “She’s already upstairs. I’m Caleb Winchell.”

“Nice to meet you.”

Ransom pushed down feelings of cranky inadequacy. How old was this kid? Twenty-two? Twenty-three? Even so, he was tall and capably built, with a cool Texas drawl. If Lola hadn’t tried to seduce this golden-haired wonder five dozen times already, the world made no sense. He studied Caleb Winchell, wondering if he had carnal knowledge of Lola. The idea made him want to punch the man in the face.

He was losing his mind. What right did he have to do that? He was the one who’d removed himself from Lola’s life.

And Caleb looked like a world-class bodyguard, despite his youthful pretty-boy appearance. Serious, professional, composed in a way Ransom wasn’t. For fuck’s sake, he’d flown here on a whim from Las Vegas, barely giving Ironclad time to find his soul singer a backup agent for tonight.

“How is Lola? Was she nervous when she went in?”

“Nervous, but determined. You know how she gets.”

Yes, I know how she gets. Do
you
know how she gets?

Maybe he should just ask Caleb if he was sleeping with Lola. No, he probably wasn’t, and if Ransom didn’t get his possessive emotions under control, Caleb might put two and two together and figure out why the bodyguard from her European tour had turned up at Vanguard’s headquarters even though their professional connection was long since over.

“I guess I’ll wait here until she comes out.” Ransom settled back in his chair and attempted to act casual. “You don’t mind?”

“Why would I mind?” Caleb nodded at the gift bag. “You brought her something?”

“It’s a birthday present.”

“Oh.” One pretty-boy eyebrow crept up. “When was her birthday?”

“A few days ago. She turned twenty-one.”

“I didn’t know that.”

Well, now you know.
They both looked at their watches. Ransom wanted to ask how old Caleb was, but it would just make him feel bitter and pathetic. Instead he sorted through messages on his phone and thought,
she’s here. She’s right in this building with me.

It’s going to be great to see her again.

*

Lola sat outside
a conference room on the third floor, on a beige upholstered bench. When people walked by, they looked at her guitar and smiled. What the fuck was that about? She wished they’d mind their own business. She didn’t know any of these people. Her last deal had been made by her agent. All she’d done was show up at her lawyer’s office to sign papers.

She had a meeting today with Kym Mecklin, vice-president, and Michael Gore, talent supervisor. What was a “talent supervisor”? The person who wrangled the monkeys? And what was with his last name?
Gore
made her think of horror movies, or that field in Barcelona…

Pull yourself together, Lola. It’s time to be professional. It’s time to grow up.

She let out a breath just as the door swung open. An older redheaded woman and a young, heavyset man with dark hair looked out at her.

“Lola!” they both cried at once.

Lola stood up and juggled her guitar to shake their hands. It was hard to match their level of fake enthusiasm. When they went into the conference room, Kym sat behind the table while Michael sat in front of it. They gestured her to a chair that faced both of them. Kym studied Lola, her face screwed up in a question.

“Something’s changed about you, hon. What is it? Did you get surgery? Your nose?”

Lola touched her light blonde locks, which were growing longer. “No, I didn’t have my nose done. Maybe…I used to have pink hair.”

“That’s it,” said Michael, snapping his fingers. “Pink hair, and now she’s blonde. It looks very nice on you. Very fresh. Who’s your colorist?”

“Uh, no one. The pink was just a wash. I’m a natural blonde.”

“Amazing,” said Kym, clapping her hands. “From pink to blonde. Spectacular. Sit down. Oh, you brought your guitar! What do you have to share with us today? Something new?”

“Well, I called and talked to someone here about it…”

Michael raised his hand. “That was me. You said you were doing some songwriting. Now, what did you mean? Electronic songs with vocals?”

“No, it’s not electronic music. And I think I talked to a woman.”

Kym and Michael stared at each other, puzzled. “Meredith? Hillary?” They argued back and forth for a moment about whom she might have talked to. Lola stopped listening and leaned down to open her guitar case. She just needed to start playing. Once they heard what she’d been writing, they’d understand what it was. Music from her heart, organic rather than electronic.

“So, I’ve been working on some songs that are more…organic,” she said, when they stopped bickering.

“Organic?” said Kym. “Like a concept album? Those are hot. I can’t wait to hear what you have for us. Is there a demo recording? A file? Did she send a file?”

Michael turned to his laptop and started clicking the mousepad.

“There’s no file,” said Lola. “I mean, I have a few demo tracks uploaded to a personal site—”

Kym waved a hand. “Okay, we can give those a listen later. Play us your favorite, right now. Let’s hear what you have for us.”

“Okay.” Lola’s fingers hovered over the first chord of a song inspired by Ransom. She hoped she could get through it without crying. “This one’s called ‘Worth the World.’ It’s about… Well, it’s complicated. But I think a lot of people could relate to it.”

Kym and Michael gave her nothing, no comment. Okay. Lola squared her shoulders and strummed the intro. Her father’s guitar sounded beautiful no matter where she played it, and her voice definitely benefited from the frosted glass walls. She couldn’t look at them while she performed. This song was too personal. If she ever did acoustic shows, she’d have to learn to face the audience, feelings and all. How had her father done it?

By owning the way he felt.

Bolstered by that thought, Lola gave freer rein to her emotions, and even managed to look up a time or two. Whenever she did, Kym and Michael stared back at her. They seemed to be concentrating really hard. She hoped that was a good sign. When she finished the last line, she put her fingers over the strings to silence the lingering tones.

Kym said nothing. Michael said, “Well.”

Well what? Well, that was great? Well, that sucked ass? Lola rushed to speak before he said anything else. “I know it’s different than my usual sound. I thought that might be a plus. You know, two completely different sides of the same performer.”

Kym laced her fingers together and leaned her chin on them. “Yes. It’s just…very different. Your usual sound is much more energetic. A hundred times more energetic.”

“I have a few that are more upbeat,” she said, launching into “Five O’clock Shadow,” which also happened to be based on Ransom. In fact, the reason she’d only uploaded three songs for him to listen to was because the rest of the songs were so obviously about him. But before she could get to the bridge, Kym held up a hand.

“I’m going to stop you right there, hon.” She exchanged a glance with Michael. “That was…interesting. Bluegrass is hot in certain markets. Certain very small markets.”

“It’s not bluegrass,” said Lola, hugging her guitar. “It’s folksy female vocal stuff.”

“Folksy lyrics with bluegrass music,” suggested Michael. “Whatever. If it’s hard to categorize, it’s even harder to sell.”

“But I already have an audience,” said Lola. “I can sell to them.”

“You have an electronic dance music audience,” Kym pointed out. “They’re not buying a lot of bluegrass.”

“It’s not bluegrass!” Okay, so they didn’t like it, but they didn’t have to keep calling it bluegrass. It wasn’t the least bit country. It was clean and clear and full of pure emotion, like the blues her pop used to play, only not so downbeat.

“A lot of artists step outside the box,” she said, determined to keep pleading her case. “Like…like when Bowie did that Christmas duet with Bing Crosby.”

“Okay, some kind of holiday collaboration with another artist.” Michael nodded. “We can work with that. You could cut a classic holiday track with Beyoncé or Bono, or Eminem. We could put it out in November and it’d definitely chart.”

“I don’t want to do a holiday single,” said Lola. “I want to do some guitar and vocals music. I’ve made Vanguard a lot of money with my last two EDM albums. I’ve been touring, gaining momentum—”

“And we don’t want to lose that momentum,” said Kym. “Your fans expect a certain sound from you. If you don’t give them what they expect…” She shook her head. “You don’t want to know what happens.”

“I could record these songs on a different imprint then, under a different name.”

“No, Lola, listen to me.” Kym leaned forward on the table. “It makes no sense for us to support a side project that’s going to take time away from your Lady Paradise persona. That’s what makes us money. That’s what we’ll support. Go back to your studio and finish your next record. Forget the bluegrass crap. No one wants that from you. Trust me on this.”