She’s My Kind Of Rain (Rawlings Ranch #1)

Chapter 6

6

DAISY - MAY 27, 2004

A red number one flashes on my answering machine as I walk past. There’s only one other place, besides Mom, who has my new number. Excitement overwhelms me. It’s Telluride . It’s got to be .

Walking across the room, I hit the button, readying myself for what I expect to be a message denying me of the interview.

“You have one unheard message, to listen, please select play.”

I do as it says, another beep sounding before the voicemail plays aloud.

“Hello, Miss Holloway, My name is Samantha and I’m calling on behalf of Mr. Montgomery and Telluride Records. I apologize for delivering this message with such short notice, but you have been selected for an in-person interview. The interviews will begin tomorrow at eight in the morning. We look forward to seeing you there. Have a great rest of your day.”

I look at the clock, realizing I only have an hour to get ready. A rush of excitement swells in my chest. I had almost lost hope that I would get this call given the three week span between our last encounter, however at this point I’m almost too embarrassed to go.

I haven’t seen Mr. Montgomery since I spilled coffee all over him and I’m not so sure I want to. I cringe at the thought, wondering if he’ll remember me as the girl who couldn’t even handle simply handing someone a coffee, let alone running an entire department for him. Shaking my head, I notice my dad’s guitar in the corner of the room. A gentle reminder of all I have worked for and the reason I can’t let doubt stop me from pursuing my dreams.

I show up to Telluride Records early, only to find out that my version of early seems to be everyone else’s late. A single seat remains open, so I advance towards it, smiling as I pass by all of the other applicants.

“Hey, I’m Daisy.” I smile, reaching out my hand, as I sit down next to another applicant after she makes eye contact with me.

She gives me a curt nod in response, but doesn’t reach to shake my hand or speak further, and I take that as a sign to leave her alone. She’s dressed in an expensive suit, with red bottom heels, which makes me question my simple black tea-length sundress, denim jacket and pink flats.

The quick realization that not everyone here in Nashville is as kind as Kaylee makes me that much more glad that we crossed paths when we did. I doubt I’ll ever be asked so directly to be someone’s friend again. But that boldness earned me one of the best friends I’d ever met. In the last few short weeks, we’d gotten to know each other on a whole new level than any of my superficial, surface level friendships during high school. Those same friendships that ended once they left for college. I laugh to myself about the oddness of her acquisition to be friends, a touch of happiness returning to my face, because without her, I don’t know that I would have been able to cross the threshold of this office today.

I sit here, tapping my foot and fidgeting with the bracelets on my wrists as I watch the clock, waiting for my turn to interview. I’m not unfamiliar with being nervous, but if Dad had taught me anything, it was to push past the nerves and fears and be confident in my abilities and whatever I set my mind to. I take a deep breath, channeling every ounce of positivity and hope I’ve got, ignoring how small the room feels with so many other applicants seated, waiting their turn—women and men most likely equally as capable as me. But despite my nerves, I won’t let the whispers of worries deter me. I’ve got this. I am smart, I am capable, and I am going to get this job. I can feel it.

A lot weighs on me getting this job. And in the end, it’s not just a job to me. It’s validation. Validation that I actually have what it takes to be here in Nashville. Validation that moving here, making the most terrifying decision I’ve ever made, wasn’t for nothing.

Each passing moment feels like an eternity, until finally my name is called.

“Ms. Halloway, Mr. Montgomery will see you now,” the secretary says.

I stand and dust the wrinkles from my dress and wish the girl who was rude to me luck. Sending her the most personable smile I can muster—a silent gesture to further thank her in helping set my drive for this position that much higher—I make my way toward the door the secretary stands in.

The hallway is lined with bleak decor. Nothing like I imagined for the top leading country label in the world. I had always envisioned that the walls would be lined with records, encompassing all of the success that has walked these halls. Instead, there are simple art pieces of line-drawn cowboy hats, and photography of no one specific, riding horses, or on a ranch.

Blake Montgomery is the head of the record label and probably one of the most intimidating men in the industry when it comes to his credentials. Gina used to say that what was most intimidating about him when he scouted was his cool demeanor and the way you can’t fully tell if he’s enjoying what was presented before him or if he was counting the minutes until he could leave. Since I only met him in passing—most of which is now an embarrassing blur—I have no idea what to expect professionally from him. My first impression of him wasn’t that he was cold, he was rather the opposite, and I hope my second impression proves to be similar, minus me making a fool of myself .

The closer I get to his office, the more my hands start to tremble and my nerves feel as if they may end up being the fall to this entire opportunity that has been given to me.

This is your chance, Dais. You got this. This moment won’t come again.

We reach the door to my potential future and I find my heart starting to race in my chest. Taking a deep, calming breath, I smooth out my outfit one last time and step through the door.

“Hi, Miss Holloway, nice to see you again. What, no coffee this time?” He chuckles, reaching to shake my hand. His grasp is firm, but not tight, and his gaze warm and welcoming. Just as before, I feel a bit starstruck by him. Unlike the older gentleman from Tansy, he’s not only put together, but has an aura of confidence about him.

I let out a soft laugh in return, trying to make light of the fact that he notices who I am immediately. I wonder if that’s a good or a bad thing, and if he’s just trying to be polite.

“Hello, Mr. Montgomery, it’s nice to see you again. And, I too am particularly glad that spilling coffee on you won’t be involved.” I take a seat across from him at his big oak desk, noticing that, unlike the hallway, his office itself is decorated in the kind of trophy memorabilia that I expected to be on every wall of the entire building. Photos of him and artists are scattered throughout, as well as records and awards tastefully placed on shelves behind his desk. The only photos I can’t see are those that face toward him, presumably his family or his most favorite memories.

He pulls my resume off a stack of others that still remain on his desk. “I’ve glanced over your application more than once, Miss Holloway. Are you aware we recently acquired Wellington Music Group? You did not need to drive all this way for an interview, we have already requested all previous employee records and recommendations from Mr. Wellington. He and his wife had made a point to mention you specifically as someone to consider once we hire for that office.”

Emotion consumes me, and I pause, trying to compose myself before I respond. I’m so grateful for Gina having gone out of her way another time for me.

“Oh, no, sir. Actually, Mrs. Wellington didn’t even tell me what company had acquired them. I came to Nashville on my own accord.”

“Interesting.” His tone is hard to read as he laces his fingers and places his hands on his desk. “Well, let’s start the interview now, shall we?”

I silently nod and hope that all of the mock interviews my mom and I ran through during our chats will help me with whatever kind of questions that may come up. I gulp and place my hands in my lap to try and prevent myself from overly gesturing while I talk.

“I’m going to skip over all of the rather basic questions about yourself, because, as I’m sure you saw, there are many people waiting and I can find all of that information right here.” He points down to my resume, and I nod again. “What is your favorite part about being an A&R Rep?”

I expected him to come out swinging with a hard question, instead he asks me something I don’t feel I need to think much about. “Well, Sir, my favorite part about being an A&R Rep is finding a diamond in the rough. I think that there are many people out there who can sing well. What I look for while selecting potential clients is a wow factor .” I don’t let him ponder for much more than a second before I continue, “The artists I look for are the type that show up in an unexpected place, stop everyone in their tracks, and give you goosebumps. If they don’t have something about them that makes you hang on to every note that comes from their mouth, then they are just ordinary. I look for extraordinary.”

I catch a glimpse of a smile that subsides just as fast as it came, and my nerves diminish for a moment to take in what could potentially mean he’s impressed. He jots something down on the back of my resume then places it back onto his desk right side up.

“Besides job experience in this field, what do you believe makes you qualified to perform what is expected of you in this position?”

“I think something that has improved my ability to be an A&R Rep is my experience in other aspects of the industry. At a young age, I learned guitar, I’ve sung for crowds, and I —” I hesitate. I should have left out anything beyond what I previously mentioned, but it’s too late, so I continue, “I’ve written songs. I believe knowing what the industry is like from more than one angle gives me a more diverse understanding of what is required for each step of the production process, how the production works, and who in the industry will be the best fit for the clients I work for.”

He nods to my response, not giving any sign of emotion to let me know how well I am doing. My palms begin to sweat and I open them, gliding them against the fabric of my dress before placing them back in my lap.

“What do you feel your biggest strength is?”

“My ability to adapt. I believe that this field is ever changing, and because of that, I should be as well. If I see an opportunity to learn something new or a method I believe will be useful in this job, I will never hesitate to learn it inside and out so that I can not only utilize it myself, but also teach any team members what I know if it brings value to the company I work for.”

This time he doesn’t gesture or give me any kind of indication of what he’s thinking, he just continues. “What are your goals for the future?”

Any bit of confidence I have in my previous answers disappears, and my foot returns to a soft tap, luckily hidden by his desk. The question itself seems rather simple, yet in all the mock interviews my mom and I had gone through, never once did we consider a question like this. I break eye contact with him, not wanting him to see the fear of screwing this all up in my gaze. I consider saying I’m unsure, knowing that is, by far, the worst way to respond to any question during an interview I decide against it. I answer as truthfully as I can, even though I didn’t think about what my goals would be beyond getting this job.

“My goal for the future is to remain in the music industry, because that is where my heart and soul have always led me. I hope to acquire more talent, form connections that will better my ability and worth in this space, and continue to live my dream while helping grant others.”

He nods, placing one arm over his torso while reaching the other up to stroke his chin. He lets out a soft, “Hmm,” looking down at one of the pictures in front of him and then back up to me. “What do you feel sets you apart from everyone else in the room out there?” he asks, relaxing back into his brown leather chair and placing his arms down on the arm rests.

“Well, sir, to be honest, I don’t know any of the other applicants personally, so I can’t speak on their reasoning for being here or even on their ability to fulfill the position’s requirements. But what I can do is speak on what I know of myself. I grew up in a small town where there was not a lot to do. Extra curricular activities were narrowed down to sports and the arts, and if you didn’t fill one of those positions because of pure, born talent, you made it there because of your family name. Luckily, I was raised on love and music, and every bit of my heart has been singing a country tune since the day I was born.” I let out a breath, continuing, “My dad was a singer, one who had originally been asked to sign with this very label. He chose his family instead.” I look down, to avoid a crack in my voice or a tear to release from my eyes, and then return his stare. “Growing up, music didn’t leave my dad’s heart when he decided to give it up, but instead spilled over into mine. And I’m in this very chair because of that. I wasn’t sure if Wellington was closed for good, and I wasn’t willing to live without music long enough to find out.”

His silence feels deafening. I can’t tell if he liked my answer or even if he likes me in general. I try my best not to overthink it much beyond that. I did my best, and the rest is not up to me.

He clears his throat. “Thank you Daisy, I appreciate that answer.” Leaning forward, he says with a soft grin on his lips, “Now, Miss Daisy, when can you start?”