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

Chapter 13

13

DAISY - JUNE 21, 2004

Lovely, I just blew my shot in less than ten minutes. I’m not sure what’s worse, spilled coffee or word vomit.

I slam the phone down immediately, embarrassment becoming my entire identity.

Yep, I should have said have a nice day and just hung up. What possessed me to think it was okay to tell him to say hi to his friend? One he probably now assumes I have a crush on.

I bury my face in my hands, letting out a groan as I relive the conversation over and over in my head.

Most of it went smoothly, I think , but all of my business instincts went out the window the moment I heard him speak. I can’t tell if it’s a pathetic little school girl crush, my infatuation with his ability to sing, or maybe the fact that I’ve never seen a man as alluring as him.

I envision him back on stage. His green eyes emitting a warmth almost as bright as his smile. His strong muscular build was hard to ignore, as well as the gravitational pull he had on not only me, but everyone in the room.

His voice was so soothing and calm it’s no wonder I was captivated by him even just through the phone. And while he kept his responses rather short, something about him continued to draw me in. I know my soul focus should have been signing him, but it took everything in me to dampen my desire and not ask for his number when he asked if there was anything else I needed.

Before my phone rang, I was sure that Mr. Southers either hadn’t gotten my card or hadn’t given it to him. Up until now, my mind has been locked into the moment he started to sing on stage and now I’m frazzled by both.

One important question still remains, of all the songs in the world, why that one?

It’s almost as if my Dad hand selected it for that very instant. A surefire way to grab my attention. A moment that no matter what happens will always be burned into my memory. I can’t help but wonder if fate put me in that bar because I needed a win or I just needed a sign that I am where I’m meant to be.

Either way, part of me longs to hear him play again. He sang with such soul. The kind of soul you just don’t see often, at least as long as I’ve known anything about the industry. And without a doubt, I know he’s the singer, Rhett—that smooth cowboy—wanted me to hear.

Oh God, what I told him to say hi to Rhett and he didn’t even know him? But no, I was, like, ninety nine percent sure this was the guy Rhett wanted me to see. I can feel it in my bones.

He has to be…right?

I look up from my palms and my mahogany desk, taking in the surroundings of my office. My walls now frame my past position at Wellington Music Group, my current position at Telluride, and a large photo of my family and me, the center of it all. Stacks of papers covered with clients from all over America lay across my desk, along with inquiries and demo CDs from people as young as fifteen and as old as sixty-five—all with a dream and the ability to sing well, but many without anything setting them too far apart from one another.

All dreams I have in my hands. All dreams I can make or break.

The pressure of this position is weighing on me today more than usual. At Wellington, I never saw stacks this big, I never saw this many dreams laid out across Gina’s desk. This many dreams that she could choose to grant or pass on. The sadness of that thought consumes me more than it should. But that is just how this industry works, and as much as I wish I could change it, I can’t.

I release another disappointed breath. My focus returns to Sawyer. Signing him would be huge, at least as far as I’m concerned. He has a spark that I intend to capture and set ablaze, if he allows me the chance.