The meeting goes on for twenty minutes. There’s plenty of talk about numbers and research, but nobody says anything about music. Dylan has such an amazing voice, but they don’t talk about that. Why aren’t they talking about his incredible voice? Even when he talks, that grit is always there.
He keeps looking over at me and giving me a playful look. Every time he does it, my mind goes blank. I almost put my hand up and comment on something, but he gives me a wink. My whole body tenses up. It’s just a wink. But that wink shoots through me from my head to my toes.
The other people all type furiously on their laptops.
I have nothing to do, so I just sit and fulfill my role as Eye Candy.
The next time Dylan looks over at me, I lean forward on the glass table and shoot him a smile.
His eyes go straight down from my face to my chest. I didn’t mean to, but leaning forward puts my cleavage on display. My bra is just a basic white cotton bra, but this shirt is tight and pushes everything up.
Someone else is talking, but over top of that I hear Dylan say “Whoa.” He keeps looking at my chest and pretends to wipe the drool off his chin.
Inside my head, I do a happy dance. I made him pretend to drool. My first day as Eye Candy is going very well.
I think back to what Stephanie said yesterday about someone named Brandon. Maybe she just got confused. The name Brandon could sound like Dylan, I suppose.
Next to me, Maggie Clark clears her throat. She sounds like a lioness growling a warning.
Everyone stops talking and turns their attention to the vice president of the company. I don’t see the president in here, so she’s the highest ranking person here. Unless you count Dylan. I guess he’s important. They’re talking to him like he might be the next huge rock star.
Maggie closes her laptop and presses both her hands flat on top of the lid. Her hands look older than her face. I wonder if she’s actually older than fifty. Maybe she got a facelift? Her hands are really wrinkled.
“There’s just one huge problem,” Maggie Clark says.
Everyone stares up at her with huge eyes. Except for Dylan. He’s still smiling at me. He reminds me of the boys who always sit at the back of a classroom and make jokes while the teacher’s talking. He doesn’t seem too interested in what Maggie has to say.
“I know all about the Twitter and the Facebook and YouTube,” Maggie says.
Someone across from me laughs. It’s always funny when an older person calls Twitter “the Twitter.”
Maggie gives the woman who laughed a nasty look. The woman shuts right up.
At the end of the table, Dylan lifts something up and gets my attention. He holds up a handwritten note: No blue shoes today?
I press my lips together hard to keep from giggling.
Other people complain about meetings, but I could sit in on meetings like this all day.
Maggie keeps going. Her voice is deadly serious. “With social media, the fans can turn on you in a heartbeat. Dylan, if we take you on, we also take on your history.”
His eyes pull away from me.
With that gritty voice that sounds so good singing, he says, “I have no history.”
“On the contrary,” Maggie says, getting a smug look. “Where should we start? If you become one of us, we are not just your label. We are your public relations. We are your reputation manager. Brandon, we are your family.”
She called him Brandon.
His brown eyes grow even darker. The temperature of the board room seems to drop about five degrees.
Some of the people to my right whisper to each other. “Brandon? Who’s Brandon?”
I’ve been quiet this whole meeting, but suddenly my voice finds me. I lock eyes with him.
“You’re Brandon,” I say. “That’s why Dylan Wolf didn’t exist a month ago.”
Maggie turns to me, her ice blue eyes crinkling at the corners. She’s smiling, but it’s not a happy smile. “That’s right, Jessica. He’s practically a newborn baby. But you know all about that, don’t you?”
I shake my head. No, I didn’t know, but there’s no use in arguing. She didn’t believe me the first time she accused me of being part of a planned mugging stunt. She probably won’t believe me now.
She turns back to Dylan. Even if his name really is Brandon, I can’t think of him as a Brandon. He looks like a Dylan. That gorgeous face and his eyes are burned into my brain as Dylan Wolf.
“This is bullshit,” he says.
“No, you’re the one who’s bullshit,” Maggie replies.
“My past is nobody’s business.”
“You can never escape your past. Nobody can. Your past is your destiny.”
He slams his fist on the glass table. “This meeting is over.”