“No, it’s not.” With an exaggerated motion, Lola crossed her arms to mirror him and garner some emotion from him. The pen wasn’t enough. She’d rather play with Braden.
His lips tugged up in a slight smile. So he liked the game, did he? She mirrored him with a crooked grin of her own.
“It doesn’t matter if it is impossible. Those are the conditions,” George said, oblivious to their childish game.
“And if I pass? I get the property and I can sell it to whomever I choose?” she asked with the emphasis on ‘whomever.’ Braden’s little smile melted and turned into a full-blown frown. Oh yeah, this was going to be fun.
George blinked. “Yes.”
Cool. She’d pass the tests and own the property so Braden could keep his lease. Then she would hit the road.
“What aren’t you saying?” Braden asked, his eyes narrowing.
She didn’t understand why he believed there was more. Wasn’t a month of homework followed by three tests enough?
“In addition to those conditions, Braden will help write three new songs for Lola to sing.”
She couldn’t help it. She laughed. “Excuse me? Mr. Fancy Pants is going to write music? I don’t think so.”
Braden glared at her. She glared back until he turned away. The tension was so high, you could cut it with a——
Actually, that expression didn’t make sense. If the tension is high, it should be difficult to cut, so you’d need more than a knife. Something like a jackhammer.
“Not music, but lyrics,” George clarified, turning to her. “Set to your music.”
She could admit she sucked at writing lyrics. All the words jumbled into a big mess inside her head and she had a difficult time getting her thoughts on paper. Her bandmates weren’t much better. They didn’t have the same processing problems as her, but they lacked the talent to write anything monumental. And she’d had lots of bandmates throughout the years. But Braden? His favorite word was ‘no.’
“Why would he help me write three songs?”
George smiled at her. “Because Alexander set the condition that you obtain a record contract as a condition for the lease. At the end of the month, you’ll perform the songs you write together for Rand Baker.”
She nearly choked on her excitement. “Rand Baker? Are you serious?” Forgetting she still held a pen between her fingers, it flew across the desk and hit Braden on the cheek. Oops.
Braden rubbed his cheek. The pen hadn’t hit him hard enough to leave a mark on his gorgeous olive-colored skin. She’d bet even a hard slap of her hand on that cheek wouldn’t turn his skin red. But it certainly would be fun to try.
“Who’s Rand Baker?” Braden asked.
How could anyone not know Rand Baker? Braden deserved getting hit by that pen. “Only the King of Music himself,” she said. “He’s the producer for all the biggest musical artists in the country. Think Simon Cowell mixed with Clive Davis and Berry Gordy.”
He shrugged as if those names meant nothing.
She’d try explaining on his level. “You know that floppy-haired sixteen-year-old boy with a dozen number one hits and ten Grammys?”
He nodded, clearly more impressed.
“Rand Baker discovered him from YouTube,” she explained. “It’s almost impossible to capture his attention.”
“Alexander has ensured that you will indeed, ‘capture his attention.’” Sweating something fierce, George took off his jacket, showing off the huge pit stains on his white dress shirt. Poor guy. He really needed someone to take care of him before he melted or got his messy hair caught in a paper shredder. “He knew you had great musical talent but lacked a certain empathy which allowed your creativity to transfer to the written word. But as a Muse, you’ll inspire Braden to write the lyrics.”
Braden sat forward, linked his fingers, and placed his hands on the desk. “Mr. Pappas——George——surely you’re not saying you buy the ridiculous nonsense about the Dubrovsky women being Muses.”
Something about the cynicism in his voice got a physical reaction out of her. It almost felt like he’d squeezed her heart. She didn’t know why, but she didn’t like it one bit. Even if she didn’t believe she was a Muse, it didn’t give him the right to doubt it.
“It’s irrelevant what I believe, Braden. Alexander believed it, and that is one of the reasons he wanted you to hire Viola,” George replied.
Wait. What? When she’d moved to Michigan, Reina reminded her to look up her dead Aunt Tina’s husband, Alexander Stavros. She’d found him in a nursing home. The doctors told her he wasn’t lucid, but he’d known exactly who she was. He’d said his friend was looking for a singer, and she just had to find a band. That hadn’t been hard. She just picked one randomly in the local entertainment magazine, auditioned for them, and joined them that same day. Then she’d called Braden, Alexander’s friend. He’d offered them a gig right away without even hearing them play. Come to think of it, that was rather strange.