AnnieLee spun through the revolving doors and stumbled forward into the noise and the crowds of a midtown sidewalk.
“Hey, watch it!” a man shouted as her guitar careened off his briefcase.
“Sorry,” she gasped as the street blurred and wavered in front of her. She staggered up the block, crying not so much out of sorrow but out of frustration and fear. She’d stormed out of the ACD offices without thinking, and now the weight of what she’d done felt as though it would crush the breath out of her. In less than fifteen minutes, she’d managed to ruin the incredible opportunity that Ruthanna had put together for her. What if it was her only one?
And would Ruthanna be able to forgive her?
She’d asked for too much—that was obvious. She should have been nicer and more grateful. Why was she still thinking about the advice of an aging barfly whose name she’d never even asked? What did that woman know about being fearless?
She swiped angrily at her tearstained cheeks. She cared so much about her words, her creative expression, when what mattered to everyone else was the bottom line. Everything was a business—even art. She’d written the songs, but she wouldn’t be able to truly own them. Not if she wanted the rest of the world to hear them.
AnnieLee felt like kicking herself. She’d made so many sacrifices in her life—why hadn’t she been prepared to make just a few more? Wasn’t a bad deal better than no deal at all?
She was dimly aware of shouting behind her, but she didn’t turn around. She wanted to lose herself in the sea of people. She wanted to walk until she was too exhausted to cry.
You idiot, she said to herself. You’re not hot shit. You’re just—
AnnieLee felt a hand on her arm, and she whirled around, ready to fight whatever purse snatcher had spotted her for the country rube she was.
But it was Sam, breathless and panting. AnnieLee saw now how the assistant’s shirt was too big for her, and her shoes were cheap, and her heart went out to this girl who looked just as lost as she was.
“What are you doing here?” she asked. “Did you storm out, too?”
Sam gave a grim laugh. “No. I came because they want you back upstairs.”
“What for?”
“They just told me to go get you,” she said. “So here I am. Will you come back?”
AnnieLee pointed to her stricken face. “I can’t go in looking like this.”
Sam reached into her bag and handed AnnieLee a pack of tissues. “I always have some with me,” she said. “But I haven’t cried in the office for a week, so things are definitely looking up.”
People streamed around them as they stood there, AnnieLee drying her cheeks and trying to get her emotions under control while Sam soothed her with small talk about the Pennsylvania town she’d come from and the railroad apartment in Queens she’d been subletting since she moved here nine months earlier.
“You don’t ever think about going back home?” AnnieLee asked as the two of them walked back toward the building.
Sam gestured to the gleaming office buildings, the honking taxis, the whole loud rush of city life. “You know what they say. ‘If I can make it there…’” She laughed, not bothering to finish the lyric.
They walked back through the lobby and rocketed up to the conference room. Tony Graham was the only one left. He stood up when AnnieLee entered, and his smile was genuine this time.
“The thing is,” he said, “whenever I hear someone play—whether it’s in a crowded club or an inhospitable conference room—I close my eyes. And if I can imagine that person playing Madison Square Garden, then I know I’ve found something real.”
AnnieLee held her breath. Madison Square Garden was a damn high bar.
Tony Graham took a gold pen from his pocket and began spinning it on the tips of his thumb and forefinger. “I had a feeling when you left the room, AnnieLee. And that feeling was that it was in my best interest to get you back inside, whatever it took.”
“So you got me,” she said.
“And we aim to keep you,” he said. “By whatever means—or concessions—necessary.”
Chapter
44
AnnieLee burst into the coffee shop shouting, “Ethan, Ethan!”
He knocked over his chair as he ran to her and caught her by the arms. Her hair was wild and her eyes were an electric blue. “Are you okay?” he demanded.
“I’m great. I’m so good! Why are you flinging furniture?”
“I thought something was wrong,” Ethan said, dropping his hands and shoving them into his pockets. “I mean, considering your recent experiences…”