The phone in our room began ringing at 7:00 AM, earlier than either of us planned to rise.

Ian Ion was on the line, and he explained that he’d been at the studio since 4:00 AM trying to reach me. He wanted some one-on-one time with me, without the distraction of record company execs, musicians, or other artists to get in the way. He wanted my “pure” sound.

Travis had warned me that part of Ian’s genius was a healthy dose of eccentricities, such as working all hours, going days on end without sleep when the muse struck, and subsisting on bizarre diets such as going a week or more eating nothing but Skittles, followed by several days of only celery and popcorn.

But, at the end of the day, he was the best in the business, and Travis assured me that Ian Ion could do things with and to my voice that nobody else could.

Ian told me he had a car waiting outside for me, to get to the studio as soon as possible.

After brushing my teeth and throwing on a casual outfit, I knocked on Robert’s door, since I knew he’d be awake; where we come from, the farmers are up long before the sun rises.

I gasped when he answered.

As was his custom, he’d risen early and eaten a light breakfast. After finishing an exercise routine of pushups and sit-ups that went back to his days as a Marine, he’d taken a shower.

He was glistening, wearing only a towel, the muscles in his arms and chest rippling from the recent workout. His towel was slung low beneath his flat stomach, and he held it closed at his side.

He clearly wasn’t expecting me at such an early hour, and I’m not sure who blushed harder, him or I.

My heart raced and I lowered my gaze, pausing briefly on the bulge pressing against the towel.

“I’m really sorry. I just wanted to tell you that they wanted me at the studio early, well, the producer does. Ian. He sent a car over for me. I didn’t mean to catch you in the shower, I…” I was rambling nervously, and to me, my voice sounded like a child’s.

“It’s no problem, Liane, just let me get dressed and I’ll run you over there,” he replied.

“I didn’t mean for you to have to take me, I just wanted to keep you in the loop, it’s okay, honestly.”

“I made a promise to your father, and I’d be less than a man to break my word already. Go on down to the lobby and get yourself something to eat or some juice, I’ll be right down. And I’ll bring my book and read, I won’t be any bother, you just do your thing.”

“Less than a man” was the last thing Robert Cavanaugh could ever be. He was all man; distilled, intoxicating masculinity.

My eyes slowly drank him in from the floor to his face, and I bit my bottom lip and nodded my head. There was the strangest electricity between us, an unspoken hunger that I felt for him and that, unless my mind was playing tricks on me, was being reciprocated.

I thanked him and headed downstairs for toast and juice. He followed within minutes, approaching me stealthily from behind. He put his hand on the small of my back, right above my ass, and for the briefest moment the flesh of his hand touched the bare flesh of the small of my back where my shirt had ridden up.

Goosebumps.

“Ready to go?”

We went outside and I found the car Ian had sent and politely declined the ride. Robert took me to the studio, where we discovered Ian outside, walking a pot-bellied pig on a leash.

“Good morning, Lia. Meet Hector.”

I’d been around plenty of pigs, but Hector had to be the cutest. He had black splotches on his tan hide, and he was the friendliest little butterball I’d ever met. I knelt and scratched his head hello.

My Claiborne County escort just shook his head in disbelief. Pigs were commonplace back home. Pigs on leashes, being taken for walks down city streets, decidedly less so.

Ian and Hector led me inside, where Ian put me through a grueling set of vocal calisthenics before having me sing two selections, one an old Whitney Houston song and the other an original piece he told me he’d been working on and finished writing the night before, after listening to me sing. The way he made it sound, he’d written at least part of it specifically for me and my voice. I thought I might cry.

Hector sat patiently on the stool next to Ian throughout our session. By the end, I had recorded, mixed, produced, two polished, professional-sounding songs. I was always my harshest critic, but they sounded nearly flawless. I couldn’t imagine putting together a stronger two-song demo.

“You go back to your room and relax, or go get some lunch, enjoy Nashville for a while. I’ll play this for the suits. Trust me, they’ll be impressed,” Ian assured me.

We met Shelby and her parents for lunch and then we explored Music Row together. The vibe of Nashville inspired me and I felt giddy. I wondered if Cinderella had felt half as excited when she was invited to the ball.

Just after 3:00 PM, my phone rang.

“Hey Lia, this is Ashleigh Thomas from Vidas. Ian played the demos you cut this morning for me and the A&R people.” Her voice betrayed nothing.

“Oh?”

“Yes. And I have good news and bad news. How do you want it?”

I felt the color drain from my face, along with my smile. Shelby was almost jumping up and down with anticipation. I held out my hand parallel to the ground and tilted it up and down.

“I guess the bad news first?”

“Okay. The bad news is that Ian isn’t available to produce your album until the Fall, and that’s after school starts. So, if you want to work with him, you’ll have to wait a few months. But that’s not all bad, because I’d expect song selection to take a while, anyway.”

“Wait, what?” The words she spoke were stuck in a spin cycle in my head. I thought I understood, but it was like reading a page in a book with every third word blacked out.

Ashleigh laughed on the other end of the line.

“You’ve been offered a record contract. In fact, it seems there will be a bidding war to sign you. Between yesterday and today, they were very impressed.”

I mouthed, “Oh. My. God.” To Shelby. She pantomimed pounding on me with her balled fists. She was dying to hear my news.

“Thank you, I guess? I don’t know what to say. I’m just… wow. Thank you.” I knew I sounded ridiculous, but I felt entirely out of my depth and whatever the opposite of “cool” is. Times a million.

“No, Lia, thank you. Your sound is so distinct, so fresh, we’re all so excited to work with you,” Ashleigh responded.

“What do we do now?

“I’d say we celebrate! I reserved a room for us at Dewey’s. Does 7:00 work for you? Vidas will take care of everything.”

Dewey’s was a well-known, high-end steakhouse and barbecue restaurant just off Music Row, where Nashville’s movers and shakers hung out. We’d walked past it earlier in the afternoon and Shelby’s folks looked at the menu before walking away, laughing. The prices were ridiculous. Two limousines were parked out front when we were there.

“That sounds great. Yes. Thank you, thank you so much,” I gushed.

“You’re adorable, Lia. We’ll see you there tonight. The room will be under your name. See you then.”