Clay had been in his office less than twenty minutes when Naomi knocked on his open door. “Good morning,” he said. “How was your weekend?”

“Good,” she replied, crossing the office to set a folder on his desk before settling into a chair. “I managed to get the last of the info you requested. The band name was tougher to track down, but it landed in my email last night.”

Retrieving the manila folder, he flipped it open. “Does the information match what she claims?”

Naomi nodded. “It does. Did you check my credentials this thoroughly?”

“I was already familiar with your work. That’s why I recruited you.”

“I’m going to take that as a compliment. The band Ms. Garcia didn’t name is called The Hard Way, made up of Liam Bradshaw on lead vocals, Bobby Shaw on bass, Matt Keys and Eugene Pepper on guitar, and Olive Cindowski on drums. They did a short stint at Six String Records, the label for which Ms. Garcia worked, before leaving their contract.”

“When did they leave?”

She leaned forward in her chair. “That’s the interesting part. They were released less than a week before Ms. Garcia left the label.”

Clay opened the folder. “She left or was she let go?”

“From everything I’ve been able to gather, the decision was hers. That was a month ago, and they’ve yet to replace her. Word is the label will likely fold soon, and a bankruptcy filing is imminent.”

That explained what she’d meant by looking for a label willing and able to put resources behind their artists. Without a successful act to bring money in, there likely hadn’t been much in the way of development budgets. The story was a common one on Music Row. Small-time executive wannabes set up shop and lure in one or two of the thousands of acts seeking any deal they can find. Promises get made. Contracts get signed. And nothing ever comes of them.

Some artists lose a year or two, believing that eventually their career will be launched. Meanwhile, they’re still working a day job and playing for tips to survive. In this particular case, not only were artists duped, but Ms. Garcia’s talent had presumably been wasted.

“Thanks for putting this together.”

Naomi rose from her chair. “I know you were only gathering information on the new recruit, but the band has a YouTube channel you should look at. Chance and I checked them out last night, and we were impressed.”

“Are you vying for the A&R position?” Clay asked, setting the folder beside his laptop.

“I’ll stick with publicity, thanks. And don’t forget Jesse hits the studio this morning.”

Speaking of Jesse. “I heard she and Taylor Roper put on a different kind of show last Friday. Have you gotten any calls on that?”

“Four emails on Saturday and two more yesterday. I replied that Shooting Stars did not comment on their artists’ personal lives, but that Ms. Gold is working hard on her debut album and as soon as we have new music to share, they’d be the first to know.”

That was why he’d hired Naomi. “Has there been anything reported from the Roper camp?”

“Only that the former duet partners are still friends and supportive of each other’s solo projects.”

Clay raised a brow. “Really?”

The publicist nodded. “Really. I figured they’d take the opportunity to bad-mouth Jesse since eyewitness reports cast her as the aggressor, but to my surprise, Roper took the high road.”

Maybe Jesse’s former partner wasn’t the source of the rumors after all. “Good. Then we’ll let it blow over.” Tapping the folder, he added, “Thanks again for this. I plan to call our new hire today to give her the good news. She’ll have the office beside yours.”

“I’ll get with Belinda and make sure it’s stocked and ready when she arrives.”

Naomi exited the office, and Clay did a quick search in his computer to locate The Hard Way on YouTube. There were plenty of songs to choose from, and he clicked the first option. The lead singer possessed a strong baritone and a growl that would appeal to female fans. The sound was retro but relevant and just different enough to stand out on modern radio.

With a few more key strokes, he found a website that provided the history of the band, the lineup, links to buy a self-financed EP, and a list of tour dates, all in small clubs around the country. The more he listened and read about the group, the more Clay felt Shooting Stars was ready to add a band to the roster.

Ms. Garcia would be happy to hear that she’d already found the label’s next act, and she hadn’t even started yet.

Sleep had been impossible.

This was the day. Her first day in the studio as a solo artist, and unlike a lot of hopefuls in her position, Jesse knew for certain that not only would her record be released, she had a label behind her, ready to provide all the push she needed to be successful. There was no better position to be in when it came to chasing this dream.

“Can you get the mandolin for me?” Jesse asked Dana as she unloaded her guitar and banjo from the SUV. They hadn’t talked about adding the mandolin to anything, but she wanted to be prepared.

“Got it, boss.”

The women entered the 1970s-era building, and Jesse told herself not to spaz out. This just happened to be one of the most historic studios in town. Legends had recorded here. Some of the greatest songs ever had been cut in these hallowed halls.

No big deal, she thought, as her stomach twisted into one gigantic knot.

Thankfully, Dana had done studio work at Triple Tone and knew her way around. She led Jesse to a large lounge not far from the entrance where they found Ash on a black leather sofa scrolling through his phone.

Jesse’s heart did a cartwheel the moment he flashed the smile she’d become a bit addicted to lately.

“Morning, ladies,” he said, rising to his feet. “Are we ready to make an album?”

“Yes, sir,” Dana replied. “But where’s the rest of the crew?”

“Reggie is setting up his kit, and Mason is on his way.”

“Mason?” Jesse asked, certain he didn’t mean the Mason Dexter.

“Mason Dexter, the guitar player,” Ash replied, taking the banjo case from her grasp. “I called him for the session.”

The knot in her stomach tightened. “He’s playing on my album?”

Amber eyes narrowed. “Is that a problem? We have the budget, so we might as well use it to get the best musicians available.”

As if having the musician of the year seven years running playing on her debut record would be a problem. “No. I’m good with that.”

“Holy crappola,” Dana whispered behind her as they followed Ash out of the room and down a narrow hall. “Mason-Freaking-Dexter. He’s played on every top album in the last decade.”

This was not helping Jesse’s nerves. She spun, nearly smacking Ash in the back of the knees with her guitar case. “I know,” she whispered back. “But if you keep talking like that, I might throw up, and I do not want to puke in front of a living legend.”

Dana schooled her features. “You’re right. We can be cool about this.”

“Are you two coming?” Ash asked, and Jesse plastered a smile on her face as she spun back around.

“Right behind you,” she trilled, shuffling through the door he’d just stepped through. Inside Jesse found the longest control board she’d ever seen, with engineer extraordinaire Aiden D’Angelo behind the console.

This just kept getting better.

“Which one of you is the lady of the hour?” Aiden asked.

As Jesse shyly raised her hand, she realized this entire day was going to be an out-of-body experience. “That would be me.”

“I’m Aiden D’Angelo,” he said with a wide smile and one dreadlock hanging over his left eye. “Nice to meet you.” His powerful black hand engulfed hers in a warm shake. “Ash says you can play anything with strings.”

“Not anything,” she corrected. “Just guitar, banjo, and mandolin.”

Dark brows arched high. “Is that all?”

Despite understanding the rhetorical nature of the question, Jesse rambled off an answer. “I toyed with piano as a kid but didn’t stick with it.”

Ash hid a smile as Aiden grinned and returned to his seat.

“The drums are ready to go,” Reggie announced as he entered the room. “Phoenix wanted to show her support, so she sent her homemade muffins. I dropped them in the lounge for anybody who wants one.”

“Did someone say muffins?” Mason Dexter entered the room with one of the goodies in hand. “I’m already on it.” Setting down his guitar, he greeted Ash with what Jesse referred to as a bro-shake—hands clasped and a quick pat on the back.

“How’s it going, bud?” Ash asked. “Thanks for coming out today.”

“My pleasure. Which one is Jesse?” Mason asked, glancing from one face to the next.

“I am,” Jesse said, feeling as if she should have worn a name tag. Not that she was famous, but it wasn’t as if she were a complete unknown. “I appreciate you playing on my album.”

“I’m always up for working with Ash,” he said, turning his attention to the producer. “You have some song sheets for me?”

“They’re in my bag over here.”

The two men crossed to the other side of the room, and Jesse caught a look from Dana. Neither was impressed with the award-winning musician, nor did they miss the meaning of his comment. Mason wasn’t here because of Jesse. In fact, she got the impression he wouldn’t be here at all if it weren’t for Ash’s involvement.

Her annoyance ebbed as Ash distributed the song sheets, and she spotted her name at the top. Regardless of why anyone was here, they all shared one goal—to make the best album they could. And that album would have Jesse’s name on it.

Riding a wave of excitement, she and Dana followed Reggie out to his kit where they hashed out the first song. After so many months, Jesse was relieved to finally get this project underway.

“I really appreciate you doing this,” Ash said as Mason withdrew his Fender Stratocaster from its case. “Especially on such short notice.”

“You caught me with an opening.” He dropped onto the leather sofa and propped the guitar on his knee. “Though I almost passed when you mentioned who this is for.”

Ash tensed. “What do you mean?”

Dark eyes met his over wire-rimmed glasses. “The girl has a rep, man. You can’t pretend you haven’t heard it.”

“That’s idle gossip. You know how this town is.”

Mason tuned his guitar. “I’d have ignored it if I’d heard conflicting stories, but when this many people are all saying the same thing, I tend to believe them.”

“What exactly are they saying?”

“You haven’t heard it?” he asked, glancing up from the tuner.

“Humor me,” Ash replied.

“That she’s difficult, mostly.” Mason returned to his task. “Bossy. Likes things her way. Doesn’t play well with others, which explains why that duet thing didn’t work out.”

All utter bullshit.

“The duet didn’t work out because Taylor Roper got sucked in by a pretty talker with the age-old promise that he could make her a star all by herself. And if you heard that same description of a male artist, you’d be lining up to work with him. Being passionate about the music you want to make isn’t a character flaw, and the only reason Jesse gets shit about her perfectionist tendencies—which she aims at herself more than anyone else—is because she’s a female artist.” Ash rested his arms on the top of the acoustic in his lap. “If you don’t plan to put as much into this job as you would for anyone else, tell me now and I’ll line up another picker.”

Leaning back, Mason gave Ash a hard stare before his face split into a grin. “You seem pretty passionate about this project yourself.”

“I believe in Jesse. She deserves this break, and I plan to do all that I can to make sure we turn out the best debut album this town has seen in years. Are you in on that mission or not?”

“When you put it that way, hell yeah, I’m in. But what makes you so sure this chick has what it takes?”

Ash remembered Jesse’s reluctance to offer the rumor mill anymore fodder and opted to keep their past connection to himself. “She can play circles around half the musicians in this town—on multiple instruments—and she has a voice that doesn’t sound like anyone else. Her songwriting is just as good, and more importantly, she’s a true artist—musician, singer, songwriter—which is more than I can say for her former duet partner.”

“She’s really that good?”

“Stick around and you’ll see for yourself.”

After a brief hesitation, he nodded. “Okay, then. Which song is first?”

Relieved, Ash made an executive decision and changed the order they’d decided on the week before. “‘Save Yourself.’”

Mason shuffled the papers until he found the song. “What’s the tempo?”

“I’ll show you.”

Ash played the song on his acoustic and several bars in, Mason joined him. Ash wouldn’t be playing on the album, but since he’d worked out the songs with Jesse, he’d taken on the task of getting the session musician up to speed. They worked through the verses, made an alteration to the chorus, and then the hired gun let fly on the solo before the bridge. As they strummed the last chords, Mason looked up with a genuine smile.

“You two wrote this?”

He shook his head. “She wrote this one by herself.”

“Damn,” the man murmured. “If this is what we’re working with, I’m here as long as you need me.”

Shoulders relaxing, Ash reached for another song sheet. “Good. Because it only gets better from here.”