“Yes, ma’am.” He walked over to the large metal door to the building, holding it open for us.
Looking skyward, I breathed out, “Here goes nothing.”
Stepping inside, a giant neon sign told us where we were: La Brea Recording.
My chest tightened, and breathing became difficult.
What did he do?
A pretty blonde receptionist smiled, greeting us. “Welcome to La Brea Recording. Can I please have your name?”
I simply stared at her, and for the third time today, Natalie bailed me out. “Appointment for Hannah Moreau?”
Tapping away on her desk computer, the receptionist nodded. “I have her right here. Follow me, please.”
Natalie began to follow, but I was rooted to the spot. Noticing I wasn’t with her, Natalie walked back to take my hand.
I shook my head. “I can’t do this.”
Squeezing my hand, she countered, “We don’t even know whatthisis. Cal went out of his way to set this up. But if it makes you uncomfortable, we can leave at any time.”
I wasalreadyuncomfortable, but she was right. Trudging slowly down the hall to where the blonde led us, we stopped at an open door. Smiling, she said, “Go on in. They’re waiting for you.”
Oh, God. Who was waiting for me?
Pulling me reluctantly by the hand, Natalie entered the room first, with me right behind her. My anxiety hit a new high as I took in my surroundings. A glass wall split the giant recording studio in half, separating the control room featuring a massivesoundboard from the live room where a microphone hung from the ceiling.
Two men sat in chairs in front of the soundboard. One stood, looking the part of someone in the music industry, wearing a leather jacket over a black T-shirt and ripped jeans. Shaggy brown hair fell in his eyes, and dark facial hair lined his jaw.
Holding a hand out, he introduced himself, “I’m Holden, and that over there is Eddie, my sound engineer.” Holden motioned to the blond dressed similarly to himself, minus the jacket, so his double sleeves of tattoos were visible.
Taking his hand, I shook it. “If I’m being honest, I’m not sure why I’m here.”
“A friend of mine called in a favor,” he replied.
“Cal is your friend?” The surprises kept on coming.
Holden shoved both hands into the pockets of his jeans. “We go way back. Believe it or not, I got my start running the music at sporting events in college. When I did hockey games, Cal would give me a list of songs that got the team pumped up, and we developed a friendship. So, when he called me to see if I could squeeze his girl in for a private session, how could I say no?”
“Private,” I repeated.
Nodding, Holden confirmed, “Cal gave me a list of songs for you to sing covers of.” Reaching back, he grabbed a piece of paper featuring the list he mentioned, and handed it to me. “He said it was an early birthday present.”
My anxiety fell away as I read it over. Every single song was one he’d heard me singing out loud in his penthouse—most often when he caught me before I realized he was home.
Natalie peered over my shoulders. “Oh my God, Hannah. He’s in love with you.”
Stunned, I turned to stare at her. “No. Cal doesn’tdolove. You know him. Before me, there was a new girl in every city.”
She shook her head. “Listen to what you just said. Before you. He also never had a girlfriendbefore you. No guy does something this big if he’s not in love.”
“I don’t know, Nat . . .”
“You got your chance to channel Amy on this trip. It’s my turn. So let me do it.” She put her hands on her hips.
Note to self: Natalie is a little feisty when she’s pregnant.
“Fine.” I sighed.
