The Rocker's Muse

CHAPTER 1

EMILY

Maybe I should just leave.

In the middle of the California desert, this lone building seemed so out of place. Even so, the one-level, earth-toned structure almost blended in with the natural surroundings. This was definitely a place you went when you didn’t want anyone to find you. There was a small lot behind the building with several high-priced cars parked, but literally nothing else in the vicinity for what seemed like miles.

I felt the pressure of knowing I was about to be kicked off the premises as I wandered around, attempting to peek into windows. Then out of nowhere, a door opened. A man wearing all black came out.

Trying my best to seem casual, I cleared my throat. “Oh, hello.”

“Are you here for the interview?” he asked.

Interview? “Uh…” Clearing my throat, I straightened and lied, “Yes.” What are you doing, Emily?

“Well, then you’re late.”

“I’m…so sorry. Traffic.”

“Well, that’s typical of L.A., isn’t it?” He chuckled. “I instructed the agency to have you call me when you got here. I was just coming out for a smoke, but since you’re here, we can get started.” He turned back toward the door. “Come with me.”

Letting out a shaky breath, I followed him inside. We passed a door that said Control Room, and I could hear the distant sound of drumming and cymbals coming from somewhere in the building.

“I’m sorry for having to drag you out to the desert for this,” he said as I scurried behind him. “But I needed to be here while the band is recording their new album, and figured I’d kill two birds with one stone by having the candidates come out here. We don’t have a ton of time to fill this position.”

He wore a T-shirt with the name of the band on it: Delirious Jones. They were popular these days after some of their songs had gone viral. They’d been around for a while but had only seen real success in the past couple of years. Their music was definitely rock, but usually described as modern, post-grunge.

I continued my ruse. “The ride out here was no problem,” I assured him. “Once I got off the highway, it was quite scenic.”

The man brought me into a kitchen with a vending machine. He pulled out a chair for me, and then sat on the other side of the table. He held out his hand. “Doug Elias, by the way.”

I took it. “Nice to meet you.”

“Did you bring a resume?”

Uh. No, considering I’m not supposed to be interviewing for a job today. I rubbed my palms on my thighs. “No, I’m sorry.”

“Let me check my email. Maybe the agency sent it over.”

I cleared my throat. “Yeah. They said they would.” Gazing out at the desert through the window behind him, I prayed I didn’t get myself into deep shit.

“What’s your name again?” he asked.

I could barely remember it. “Emily Applewood.”

He scrolled through his phone and shook his head. “No. I don’t see anything.”

I straightened and lied again. “That was a misunderstanding, then. I would’ve brought it if I’d known you didn’t already have it.”

“No worries.” He crossed his arms and settled into his seat. “Well, I guess start with your background. What experience do you have?” He opened the notes app on his phone.

“I’m…in between jobs at the moment. I recently graduated from Nevada State University with a degree in communications, but I haven’t really figured out what I want to do with it yet.”

All of that was true, at least.

For the next several minutes, I rambled about my experience interning for a TV station in Las Vegas. I didn’t even know what the hell I was interviewing for. But at least I had hands-on experience with something I could talk about.

“What makes you want to work for the band?” he asked.