Seven Nights of Sin - Lacey Alexander [56]
Only Damon gently shook his head. “Bublé and Mraz do say new and now. They put a fresh twist on their music that brings it up to date, even if a little left of current pop sounds. I don’t think this girl is in their league.”
Brenna couldn’t help feeling a little deflated—as if maybe she really wasn’t a good judge of what would sell.
She found Damon flashing a slightly scolding expression. “Don’t look so depressed. Music is subjective. Even people in the biz don’t agree on everything.”
She heard the honesty leave her even before she could temper it. “Up to now, I’ve felt like I’m really getting this. But if you weren’t here, if I were on my own, I’d probably approach this girl and tell her I was very interested. And if you’re right, if she doesn’t have what it takes, then that means I’d be making a big mistake.”
Damon tilted his head. “Everybody makes a wrong decision every now and then. It wouldn’t be the end of the world—or even the end of your job.”
“Have you ever made a mistake?”
“Claire Starr,” he reminded her frankly. “A mistake for different reasons—she turned out to be demanding and unreasonable to work with—but I still messed up. And I’m paying for it in a big way.”
Even bigger than you know, Brenna couldn’t help thinking.
Before they left the club, Damon introduced himself and Brenna to the singer and told her that if she wanted to send him something more edgy and up-to-date, he’d love to hear it.
The girl, who hadn’t had a clue she was being scouted by Blue Night, had seemed appreciative, even if a little embarrassed by Damon’s unspoken criticism. And as they left, he explained to Brenna that when someone showed promise, he’d rather risk hurting their feelings than not give them some guidance that could help them succeed. “And as much as you liked her, I’m willing to give her a chance to show me more.”
But as they climbed into a cab, setting off for their next destination, Brenna wasn’t sure she could do that—just walk up to someone and, effectively, tell them what they were doing wasn’t quite good enough, even though they’d never asked to be courted by a recording label.
Yet given other bits of growing confusion about exactly how she would pull off the one-on-one parts of this job, the parts that weren’t just about giving someone good news, Brenna decided to do what she’d gotten far too skilled at this week—she pushed her doubts aside and concentrated on the good parts of the evening: being on Damon’s arm, knowing later she would be in his bed.
Their last stop of the evening was at one of the older hotels on the north end of the Strip, in a lounge where a red-haired female singer belted out alternative hits at a piano. After about fifteen minutes, Damon leaned over to Brenna and said, “Please tell me you’re not digging this chick.”
Fortunately, she could. “She’s got a good enough voice, but…no. I’m not sure why. Because she’s trying too hard? Her stage presence is a little too harsh? Something about her feels like…it’s already been done?”
It restored Brenna’s confidence when he nodded. “All of that. She’s a Tori Amos wannabe. And you can’t duplicate Tori. You’re right—this girl’s got a decent voice, but she’s the epitome of a Las Vegas lounge act, and she’ll be stuck in places like this forever.”
“That’s…kind of sad,” she couldn’t help adding.
“That’s the biz,” he said, then lifted her chin with one bent finger. “But you’re sweet as hell, you know that?”
His eyes were sparkling on her again, melting her as usual, and she found herself amazed that he could still think her sweet after some of the things she’d done with him and how dirty they’d been together. It touched her heart—because even if she’d really, truly become new Brenna now, maybe that didn’t mean all of old Brenna was gone, and maybe he’d just honed in on the part that remained. The part that was softhearted, the part that worried about hurting people’s feelings, the part