Page 49 of Sing Your Secrets

“Every major record company and their subsidiaries. I’ve had three different demos produced trying to create my brand. None of the labels want a white guy trying to be the next Tank or Trey Songz. I kept getting pushed to corny boyband pop music…and I did it too. I racked up so much debt doing what these con artist producers and agents were telling me to. I figured once I made it, I’d get back my creative freedom, but it hasn’t happened yet.” He pops his shoulders nonchalantly, pretending like this admission doesn’t hurt. “I don’t know. Maybe I’m having a hard time coming to terms with the fact that it wasn’t meant to be.”

Hmm, I highly doubt that.

“The industry has changed. Getting a big record deal isn’t every artist’s goal anymore. You don’t need gatekeepers, Miles.”

His smile is a little guarded like I touched a nerve. “How do you know about all of that?” he asks playfully.

I know.Petey built his empire on the foundation of my support. I pushed him when he wanted to quit. I wiped his tears with my sleeves. I believed even when he didn’t. “Look at Chance the Rapper. Grammy. Petey? Grammy and several platinum records.”

“Petey’s not independent.”

I wink at him. “Check your math, homeboy. Petey’s first album, and his most successful, was released as an indie record. I should know, I was there when my dad produced it. In fact, that album paid off my dad’s house.”

Miles widens his eyes. “Your Dad produced Depth? That’s my favorite Petey album. It’s a far cry from his stuff today. It was full of love songs.”

Because at the time, Petey was in love.

“Yeah, it’s a good album,” I mumble under my breath. “But the point being, L.A. and labels shouldn’t decide if you can be a singer. You should.” Miles gives me a small, hopeless smile. He’s trying to be polite, but I see the insecurity wash over him. I should leave it alone. But I’m a pusher. It’s either my worst quality or my superpower. “I could talk to my dad.”

“About?”

“You.”

“About me—what?”

“Really?... We’re going to play this game?”

He snorts. “What game, Reese? I can’t afford a producer like your dad. The producers I worked with twisted my songs and pumped out commercialized cookie-cutter bullshit in like half a day—it still cost me a small fortune. Your Dad…Depth—that’s way over my head. Plus, I haven’t written anything new in a long time. I wouldn’t even be able to keep up.”

I rub my thumb and forefinger together, playing the world’s tiniest violin. Miles rolls his eyes at my sassy reaction. “Are you done? Or do you need me to keep playing this?” I hold up my tiny finger violins.

“Real cute,” he grumbles. “You’re pretty sassy, you know that?”

“I get sassier when I’m sex deprived.” We both laugh. “But seriously, just let me talk to him. From what I understand, Dad’s been eager to get back in the studio. I think a new project could be good for both of you. I mean, you’d owe him points. But when you go platinum”—I wink—“it’ll pay for itself.”

Crossing his arms, Miles leans back in his chair. “Why are you being so nice to me?”

I scrunch my face at his odd remark. “What?”

“You bring me sandwiches, rescue me from the streets, nurse me back to health—”

“Back to health?” I furrow my brows. “Dramatic, much? It was a few splinters.”

“Bottom line is you’re acting like you’re really into me. Why? You could have any guy you want. I don’t have anything to offer you.”

All right, we’re going to have to work on your confidence if you want to be an R&B star, buddy.Reaching over the table, I hold out my hand and he eagerly takes my fingers in his. “I’m nice to you because I like you. I have no hidden motivation here, Miles. I don’t need you to offer me anything. You’re honest, sweet, talented, we have a lot in common, and I like spending time with you. Isn’t that enough?” He squeezes my fingers and nods. “And also,” I say, my face growing serious, “I’m trying to get in your pants.”

He throws his head back as he laughs. “Fair enough.” I love the way his eyes crinkle when his smile lights up his whole face.

“So, I can talk to my dad?”

He ducks his head in a reluctant nod. “Okay, but promise me you’ll try to make me sound less desperate than I really am.”

“Deal.” I return to my sandwich and mumble between bites, “Now, that was a little easier than I expected.” Looking up, I meet his eyes. “Had you resisted, I was completely prepared to offer that three-minute blow job.”

Miles rolls his eyes and mutters something about playing with fire, as I giggle to myself. That’s when it hits me again. The feeling of déjà vu.

A talented musician down on his luck…

A flirty conversation at The Garage…

All these zips, tingles, and butterflies…

My uncontrollable urge to insert myself and help this man believe in himself…

If this is almost an exact repeat of my courtship with Petey…does that mean the end result will be the same?