Page 39 of Worth Every Game

I couldn't eat a bite this morning, and I'm still hungry as I make my way to the Granville Agency. It’s located within a huge 1930s building, covered in oversize white Metro tiles, in the centre of Soho.

I stand outside in a daze. This is such a big opportunity for me that if I let myself truly appreciate the magnitude of it, I’ll turn and run.Get it together. I deliberately root my feet to the ground, and suck in a few deep breaths to calm myself, but my heart is having none of it, continuing to beat at a rapid hum.

I’m so nervous that I’m visibly shaking, which is crazy.I can do this.Can’t I?If I can sing karaoke before a rowdy crowd, I can do this. This is nothing.

Fuck.I can't fool myself. This is far from nothing. This is huge. My music is the most important thing in my life; it exposes my soul to the world.

Doubt swarms my mind like bees, filling my skull with the buzz of negative thoughts. For years, the only place I’ve performed is the Marchmont. And now I’m here, meeting the agent who represents Amy Moritz.

It’s insane. I shouldn’t be here.

What if I’m not good enough? What if Robert Lloyd left the card for someone else? Maybe it was a mistake.

I’m spinning out.

Shit.

I summon what remains of my courage and stride into the building, where I register for a visitor’s pass at the main desk. They instruct me to take the lift to the fifth floor for the Granville Agency.

When I get there, I check in with reception and take a seat in the waiting area. Next to me, sits a gorgeous redhead who smiles kindly.

“Who are you meeting?” she asks.

I don’t want to talk to anyone. I need to concentrate on keeping my arse in this chair, or I’ll lose my nerve and run away.

But the redhead is peering at me, and I can’t ignore her. I have to respond.

“Robert Lloyd.” My voice is so quiet that the girl frowns and leans in. I clear my throat and repeat, “Robert Lloyd.”

“Ooh,” she coos. “That’s a big one. You must be really good.”

A contraction occurs in my chest.Am I?

Nico deserves the best, and you aren’t it.

Why does Jack’s comment have to come back to me now? Fuck him and fuck these intrusive thoughts.

My heart thrums like a muted drumroll, and my pulse throbs in my fingertips. They feel both numb and over-sensitive at once.What if Robert Lloyd asks me to play for him? I won’t be able to work my hands.

The girl reaches into her bag and pulls out a business card, which she holds in my direction. “This is me,” she says as I take the card between my trembling fingers.

I stare at it. I don’t have anything like this. It’s glossy and professional with a logo and her name in the middle. My vision blurs a little.Shit. That’s a definite sign of rising panic. I blink to clear it, deliberately slowing my breathing.Come on Elly, you can do this.

I focus again on the card. The handles for all her social media platforms are listed on the bottom of the card. This girl is a pro.

I don’t have an online presence at all. I hate the idea of being seen out there in the world, where I can’t control the response. Social media is like an untamed beast, lurking beneath stillwaters. If you take a dip, it’ll pull you down and strangle you. It’s easier to stay away entirely.

“I have two hundred thousand followers,” the girl says, and I get the sense she doesn’t care if I’m listening or not. She’s speaking to inform me, and anyone else who happens to be listening, that she belongs here. That she, in fact, deserves her seat in this waiting area. I don’t hear a glimmer of insecurity in her tone, which makes me feel even worse.

She continues wittering on about her rapidly expanding fanbase, oblivious to the way I’m shrinking.Do I deserve my seat?I have no following… no fans to speak of. I’m a wild card, and if Robert backs me, he’d have to start from scratch.

Why would he take a gamble like that, when he could scoop this girl up in all her readiness? She’s a done deal.

And she’s beautiful. She takes out her phone and plays me a video, letting me use her headphones to listen to the song. Her voice is spectacular, her sound unique. I tug the headphones out before the piece is over and give her a weak smile. “It’s great,” I say, but I feel violently sick.

I glance at the clock.Ten minutes until my meeting.

My hands start to sweat.