Page 8 of Worth Every Game
“Elly,” Marcia says, leaning over me as I sip my drink. “Someone left this for you.” She slaps a little white business card down on the table and watches as I pick it up to read it.
Granville Entertainment Agency
Robert Lloyd
Music Agent
My heart starts pounding, and my hands feel shaky.Robert Lloyd. He’s a big name in the industry. There must be some mistake. This can’t be for me, can it?
The confusion must be clear on my face because Marcia gives my shoulder a little squeeze. “Thought you’d like that.”
She’s misinterpreted my silence for the stunned speechlessness that comes from finally winning something you expected to win, rather than the utter shock of winning something you never dared to hope for.
“He said he liked your sound and you should call the office and schedule a meeting.”
Wow. “Oh, gosh…I…”Can’t speak.
Marcia hugs me. “Come back and see us when you’re rich and famous, okay?”
I laugh, but I’m still completely dazed. My pulse increases its beat as I grip the business card in one hand.It’s real. This is what I’ve been waiting for… this is the dream I thought had died, risen to life like Frankenstein’s monster, lurching awkwardly inside me.
The Granville Agency is huge, and Robert Lloyd is the top dog. If I can get representation with him, my career might finally take off.
Suck on that, Jack Lansen.
Excitement buzzes in my veins, and I stay for a couple more drinks, unable to keep the grin off my face.Robert Lloyd wants to meet me.
When I’m finally ready to leave, the rain is pouring down. I hoist my guitar, safely packed away in its bag, over my shoulder, and walk out.
There isn’t a cab in sight. I know I told Kate I’d take one, but I’m strapped for cash. As though the skies hear me, the rain gets heavier, and water batters my cheeks as a gust of wind pulls my hood back. In seconds, my hair is soaked and rain is dripping into my cowboy boots.
Damn it. Not even I need to save money this much. I pull my phone from my coat pocket, intending to order an Uber.
Shit.It’s dead. I forgot to plug it in before my shift.
Nothing for it but the night bus.
The street is quiet because of the pounding rain. I make my way down towards Piccadilly. The deluge is so heavy I can hardly see. I pull my hood back up, but the rain is coming every which way.
Lightning spears the sky overhead, and a bone-rumbling clap of thunder follows soon after. The streets are running with rivers of water.Crap.This wasn’t my best idea.I hurry towards the bus stop when a car honks. I keep walking, not even looking up at the noise. I don’t know when the next bus is, but as long as I’m moving, I’m attempting to sort out this shitty situation.
The horn honks again, twice. Short. Sharp. I still don’t stop.
“Elly!”
Weird. Why is someone shouting my name during a storm in central London in the middle of the night? I look around, but I don’t see anyone.
I glance over to the car that’s parked on a double yellow line, flashing its hazard lights. The vehicle is dark, sleek, and no doubt crazy expensive. Whatever arsehole is driving it doesn’t care about the price of a ticket, because he shouldn’t be idling there.
A hand sticks out the passenger window. A man’s hand, with an expensive watch on the wrist. Two curled fingers beckon metowards the car. I can tell it’s the driver, rather than a passenger, because I can see the shape of him leaning across the inside.
“Get in the car.”
What the hell?
Cars are blaring their horns, driving past the stationary vehicle, arches of rainwater from their wheels spraying towards me as they pass.
I peer in at the car just as the man leans out the window. “Elly. Get in the fucking car right now.”