Maria, however, looked concerned.
“I thought Frankie was supposed to be here by lunch?” she whispered as she pulled me to the side.
“He’s coming down with something, but he should be here soon.” I felt like shit lying to her, but I had no idea what else to say.
Hey, Maria. No one knows where the man who’s supposed to record a duet with your daughter today is. But he did get drunk last night and threw himself one hell of a pity party, so chances are, he’ll be gone anywhere from two days to two weeks.
In my peripheral, Brooklyn was waving at me.
“I’m just nervous,” Maria confessed. “This is such a big deal for Izzy.”
“It’ll be fine.” I offered her a smile. “These things happen all the time. He hasn’t been feeling well for a couple of days.”
The song ended and I heard the rattle of the door. Then Ashton was pushing one of the cases down the hallway, and Levi was right behind him with his camera bag in tow. I almost wanted to tell them to hold off on setting up the gear but realized that would only alarm the rest of the team and the band.
Frustration pinched my chest.
“Let me see what his assistant says,” I told Maria and followed Brooklyn to the small lounge at the quieter end of the building.
“I thought you two were coming together,” she sputtered, shutting the door so we could both have a breakdown in private.
“I had to leave early to get Ashton’s car out of impound. Roman was supposed to drive him here.”
“I cannot believe this shit.” She stilled and squeezed the bridge of her nose.
“Did you call Corey?”
“He hasn’t spoken to Frank since last night.”
Artists were eccentric, but dropping from the face of the Earth today of all days?
“You said to give him space.” I threw my hands in the air, unable to control my emotions. My head spun from the raging pain zapping through it. “Now he’s probably somewhere halfway to Vegas, drunk and with a broken shoulder!”
“You need to cool the fuck down.” Brooklyn shoved her finger into my chest, her voice taut with anger.
“Don’t fucking touch me!” I slapped her hand away. “You can just say it. You don’t like me. You’ve never liked me. But I seem to be the only one who wants him to get better.”
Her face twisted. “And you don’t tell me how to do my job.” She whirled around and marched over to the door.
“Where are you going?”
She gave me a sideways glance. “To look for Frank.”
“I’m going with you.”
“No, you’re not. You’re staying here.”
It hit me then. Being Frankie Blade’s girlfriend wouldn’t be easy. I’d be responsible for his every word and every mistake. People would be looking at me the way Isabella looked at me when I returned to the recording room—with bitter disappointment in her eyes.
I promised her she’d be heard. Instead, I’d let her down.
Frank’s no-show stunt made me feel like a complete failure of a person. I could only postpone the news for so long. It was nearing dinnertime when the message I’d dreaded all day popped up on my phone.
Brooklyn: He just came back home drunk and tried to fire me. I wouldn’t wait up.
What do you want me to do?
Brooklyn: It’s your project. Studio time is paid for.
I put my phone away and summoned the leftovers of my self-control to make an announcement. “It doesn’t look like Frankie will be able to join us today after all.”
A collective gasp filled the room.
“I know this is a big deal for you all.” Lying to everyone’s faces made me sick to my stomach. “He truly is sorry, but he hasn’t been well these past few days.”
I stood in the center of everyone and willed my mind to block their accusatory gazes.
“Is he going to be okay?” Story asked, fingering the strings on his guitar.
“Hopefully.” I despised myself for this farce. Frank wasn’t ill. He was a coward. “I do think we should finish the single.” I turned to look at Gary, unsure if he was up for it.
The man gave me a one-shoulder shrug. “I’m good until midnight.”
Isabella was silent a long moment. Her eyes hardened. It made no difference whether she was going to record “Afterburn” right now or later. If she chose to finish tracking today, it’d be the only song on the album produced by Gary Torino.
“The studio is paid for,” I explained. “It’s your song. Your call. Whatever you decide.”
“Sure.” She nodded. “Let’s get this baby done since we’re all here.” Her smile was like a knife to my chest, a painful twist. I could tell she felt cheated, and sadly, there wasn't a single thing I could do to make it better.
Only Frank had that power.
Isabella returned to the booth for another take. Too wired to watch, I stepped outside to get fresh air and clear my head. The distant hum of Ventura Boulevard replaced the blasts of music. Clouds hung low above the Valley. Shy spurs of first fog licked the hillside. The evening was perfect. Dark, crisp, and full of dreams. Just not mine.
Levi found me a few minutes later. “What's going on, Cass?” Hands in his pockets, he strolled up.
I glanced at my phone, hoping to see a missed call or a message from Frank. “Don't know.”
“He’s not really sick, is he? He changed his mind. Am I right?”
I disregarded his question because I didn’t have an answer. “Let's get whatever we can for now.” A shuddered breath left my lungs.
“I guess the interview is out too?”
“I honestly don’t know.”
Levi didn't press for more.
The light rattle of Isabella's wheelchair cut our conversation short.
“My eyes can’t take this cockfest anymore.” She steered over to us.
I laughed softly, wondering yet again where this girl found the energy to joke while everything we’d been working toward was falling apart.
Levi rolled his eyes.
“What?” I slapped his chest with
