Page 64 of A Country Kind Of Love

Shonda rises and walks to stand behind Dwayne. “Where is the song you sent me the clip of a few weeks ago?” The question is aimed at Hank. Peyton knows she’s referring to “The Luckiest Hand”. It didn’t make the cut because they’re still not confident with the second verse.

“It isn’t finished,” Hank replies.

“Interesting you should say that, because I have the finished version in my inbox.”

Cleo looks at Hank confused. Hank returns the same look. Shonda’s eyes are fixated on Peyton.

“Is it hot in here? Or is it just me.” She starts to ruffle the collar on her shirt. She tries desperately to lose eye contact. How does Shonda have the finished demo?

“I can explain,” Hank says.

Can you?Peyton knows he has no clue how Shonda has that demo, but he studied bullshit in high school and finished top of his class. The pressure mounts, and anything Hank says is 1000% going to make things worse, but Peyton prays to delay theinevitable.

“Really?” Shonda smirks, but she’s angry. “To me it looks as though you’ve gone behind my back to sell a demo of a song to a rival label, even though you owe me first refusal. I don’t take kindly to that, Hank. And in its place you play me these songs, hoping I’ll be happy with the breadcrumbs?”

“No, absolutely not,” Hank protests. “Cleo hasn’t produced a demo for that song. The clip I sent was in the early stages; it didn’t turn out the way we hoped.”

Again, with thewe; it has nothing to do with him, but Peyton’s scared of what’s to come.

“Cleo wasn’t the one singing it.” Shonda turns to Dwayne. “Play the song.”

There it is. Peyton’s voice fills the room; it flows in through too many speakers on the surrounding walls. There’s nowhere to hide. Marvin betrayed her.

“Ballsy move, kid. I didn’t think you had it in you.”Hank smirks.

“What is he talking about? What is this?” Cleo asks.

“I can explain.” Peyton turns to Cleo. Her eyes tear up. She never wanted this. “It’s not what itlooks like.”

“Is it not?” Cleo paces the room. “I’m really trying to get to grips with what the fuck is going on here.”

Shonda looks directly at Peyton. “That’s your song? You wrote it?”

“Yes, we wrote it.” She gestures back and forth to Cleo, but she won’t look her in the eye. Peyton feels nauseous.

“Interesting.”

“He shouldn’t have sent you that song. I didn’t allow him to. We had an agreement.” Peyton’s voice goes up another level. She is irate.

“Marvin plays by the book. He’s probably one of the few people left in this industry who does things legitimately. If he’s sent me a song, he has the right to send it.” Shonda pulls out her cell. “I can call him right now if there’s some bizarre misunderstanding? Did you not signa contract?”

Fuck.

Shit.

Her chin trembles. She swallows hard repeatedly; there’s a ball in her throat the size ofa baseball.

“Well?” Cleochallenges.

Peyton winces. Embarrassed. Ashamed. There is no way to escape the tension. The way Cleo’s eyes glaze over. The disappointment and the disbelief. Peyton feels every agonising blow.

“This isn’t happening.” Cleo exits through the door to her left; it slams back so hard the latch doesn’t catch. Hank stands smug; he enjoys people in pain. Shonda’s face is sympathetic, but she’s a businesswoman. Her words don’t surprise Peyton.

“It seems you have a personal matter to attend to, but once this ordeal is over come see me, Peyton. I can find a place for you here.”

Peyton doesn’t respond. She has to catch up with Cleo.

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