Page 14 of Rhythm and Rapture (Behind the Lens #5)

Chapter Ten

"Would you both stop?" I mutter, filling out the paperwork with precise handwriting. "It's just blood work."

"Easy for you to say," Ash whispers. "You're not the one who hooked up with that questionable drummer in Atlanta."

"That was eight months ago," Roman points out. "And you've been tested since then."

"Yeah, but what if?—"

"Gentlemen?" A nurse calls from the doorway. "We're ready for you."

The actual testing is clinical, efficient. Three separate rooms, three separate nurses, three vials of blood each plus the usual samples. The rapid testing means we'll have results by the end of day—just in time to book flights for tomorrow.

By the time we're back at the apartment, the surreal nature of what we're doing hits full force. We're getting tested to fly to California to collaborate on adult content with a woman we've never met in person.

"This is insane," I say, but I'm already pulling up flight options on my laptop.

"Good insane," Ash corrects, hovering over my shoulder. "Book the early flight. If we're doing this, I want maximum time there."

Roman's phone buzzes. He glances at it, then does a double-take. "Holy shit."

"Test results already?" Ash panics.

"No, you idiot. It's..." He turns the phone toward us. "Artisan Records wants to meet."

I snatch the phone, reading the email twice to make sure I'm not hallucinating.

Subject: Partnership Opportunity - Fractured Theory

Gentlemen,

Artisan Records has been following your trajectory with great interest. Your streaming numbers, combined with your authentic sound and dedicated fanbase, align perfectly with our vision for rock's future.

We'd like to discuss bringing Fractured Theory into the Artisan family. Our A&R team believes you're ready for the global platform we can provide.

Are you available for a meeting this week? We're prepared to present a comprehensive offer that includes creative control, tour support, and marketing resources that maintain your artistic integrity while expanding your reach.

We understand you value your independence. We're not looking to change Fractured Theory—we want to amplify what you've already built.

Con Amor y Rhythmo, Janix

Head of A&R, Artisan Records

"Artisan," Ash breathes. "That's... that's the majors. That's Bad Bunny and Arctic Monkeys, Grimoire and —"

"And us, apparently," Roman finishes, still staring at the screen.

I set the phone down carefully, my mind already calculating. Artisan Records doesn't send casual emails. They're one of the last labels that still invests in artist development, that lets their acts maintain creative control. The security they could provide, the resources, the global reach...

"When and where do they want to meet?" Ash asks.

Roman scrolls down. "They're flexible on timing. This week if possible, but Monday is ideal. They want to meet in their Santa Cruz Office."

We sit in silence for a moment, the weight of it settling over us. After years of grinding, of building our fanbase one show at a time, one of the biggest labels in the world is knocking on our door.

"We can't think about this right now," I say finally. "We have California tomorrow. We have..." I gesture vaguely at the STD testing paperwork on the coffee table. "Whatever this is with Sabina."

"But after?" Roman asks.

"After," I agree. "We'll ask them to send the full proposal. Set up a meeting for the day after tomorrow, once we're back."

"You want to fly to California, do... whatever we're about to do... then come back and potentially sign the biggest deal of our careers?" Ash asks.

"Yes."

Roman laughs, but it's not mocking. "Our lives are officially insane."

"Good insane," I echo Ash's earlier words.

We spend the rest of the day in a strange haze. Packing for California while fielding texts from our manager about the Artisan email. Practicing new material while waiting for test results. Trying not to think too hard about how our lives might be completely different 48 hours from now.

The test results come through at 5 PM. All clear, all three of us.

"Flights are booked," I announce. "Seven AM departure, arrive at Reno-Tahoe, RNO, at nine am local time."

"Wait, Reno?" Ash frowns. "I thought that was Vegas."

"Different Reno," I explain, pulling up the airport info. "Reno-Tahoe International. It's actually only about forty-five minutes from Soda Springs. Closest major airport to the “Behind the Lens Studio, where we are meeting.”

"So we're flying to ‘Great Value’ Vegas to be touched by a masked scientist we met through educational porn? Sounds legit,” Ash shakes his head.

He starts drumming his fingers on his thigh again, the rhythm more erratic than usual.

"Should we tell her about Artisan?" Ash asks.

"No," Roman says immediately. "Tomorrow is about her. About this... experiment. The label can wait."

He's right. Whatever happens with Artisan, whatever career moves we make, tomorrow is about honoring the trust Sabina has placed in us. About being present for something that transcends business opportunities or record deals.

"Besides," Ash adds with a grin, "imagine telling Janix we need to postpone because we're flying to California to lose someone's virginity on camera."

"We're not telling her that," I say firmly. "Ever."

"Party pooper."

Roman's already typing on his phone. "I'm confirming with their assistant. Meeting scheduled for day after tomorrow, 2 PM."

"That gives us time to get back, clean up, and pretend we're responsible musicians who make sensible career decisions," I note.

"As opposed to what we actually are?" Ash asks.

"Three idiots who agreed to be in a porn calendar because a mysterious woman quoted our lyrics," Roman finishes.

"Educational adult content," I correct automatically.

"Right. That's much better."

We laugh, but there's nervous energy underneath it. In less than 24 hours, we'll be in California. In 48 hours, we might be signed to Artisan Records. Our entire lives are balanced on the edge of transformation.

"You know what?" Ash says suddenly. "We're really doing this."

Roman's head falls back against the couch, eyes closed, fingers pinching the bridge of his nose. "Which part? The part where we're flying to California to fuck someone on camera, or the part where Artisan Records wants to throw money at us?"

My hand connects with the back of Roman's head before he even finishes the sentence. Not hard, but enough to make my point.

"Ow! What the?—"

"She's not just 'someone,'" I say quietly.

Roman's eyes open, and he scrubs a hand over his face. "Sorry. I know. Just... overwhelmed."

"Both. All of it." Ash continues like the moment didn't happen, but his drumsticks have gone still—his tell that he noticed too. "Six months ago we were playing dive bars in East Nashville. Now..."

"Now we're playing dive bars in East Nashville with better options," I finish dryly, settling back into my chair.

Roman straightens up, rolling his shoulders like he's shaking off the moment. "We've handled worse. Remember that tour where the van broke down every other state? Or when Ash got food poisoning in Memphis and still played the show?"

"Barely," Ash groans, his sticks resuming their constant rhythm against his thigh. "But yeah. We figured that out."

"We always do," I agree, then pause, a small smile tugging at my lips. "Though I'll admit, 'how to have an intimate experience with a virgin chemistry professor who trusts us enough to be her first' wasn't in our original business plan."

"Neither was Artisan," Roman points out, some of the tension leaving his shoulders.

We sit in comfortable silence for a moment. Roman's leg starts bouncing—his nervous tell. My fingers tap against my beer bottle in a pattern only I understand. Ash's drumsticks never stop moving.

"Early flight," I finally say. "We should probably?—"

"Sleep? Pack? Panic?" Ash suggests, grinning.

"All of the above."

The test results sit on the coffee table next to the freshly printed Artisan email. Tomorrow, everything changes. But at least whatever happens, we'll figure it out.

We always do.