Page 100 of SnowBound

The entire length of the flight, I tried to forget I was riding like royalty and focused on my music. In vain.

A stewardess kept bringing me food and drinks, and no matter how cool I tried to play it, the truth was that I had freaking boarded a rock star’s plane. It looked nothing like the commercial flights I was used to. If I had grown up with my supposedly big-shot father, this could have been my life. Maybe. Funny how things ran a full circle sometimes.

In Nashville, a black SUV was waiting for me. After two men unloaded my stuff from the plane and stored it in the trunk, the driver—a man in his late fifties, with salt and pepper hair—drove me to Riley Burns’s office downtown.

Riley stood by the elevator when I reached his floor and exited the car, extending his arm to shake my hand. “Anderson, welcome. Usually, I would have picked you up in New York or met you at the airport, but I had an emergency that couldn’t wait. Welcome back to Nashville. Follow me.”

He steered me toward a hallway framed by a glass wall, and we passed a secretary sitting at a concrete and recycled wood desk, busy typing something. The large windows offered the most beautiful view of Nashville’s skyline. On our left was a small waiting area consisting of four chairs and a low concrete table filled with magazines, most covers featuring my music idols.

Enlarged black and white pictures of different artists performing onstage covered a section of the planked wood walls down the hallway leading to the offices and what I assumed to be a conference room. The flooring was concrete and the ceilings open and spray-painted in black, giving the entire place a semi-country, semi-industrial vibe.

Located in one corner of the building, I froze when we entered Riley’s office. Two of the walls consisted of large floor-to-ceiling windows, offering a panoramic view of the city and miles of scenery. Album covers and awards from music ceremonies were affixed to one of the other walls, just above a white-leathered couch. Two upholstered chairs and a large slim rectangular coffee table—similar to the one in the waiting area—faced the couch, next to a bar filled with what appeared to be expensive liquor bottles.

A concrete desk was positioned in front of the panoramic windows and was surrounded by three leather chairs. A tall cactus took residency next to it. A small door led to what I assumed was an en-suite bathroom.

“Wow. This is—wow. I’m speechless right now.”

Riley stepped to the side as I followed him inside. “Grab a seat. Want anything to drink? Whiskey? Coffee? Water?”

I cleared my throat. “Water and whiskey would be great. Thanks.”

When you met with the man who could change your life, you didn’t refuse a drink even if it was still the afternoon.

While he busied himself pouring us drinks, I took my seat on the couch and studied him. Brown hair cut short on the side and longer on the top, light eyes, he wore a dark suit but had discarded the jacket, and the sleeves of his pink shirt were rolled to the elbows, displaying corded forearms and an expensive watch. He wore an I-mean-business expression, but I could tell from our first meeting that he wasn’t as serious as he projected. I bet the guy had a playful side when he wasn’t in business mode. Not much older than me and yet he was at the top of his game in the music industry. From what I’d heard, his success had nothing to do with his famous father. Riley Burns had made a name for himself on his own. From a very young age, he was determined to make it big. He had discovered Carter Hills Band when the guys were eighteen. Together, they had reached stardom, and he never looked back. Managing only a handful of artists that he personally chose, he was both trusted and very much liked in the business. I had done my homework before agreeing to meet with him. And my many conversations with Tucker Philips at Wild and Country confirmed everything I had learned about the man.

Even though this meeting had been agreed upon almost two years ago, I still felt queasy. It felt surreal being here. As if I could taste my dreams becoming a reality.

Riley sat before me after placing the tumblers and bottles of water on the table between us.

“Don’t be nervous,” he said.

“Yeah, well… It’s hard to not be.”

“Today is just a Let’s get to know each other meeting. In the upcoming weeks, we’ll go over your music catalog. The songs you have recorded and the ones you haven’t. We’ll talk about what I want, but mostly about what you desire and where you see yourself in one, five, or fifteen years from now. At some point, we’ll hit the studio to record some music before meeting with the executives of different record labels. I don’t think you’re ready to get an album out in the next six months, and twelve to eighteen months is much more realistic as a timeline. Between here and then, we’ll work on your image and your technique, get you ready for tours, schedule shows, appearances, and photoshoots, and the whole nine yards. At first, you’ll probably be someone’s opening act until you gather enough publicity and a big enough fan base to lead your own tour. Nobody knows who Anderson Ford is, and it’s a shame. I’ll be beside you through all this. You have questions, you come to me. My team will be there as your support at the beginning. Slowly, they’ll get more invested in you, and you’ll learn to work with them too. How does it sound?”

My heart hammered in my chest. My hands turned moist. Everything Riley said spoke to me, to the artist in me. Still, it looked too good to be real. “Huh, it’s a lot to process, but I can’t wait to start.” A nervous laugh left me. “Will I be able to perform until we put that album out?”

He nodded. “Yes. Absolutely. Until that album is ready to be launched, your schedule will be full. Think big, Anderson. You’ll sing with Aisha Jones, Trevor McLachlan, Dylan Daughtry, Carter Hills, just to name a few. And other big names. Usually, I’d say Sam Stevens too, but he’s taking some time off due to a family matter. As soon as he’s back there, I’ll book you for performances with him too. And there’s a list of another half a dozen artists I want you to make surprise appearances with. Like I said, think big.”

I opened and closed my mouth like a fish out of the water.

“Are you okay?” Riley asked, grinning and looking as calm as someone could be.

“Yeah. Sure. Where do I sign?”

He lifted his drink to his lips. “Love your enthusiasm, kid. My lawyer will write down a contract, and I’ll send it to you. Get a lawyer to look into it. Once you approve and we agree on the changes both parties wanna make, then we’ll be good to go.”

I nodded. “Great.” I tried to act casual, but inside I was a firework show about to explode. I had no idea how to deal with all this. A contract. A world tour. The whole thing seemed impossible and yet so real at the same time.

“I’ll get a car to drive you to Memphis with all your stuff. You should receive the contract by registered mail within a week or two. When you are ready to meet again and talk about it, let me know. We’ll schedule a meeting. Once all the paperwork is signed, I’ll get you an apartment in town until you secure a more permanent option. It will be easier if you’re in town while we work together for the time being.”

“O-okay. That’s very generous of you.”

“My artists are super important to me. They are family. And family is something you cherish.”

For the next hour, we chatted about a million things related to the music industry and other unrelated stuff. It turned out Riley and I both had a sweet spot for romcoms and couldn’t get enough of tomato jam, a taste we both inherited from our fathers. I had to say. Riley Burns was a great man. My mind drifted to Abby. She would be ecstatic right now if she knew I was here with him. After all, he was one of her idols.

When we stood, ready to part ways, I squeezed his hand.