The champagne was too warm, and the air in the penthouse suite was too thin, choked by the scent of expensive cologne and the aggressive hum of networking. Willoughby shifted his weight, his freshly polished boots feeling like lead weights on the plush carpet. Just six months ago, he'd been playing for tips and a bar tab in a dimly lit dive bar in Nashville; now, he was suddenly the 'fresh face of modern country,' a title that felt as ill-fitting as the stiff denim jacket his stylist had insisted he wear.
He gripped his glass until his knuckles went white, his gaze darting across the room. Every time a label executive or a flashy producer looked his way, Willoughby felt a spike of pure panic. He was out of his depth, a fact he was sure was written in bold letters across his forehead. He tried to blend into the shadows near a large potted fern, his shoulders hunched, looking less like a rising star and more like a creature sensing a predator in the brush.
The crowd parted slightly, and that's when he saw them. Frankie was impossible to miss, a jagged contrast to the polished pop starlets and suit-clad agents. She carried an aura of curated chaos that usually made Willoughby want to head for the nearest exit. He's really not sure what keeps him in place, staring at them like they might offer some mercy.
He caught their eye and immediately looked down at his boots. His heart hammered a frantic rhythm against his ribs. He's confident he looks ridiculous, this pitiful, small-town boy blinking back the neon glare of the big city. He could feel her gaze lingering on him, tracking his nervous fidgeting with the clinical precision of someone who had seen this brand of stage fright a thousand times before.
When he risked another glance, they were already moving toward him, cutting through the industry noise with a purposeful stride. Willoughby stiffened, his breath catching in his throat as Frankie closed the distance, her presence looming larger with every step. He feels frozen there, in this space, like they've got him under some spell that his fragile mind couldn't begin to fathom. He offers a smile, polite and practiced. "You're lookin' at me with pity in your eyes," he laughs. "Is it that obvious?" / @loudbarks
