Lex stood at the edge of Jason Wilde's studio, leaning casually against the glass as Jason flipped through a folder of half-written songs and scribbled demos. The studio had the usual air of creative chaos—wires snaking across the floor, empty coffee cups stacked on the mixing board, and soundproof foam that didn't quite cover the cracks in the walls.
After three drinks Jason had been talking. His frustration was evident in the way he tossed the folder onto the table. "I'm telling you, Lex—these guys are sitting on solid talent, but no direction."
Lex's eyes flicked toward the empty sound booth where Aiden's guitar rested against a stool. Beside it, a drum kit sat untouched—probably belonging to one of the two unsigned artists Jason had mentioned before.
"So we give them direction,I'll pay." Lex said smoothly.
Jason arched a brow, pacing slightly. "It's not that simple. Artists like Aiden—he's got the voice, but he's all over the place. Needs something that cuts deep."
Lex's gaze narrowed. "Then cut deeper."
Jason chuckled dryly, shaking his head. "Oh, sure. Let me just hand him emotional trauma on a silver platter."
Lex's smirk was faint. "Not trauma. Stories. Real ones."
Jason slowed, curiosity flickering in his eyes. "You're thinking of an album."
Lex nodded, stepping away from the glass. "Six songs. Simple. Call it a mini-album or whatever the hell makes sense to market it." He glanced at the instruments again. "Aiden gets three songs. The other two get one each, then they collaborate on two more."
Jason crossed his arms, considering the pitch. "You're throwing a lot of faith into a group that hasn't even recorded together."
Lex arched a brow. "Your job is to make them sound like they have."
Jason shook his head but smirked faintly. "You really think breakup songs are the move right now?"
Lex's expression didn't change. "People always want breakup songs. It doesn't matter if it's about love, friends, or the economy."
Jason laughed under his breath. "So you want a heartbreak album, but not about love?"
Lex leaned on the mixing board, his eyes sharp. "I want something people relate to without even realizing why. Not everyone's been in love, Jason. But everyone's lost something."
"Its going cost you a quater of a million, to sign all three and produce."
"Deal. Send the paper work to my lawyer, and iron out a contract."
Jason's gaze lingered on Lex for a moment—long enough to notice the weight behind the words. It was real. Lex had memories of blues music and drinking his problems away that was until Rose had reach out.
He nodded slowly. "Alright. I might know someone."
Lex raised a brow. "A songwriter?"
Jason exhaled, stepping around the board and flipping through a cluttered pile of CDs and lyric sheets. He pulled out a crumpled notebook, dropping it on the table.
"Her name's Quinn. Used to write for indie bands, but she dropped off the radar after her brother died last year." Jason's voice softened slightly. "I haven't seen her in months. She's… broken, but in a way that makes good music."
Lex's fingers tapped lightly on the table. "Where is she now?"
Jason shrugged. "Working at some dive bar, last I heard. Won't answer her phone."
Lex tilted his head. "She won't answer yours. But she might answer mine."
Jason arched a brow, amused. "And what makes you so confident?"
Lex's smirk returned, colder this time. "Because I'll make sure she knows she's not wasting her time."
Jason paused for a second before sighing. "I'll dig up her number. But Lex, she's not going to care about contracts or money. If you want her, you're gonna have to give her something worth writing about."
Lex's gaze didn't waver. "She'll find plenty of stories in the artists she's writing for and maybe do a song herself."
Jason nodded, leaning back against the wall. "Fine. Here's an address, and something."
A few minutes later, Lex sat in the back of his car, the city lights bleeding past the tinted glass like distant stars. The low hum of tires against pavement filled the space, but Lex's mind was elsewhere—on the notebook Jason had dropped in front of him as he left the studio.
The pages were tattered, edges curling like they'd been through hell and back. Scrawled lyrics stretched across every line, messy but raw—unfinished, like thoughts cut off mid-sentence.
Quinn's handwriting was sharp, slanting, like she'd pressed too hard into the paper. The words weren't perfect, but they didn't need to be.
Lex could see it immediately—she wasn't writing songs. She was cutting pieces of herself onto every page.
He pulled out his phone, scrolling through the number Jason had finally texted him.
It was late, and Quinn wasn't going to appreciate the call. But Lex didn't care.
Because when something this good is buried, you dig it up.
He pressed dial.
The phone rang four times before a voice crackled through, groggy but sharp.
"Who the hell is this?"
Lex smirked faintly. "Quinn?"
There was a pause, long enough for Lex to hear faint background noise—music, maybe, but the distorted kind that leaked from old bar speakers.
"Depends. Who's asking?"
Lex's tone stayed smooth. "Lex Latham. I'm a producer—"
Quinn snorted. "Great. Another one. Listen, if this is about recording demos, I'm not interested. I don't write for hire anymore."
Lex's grip on the phone tightened, but he kept his voice calm. "I'm not looking for a hire. I'm looking for someone who can pull the best out of artists that don't know what the hell they're doing yet."
Quinn's voice was flat. "That's every artist."
Lex chuckled under his breath. "You're not wrong. But I've got three sitting in Jason Wilde's studio with more potential than direction. They need someone who understands how to turn losing into lyrics."
The line was quiet, but Lex knew she hadn't hung up yet.
"Jason gave me your number," Lex added, letting that sit for a second. "He said you might want something new."
Quinn's voice was slower this time, a little less defensive. "Jason's an idiot."
Lex smiled faintly. "But he's not wrong."
There was a faint sound on the other end—glass hitting wood.
Quinn exhaled through the receiver. "I don't write happy songs, Latham. If you're looking for pop hits, find someone else."
Lex's voice dropped, more serious now. "I'm not looking for happy. I'm looking for the kind of album people play at midnight when they think no one's listening."
The silence that followed wasn't uncomfortable. It felt like Quinn was weighing the words, testing them for cracks.
Finally, she spoke. "Jason said you're working with new artists."
"Yeah. Aiden Frost's leading it, but there are two others. They've got stories—"
Quinn cut him off. "Everyone has stories. Doesn't mean they know how to bleed them onto paper."
Lex's eyes flicked toward the city passing outside the window. She was still hesitating.
"Quinn." His voice softened, just enough to shift the tone. "You don't need to fix them. Just write for them. Give them something to hold onto."
Another pause.
Then—"I'll think about it."
Lex's smirk returned. "You won't regret it."
Before Quinn could respond, Lex ended the call, slipping the phone back into his coat.
She would think about it.
And by the time she walked into the studio, she'd already have the first song in her head.