Sound Bites: A Rock & Roll Love Story Read Free Page B

make sense. I can’t picture her ruining a friendship, especially a friendship like the one you guys had, unless she wanted to spend the rest of her life with this guy.”
    That was the more logical explanation, the one I had been leaning towards all along. But the thing that bothered me even more than the thought of Justine and David getting married was the fact that Beth used the word “had” when referring to my friendship with Justine. The friendship you guys had.
    And even when I returned home later that evening, I still couldn’t get those words out of my head.

 
     
    Chapter 4
     
     
     
    I’m not sure who came up with the brilliant revelation that college freshmen are mature enough to choose their own majors and career paths because – and I can pretty much guarantee this – eighteen year-olds do not have the mental capacity to make such a life-altering decision. And in the city of Los Angeles, if you decline to enter into the shallow world of wanna-be model/actresses, that doesn’t leave you many job options.  You either end up a waitress, a receptionist, or become some soulless mutant who crunches numbers for a living.
    Five years and three major switches later, I didn’t find my calling. It found me.
    I was browsing the classifieds for internships when I saw it.
    “ Pace Magazine is looking to bring on interns to assist with our new music column, ‘Sound Bites.’ Responsibilities will include article fact-checking and assisting with weekly music reviews. Journalism and Communications majors only. All interested candidates should send their resume to [email protected] .”
    The words danced before my eyes. Bright lights and heavenly choir music engulfed me.
    A music writer. Why the hell hadn’t I thought of this before? For all those years I’d lived and breathed music, it had never occurred to me that there were other professions inside the music industry besides solely performing music. I’d long since come to terms with the fact that, in light of the many things I was good at, singing was not one of them. Writing, however, was a completely different story.
    My eagerness had clearly shown through on the day of the interview, when the entertainment director hired me on the spot. I’m not sure if she hired me because no one else had applied for the job or because she saw the undying love for music glowing from my eyes, but either way, I was told to report to the lobby on Monday at nine and bring two forms of ID.
    When my first day arrived, I was sitting in the lobby, pretending to be engrossed in the latest copy of the L.A. Weekly , when I noticed him. He strolled across the room steadily, his white polo hugging him just tightly enough to show off the outline of his biceps.
    “You must be Renee Evans,” he said, extending his hand. “I’m David Whitman, Pace’s sports editor. It’s nice to meet you.”
    I stood up and shook his hand, still stunned by the beauty of his dark, deep-set eyes and perfectly chiseled frame.
    “The HR team is in a meeting, so they’ve asked me to bring you up to the conference room to get started with your new hire paperwork,” he continued. “Follow me.”
    I grabbed my purse and followed him down the corridor. I had to increase my speed to keep up with his brisk pace. One of my college professors had taught us that, when in a business environment, there were three things you should always remember: make eye contact, have a firm handshake, and walk with a straight posture, with confidence, “with a purpose,” as he’d called it.
    David Whitman walked with a purpose.
    After recovering from the initial intimidation of his beauty, I felt instantly at ease with him. By the end of my first day, that budding feeling of lust had already started to form in the pit of my stomach, and I found myself humming on the way home from work like a teenage smitten schoolgirl.
    By the end of the second day, he had already asked me out.
    I can remember our first date as