A Symphony of Devotion: The Start [Demi Lovato]

[45] Champagne

"Black or red?"

Zack glances up at me from his phone. "Uh, red."

I look into the mirror again, shrugging out of my red jacket as nerves twist in my stomach. That man from Syco Records said he liked me because I was edgy, and I'm trying to live up to that title now. Opportunities like these do not come by easily, and I'll be damned if I don't appreciate it. "No, I think the black is better."

"Then wear the black," Zack sighs. "Jesus, women take so long to dress. Come on, we're going to be late."

Christ, I'm trying to hurry, can't he see that?

I put on my usual black hoodie, giving my makeup a onceover in the mirror. "Fine, let's go. Do you have the address?"

"Right here." Zack holds his phone up to me before starting for the door. Then he turns and unexpectedly wraps me in a hug. "You're going to be great, okay? They're going to love you."

"Thanks, Zack," I smile, as I squim out of his embrace and grab my phone.

The ride to Syco Records took longer than I hoped for, which meant more time for me to panic about what was going to happen.

When we finally get out of the car, I'm covered in cold sweat. Zack grabs my hand and leads me inside. That man from before, Michael, or whatever his name is, greets us when we step into the front room.

The AC is blasting full speed from above, the windowless plush walls making the white furniture more prominent. I can smell flowers, a hint of honey from somewhere.

"Ah, here's our new little superstar. Is this your boyfriend?"

I go red. "He's my brother."

"Right." He gestures down a hallway. "This way, please."

We follow him down the hallway, passing many unmarked doors until we reach one with the word, 'Studio', on it. Michael pushes the door open, and the three of us enter.

The first thing I notice is Simon Cowell sitting on a chair in front of some equiptment. The next thing I see is the recording booth, and the many, many instruments set up against stands around the room.

"Holy crap," I hear Zack murmur beside me.

I can't help agreeing with him.

Michael pulls me forward, forcing Zack to release my hand. "Simon, this is our popstar."

He surveys me silently, as if I were a piece of meat on sale, and the amount of butterflies in my tummy doubles. "What's your name, sweetheart?"

My name. What's my name? Fuck. "Kenzie Stone, Sir."

Now I see a spark of interest in his eyes. "Sir," he repeats, then laughs. "I like that. Kenzie, are you British?"

"My father's Britain and my mother's American. I moved here from Britain a few months ago."

"Fascinating.." Simon turns towards the man. "Michael, did I not ask for an American talent?"

Oh, fuck. Fuck fuck fuck. He doesn't want me. He wants American. Christ.

"Well, she looks American enough. If we sell her out in America, she'll be considered American talent. Think of her look, her voice."

Simon nods, and stands up. "All right, then, sweetheart. Why don't you get into the booth and show me what you can do?"

I don't hesitate before heading into the recording booth and shutting the door behind me. Simon and Michael, along with some other tech guy, are seated before the sound equipment.