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“I’ve got it,” Allegra Hatton assured Black Halo’s manager, trying to sound confident, despite the fact that he intimidated the hell out of her. Graham Callahan was a giant of a man in every sense, and he was being rather more specific about how he envisaged the sound of the end product than she was used to. Typically, when she was hired to remaster old recordings, she was left to make the judgement calls for herself.
“I want a cleaner, smoother sound. Bring out the melody more. Emphasize Xane’s voice over the guitars and drums. It’s far too discordant at the moment. The damn track beats you senseless it’s so belligerent.”
So, she feared, would he, if she didn’t deliver.
“You’re getting this aren’t you?” He loomed over her, lower lip wobbling. He had a habit of closing in as he stressed each point, and spraying her with phlegm. Hence, during the course of their conversation, they’d migrated some distance along the corridor away from the mixing room door.
To Allegra, it seemed she was being chased from the building. Too new to be working with Black Halo, the voice inside her head kept taunting. Any minute he’s going to tell you to forget it and call in someone less fresh faced. It was miraculous enough that she’d been hired for the task in the first place when there were so many more experienced people they could have used. She’d only been working in the industry six-months in a paid capacity.
OK, deep breath. She could do this. If she gave Graham Callahan what he wanted, he could make doors open for her. Not that fulfilling his wishes would be easy. What he was asking her to do would necessitate remixing the individual instruments, maybe even re-recording them, something that was way outside of her usual remit. Her expertise was in digitizing old analogue recordings and remastering them for re-release.
“Ms Hutton, you are getting this?”
“Absolutely. It won’t be a problem.”
“Good.” He grinned broadly, obviously thrilled with her response. “Just see that we stay on the same wavelength and you aren’t side-tracked by the band pulling you in different directions.”
“The band?” Were they here? Normally she worked in isolation. Her job involved manipulating the sound using a palette of software tools. She couldn’t see how having them around, listening in, would really contribute. On the other hand, getting to meet the band— yes, please!—she’d been an enormous Black Halo fan ever since her college days. Her outfit today was chosen in honour of that—black lacy top, worn with a slash of scarlet lipstick, although, she’d then tempered her wild child look with a sensible pinstriped skirt so as to appear professional.
Lord—the thought of getting close to rhythm guitarist Spook Mortensen made her whole body flush with excitement. Spook fired up her imagination in a very particular and compelling way. She dreamed about mister, tall, blonde and gorgeous pinning her against a wall, or a door, or any other inanimate, immovable object and claiming her as his personal plaything for years. Spook Mortensen shredded like the devil possessed him. He was willowy and lean, and when she looked at his eyes, she knew there were secrets held in them. Secrets she prayed were very much akin to her own.
If Spook was here, she was going to have to keep a very tight grip on herself so as not to turn into a squeeing limpet in his presence.
Alle bowed her head so that Graham wouldn’t notice the flush beginning to creep across her cheeks as she imagined the supple caress of Spook’s lips teasing the back of her neck. “Get down on your knees,” he’d tell her and wait for her to comply. He’d capture her long hair in his hand as he nudged her towards worshipping his cock, and then when she balked he’d upend her across his knee.
She fantasized a lot about what Spook Mortensen might make her do, most of it while she was rendered helpless in some way, though normally she hated being told what to do. There were too many men in this industry that seemed to think a woman in the mixing room was incomprehensible. Lord knows why. There was no heavy lifting involved, and her ears worked just as well as theirs.
“The boys can be very persuasive,” Graham insisted, intruding upon her thoughts. “I trust you can stand up to their charms, and turn this track into the chart success it should be.”
“No problem. Absolutely. You don’t need to worry about a thing.”
She was going to do this and prove to her peers exactly how good a sound engineer she was, while doing her upmost best not to drool at the same time.
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