A/N - This chapter was inspired by the song Don't Let Me Get Me by P!nk. It's set in the late '80s and features both Eddie and Reader as relatively well-known musicians. Full disclosure, I started writing this chapter months ago, and when I came back to finish it, I'd fully forgotten the storyline I'd intended to follow... I hope you all like it.
"You're setting me up for failure, you know that, right?" you grumbled, pacing the green room as your manager watched you from one of the couches, lounging comfortably. "I mean, come on. That band play real music. They play their own instruments. They're rockstars, for fucks sake," you pressed on, shaking your head in disbelief. "And they'll go out there and have this incredible jam session in front of an adoring crowd, and then I'll have to follow them out and just stand there like an idiot with a backing track."
"You'll have fans in the audience too, you know." Roger hummed, sitting forward, his elbows resting on his knees. "We've talked about this. We can't afford to bring the whole band out for one song on a late-night comedy show-"
"They can afford a band-"
"They ARE a band," he interrupted, lifting an eyebrow at you. "You are a pop singer," he pressed on. "You don't need a band."
"But-"
Roger let out a gentle huff, running his hand over his face in frustration. "Sweetheart, you're lucky the label is even pushing for this, alright? The album isn't exactly flying off the shelves. So take what you're given and enjoy it whilst you still have the chance."
You swallowed around the lump that had formed in your throat. He wasn't wrong. Your album had been a bit of a flop, but if they'd let you make the music you wanted, rather than a shitty collection of overproduced bubblegum-sweet pop songs about being so in love with some random guy, you were certain it would've been a hit.
"I don't want to hurt your feelings, kid, but the label makes the final call. You're doing this without a band, and you're going to smile and pretend you're having the time of your life, alright? And if the sales go up after tonight, we can start talking about getting you that band for any future appearances."
You nodded slightly, letting out a soft sigh as you completely folded to what was expected of you.
"You know, that kid from the band was asking about you earlier," he pressed on, pushing past the awkward air hanging in the room. "Think he's got a bit of a crush on you or something," he added with a soft snort.
"Which kid?"
"The guy on the guitar with all the hair. What did he say his name was?"
"Eddie Munson was asking about me?" you interjected, brow furrowing in confusion. For all intents and purposes, you were a blip on the radar. A debutante pop singer barely worth noticing. Rockstar Eddie Munson shouldn't have even known who you were.
"Yeah, Eddie, that's the guy. He said he loved the album-"
A sharp snort of laughter slipped out of you at his comment. "I don't even love the album," you confessed, shaking your head in disbelief.
Roger shrugged slightly. "I don't know what to tell you, Sweetheart. He said he loved it." You paused for a moment, brow furrowed as he glanced at his watch. "Come on, got to get you to soundcheck," he uttered, pushing up from the couch and ushering you out the door before you could disagree.
*Time Skip*
You had spent the entirety of your soundcheck attempting to look like you belonged on a set, nodding along to whatever you were told to do and smiling at anyone who even glanced in your direction. And deep down, somewhere right in the middle of your chest, you were wondering whether this would be your first and only time getting to perform live on TV.
After all, if tonight didn't go well, the album wouldn't go up in sales, and without sales, your career was over.
"Hey," a voice interrupted your thoughts, and you startled slightly, your head snapping sideways to find Eddie Munson standing at your elbow, smiling softly at you. "Sorry, didn't mean to scare you-"
"No," you interrupted quickly. "My fault," you pressed on. "I was in my own little world for a second there," you added, watching as his smile grew.
He hesitated for a moment, scratching at the back of his neck. "I just wanted to say that I loved the album. You've got an amazing voice-"
A snort of laughter slipped out of you, stopping him midsentence. "Sorry," you finally uttered, trying your best to regain your composure. "Roger told me that you'd mentioned liking the album," you confessed. "I sort of just assumed he was making it up," you added quietly. He stayed quiet for a second, his brow furrowed in confusion. "Eddie, I don't even like the album. It was total commercial slop," you pressed on.
He shrugged slightly. "I don't know. I think your voice is beautiful," he hummed out, shrugging slightly. "I mean, sure, the songs were a bit cheesy, but that doesn't mean you weren't killing it in the studio."
You nodded slightly, swallowing down the lump in your throat. After all, Eddie Munson was a rockstar. He was well known for being a total music snob. You'd once read in a magazine that he'd made the band rerecord a whole album when he hadn't liked how it had turned out. And here he was, telling you that he thought you were killing it.
"Actually, I hate to be this guy, but I think you'd make a killing in a rock band," he confessed. "You've got that raspiness that makes metal music sell so well."
"Are you trying to convert me to the dark side?" you teased lightly, listening to him snort with laughter.
"Well, that depends," he uttered. "Are you tempted?"
You hesitated for a moment, biting down on your bottom lip. "Maybe."
"Here," he hummed again, holding out a business card between two of his fingers. "We're going to be in the studio all week. Swing by some time, let us introduce you to the team, we'll see what we can do about putting that pretty voice of yours to good use."
You nodded, plucking the card from him and tucking it under your bra strap. "Sounds like you've got this all planned out," you murmured.
"I've been thinking about it since I first heard the album. Couldn't stop thinking about how good you'd sound on one of my songs-" his words trailed off. "So, I had a little chat with management, asked them to get us on the show on the same week," he added with a small shrug.
"You asked them to put us on the same week?"
"Practically begged," he agreed softly. "You seemed worth the risk."
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