Incapable (Love Triumphs Book 3) (4 page)

“You were pale, babe. Gave me flipping heart failure when I thought you were going to go over the edge.”

“But I’m not pale now?”

She pinched both his cheeks. “You’ll do.”

She managed to find a park not far from the studio, outside a cafe. They sat in the sun and ordered. The spot was a little oasis in the back lanes of the city. You could hear the train pulling in to Central and the odd truck backing up, but otherwise it was sheltered from the bustle you’d find only a couple of streets over. Didn’t make for a peaceful landing though. Flaps up, here we go.

“I’ve been thinking about you and this doing it the hard way thing you’ve got going on,” he started.

“Have you now.”

“It’s very emo.”

She barked a laugh and some yappy dog down the street echoed her. “What do you mean?”

“There’s no need for you to do it so tough.”

“I don’t want to work in a job you’ve made up for me like I’m some charity case.”

“I know. I’ve got another idea.”

“Captain Zice Vox to the rescue.”

He mouthed the words fuck off at her and she laughed. There were people close by, not that he was recognisable, but his voice sure was if she was going to help people make the connection. He was cool with the guys screwing with him, God knows he deserved it, but otherwise the anonymity was one of the perks of being a voice actor, that and the obscene amounts of money he’d made.

“I don’t want to know, Damo, Dame. Damn.”

“Not even if it’s helping me out?”

She drummed her nails on the metal tabletop. He could feel the heat reflecting off it sharply on his face. That’d get rid of his recording studio tan.

“Trill?”

She groaned. “This is going to be some made up thing again. Because you think I’m pathetically holding on to a dream that’s long passed me by.”

He shook his head. “No, you brat.”

“Why wouldn’t you think that? Look at you—rich and famous.”

He made a downward gesture with his hand, hoping she’d lower her voice. “Lucky. I got lucky, and I preferred it when you called me emo.”

“Lucky!”

So much for hand gestures. That set the dog off again.

“What did you earn this year? It’s got to have an amazing amount of zeroes behind a big fat honking prime.” More fingernail drumming. “It’s like an insult for you to say you were lucky.”

He sighed. “It was luck to be born with this voice and luck to meet Ben Pinetti when I did. Seriously, big time lucky.” He wanted to reach over and shake the truth into her. “I’d be just like you otherwise, working my guts out, hoping for a break.”

She made a sound of disgust like a spitball spat wet on the pavement. “I should give up; get a real job before it’s too late for me to find something better than retail or working behind a bar. Look at Angus, he stopped hoping to be the next Keith Richards. Look at Jamie, he’s not trying to be Timberland or Eminem, he’s a freaking bean counter, he’s on the partner track for God’s sake. Everyone else got over it, everyone moved on except me.”

He reached over the table for her hand but she dodged it and he got hot metal under his fingertips. They were airborne but the flight plan was all wrong. In the middle distance a snow-covered mountain range approached and they were on collision course.

He sat back, hands to his thighs. He wasn’t sure how to help her through this. He was lucky, and every day he was thankful for it; for the ease it gave him, for the decisions he didn’t have to make because there was money to smooth every path. Angus and Jamie were pragmatists, they had moved on, but found ways to keep the music they loved in their lives. Sam was a plumber before he picked up a set of sticks and worked out how to use them.

God, if Taylor would just move in, she’d never have to worry about working, she could focus on singing until she wanted to focus on something else, not out of defeat, but out of desire.

“Do you want to hear me out or have you already decided to hate what I have to say?”

“Yeah that.”

“I think you should move in with me.”

“You’ve got to be kidding. I knew you were lonely.”

Mountain range dead ahead. “I’m not kidding or lonely. The house is empty half the time and that’s just dumb. You’d be doing me a favour.”

“Why are you staying home for months? Is there something wrong with you, do you need help? Is that why you’re asking me because why didn’t you just say that?”

Pull up, pull up. “Shit, Trill.” Mayday. Mayday. “There’s nothing wrong with me. I’m exhausted. I need time off to rest. I’ve got a full calendar of jobs booked for next year. The house will be empty. I thought it was smart to have someone I trusted live in it.”

“Why? You have an alarm system.” Those words were folded arms and stiff spine.

His were frustration. “It’s an empty house.”

“I’d have to pay you rent, same as where I am now.”

“No you wouldn’t, that’s the whole point.”

“You’re going to be late.”

He fingered his watch face. She was right. He went for his wallet, felt around for a folded twenty and threw on the table, more than enough to cover their two coffees. “We’re not finished with this.”

She came up close and kissed his cheek. Her version of yes we are. He took her arm and held her close, matching his step to hers, around two corners, down one hilly strip of street and they were there. Taylor buzzed the intercom and they heard the door unlock. Inside it was quiet, like they’d walked into a vacuum-sealed space; no traffic noises or random dogs, just the excited hello of the receptionist.

“Good morning. This is my friend, Taylor and I’m—”

“You’re doing Captain Vox.”

Taylor groaned. He felt it through her shoulder where he still rested a hand.

“Ah, Vox is my real voice on a good day.”

“That’s awesome.”

“I’m here to see—” Hell, he had no idea who he was supposed to ask for. Ben gave him rudimentary details and said the studio would look after him. This was one of those super simple jobs he could do half asleep.

“Trent and Georgia will be here in a minute. Can I get you coffee, water? Please take a seat.”

He declined another drink and Taylor backed him into a bench along a wall. She was ready to take off. He’d get a taxi home from here. But she wasn’t getting out that easy. He pulled her down beside him and held her to stop her bolting. “I want you to think seriously about it.”

“I’m not moving in with you.”

“I want a good reason that’s not all pride and prejudice.”

Taylor pulled her hand away. “Who are you?”

“I mean it.”

“Mr Donovan.”

He quit looking at Taylor and faced the new person. “I’m Georgia Fairweather. I’m your engineer. I’ll be looking after the recordings for Pinetti Adland.”

He stood and held a hand out. “Damon.”

A slim, cool hand in his. Georgia Fairweather smelled like freesias. He sneezed.

“Bless you,” she said.

Taylor hugged him. “I’m out.” He heard the door open and a blast of car noises. What was with all the women in his life making him sneeze?

4: Foresight

Damon Donovan was a dish. Georgia shallowed hard when she saw him waiting in reception. Why wasn’t the guy a screen actor? He had the looks to match his lust-inducing voice. The thumbnail photo on his bio was a sad replicate of the real thing. Long legs, impressive shoulder span, deep chest, symmetrical face with a tiny cleft in his chin, as though someone heavy-handed had rested their thumb there too long when he was only half formed. He had one dimple in a slightly crooked smile directed at the dark-haired, heavily tattooed pixie girl he was hanging all over. Was she wife, girlfriend, groupie? Did famous voice actors have groupies?

This was the first time she’d met a famous voice actor. The voiceover artists of her experience were deeply professional people who knew their craft and functioned like any other jobbing actor. Most didn’t make a full-time living out of it. They came, they read copy, they left, they sent an invoice, and waited tables, or taught night school, or drove taxis, while they waited to get paid. They were otherwise anonymous. Not that even the big time talent had the kind of fame that attached itself to screen actors anyway. There were only a handful of people in the industry who were known by their real names and not the characters they voiced, and even then they were coupled together, like Nancy Cartwright and Bart Simpson. And while their bios were richer and deeper, they didn’t include the kind of personal detail the gossip magazines thrived on. No one cared what they ate, wore or who they dated.

What Georgia knew about Damon Donovan, apart from what he sounded like, she’d learned in the half hour she’d had to scan his online Voice Actors Guild profile and the thirty seconds she’d watched him argue with rose tattoo pixie girl.

And then he took her hand and shook it, smiled at her and sneezed, laughing at himself, and what she knew was the sick flick of nervous energy rotating in her guts. He was voice actor royalty. This was her first day, her first assignment for Avocado, she simply couldn’t muck it up, and Trent, who she was supposed to shadow, had taken an urgent phone call and left her to set up alone.

“Damon, please come this way.” She gestured to the door on her right, Studio B, then moved to open it to allow him through.

He really was a looker, easy over six foot, and nicely muscled, but clumsy with it. The way he stepped towards her; didn’t quite align with the open door, then put his hand to the jamb, made her wonder if he was drunk.
God!
She didn’t smell alcohol on him, so maybe he was stoned, though it would probably help with the bumping into fixtures thing if he took his sunglasses off, but hey, they went with the girlfriend groupie thing and the whole Captain Vox cocky vibe he gave off, though Vox wasn’t drawn nearly as pretty.

She held the second door open between the control room and the isolation booth. He spoke from behind. “Trace of a Brit accent there, Georgia. But you’re an Aussie, right? How long were you in the UK?”

She’d said maybe six sentences and he’d picked the occasional blur in her accent. Damn, he’d be a mimic too. She looked back at him. He had both hands braced on the corridor walls. “I lived there for nine years.”

“You did well not to end up sounding like a Pom.”

He’d pushed his glasses to the top of his head, into the locks of his dark hair. He was smiling and he didn’t sound drunk. Would he have picked the twist in her accent if he was stoned?

“Lor’ luv a duck! That’s assumin’ yew didn’ wan’ ter sound loike one. Know wot I mean, darlin’?” he said, in full cockney. He could’ve been an East End barrow boy. “Nothing wrong with an Aussie accent.” He was back to his own voice.

That Damon Donovan voice had a delicious warm ripple to it, like liquid thrill, sun-warmed leather and muscle car purr. It was smooth like hot chocolate or heavy satin. An even, deep modulated rumble that made her momentarily want to lie at his feet and plead with him to rub her tummy.

And he could make it do so many things. He could lower it, and the menace was a chill lifting all the hairs at the back of her neck. He could lift it and sound like he was ten years old. He could funk it up and you’d believe he didn’t have two communicating brain cells.

His repertoire included a range of cartoon characters, a mechanical cyborg and almost any accent you wanted, including a few made up ones, and of course he was the star of the
Dystopian Conflict Trilogy
.

She held the door and gestured into the booth. “Please come through.”

“After you,” he said, which was sensible in this narrow corridor.

She’d first been inside Studio B an hour ago; she was an unsure newbie as well as being slightly starstruck. She’d spent her career making unknown actors and singers sound better than they’d hoped, given DJs sound effects and correctly cued tapes, and prevented swear words from going to air on the late shift talk radio. Never in any reality she’d contemplated was she showing Damon Donovan to an iso booth.

She went through the doorway and he followed close behind. The room was small, dead to sound, with a long, wide glass window through to the control room. The lighting was low. She had no idea if he’d want to sit or stand to read. Where the hell was Trent?

“I’m assuming you’ll brief me. Ben told me next to nothing about this. I’m going to need you to help me make magic, Georgia.”

She blinked at him. That was kind of flirty, and he’d brought his groupie girl to the studio. Not cool.

“I’ll need a copy of the script on USB so I can read off my tablet.”

That was better, back to business. “Of course.” She said that as though she had the USB in her pocket. She had no idea what script he was reading. She was the world’s most experienced work experience girl. She knew what she should be doing, but not how to do it at Avocado.

“Anything particular you need from me today?” he said.

“Ah.” Dork, dork, dork. She’d known the first day would be awkward, but did it have to be played out in front of The Voice.

“Damon Donovan, hey, hi there. I’m Trent.”
Nick of time, baby. Nick of time
. “So excited to meet you. Welcome to Avocado. Can’t believe you’re standing here. You’ve met Georgia. Did she tell you it’s her first day?”

She gave what she hoped was a calmly professional look Trent’s way as he shook Damon’s hand, then stepped back to leave him to it.

“No, she did not. I thought she owned the place,” Damon said, the humour in his tone warm like privilege and just as irritating. His eyes shifted over Trent’s head, looking for her.

Trent laughed. He was a big overweight man-boy, full of enthusiasm and devilment. He was loud, quick, hugely confident, he giggled and was a little scary in a possibly manic way. Or at least that’s what she’d learned about Avocado’s senior engineer in the last hour. And Captain Vox was all his.

“I’ll be in the control room,” she muttered, but Captain Vox was loud and clear.

“Nice to meet you, Georgia. Are you going to stick around and hold my hand, make me sound like a pro?”

Oh he was good, but he had to know she’d seen him with tattoo pixie groupie so why bother? And seriously, look at him, why would he flirt with her anyway? She had
Totally Boring, Socially Awkward, Forgotten What Sex Is Like, Stay the F Away,
written in an easy to read thought bubble over her head. And for good measure,
Back Off
marked on her forehead. She gave him a nod, turned to go and heard, “Have I just beaten my all time record for offending someone without knowing it?”