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Records, George Livingstone, had ordered built when they made the jump from New York to Chicago was incredible. But it tapped pretty deep into the already tight funds, and what was worse, they didn’t have any artists worth a damn to record in it.
    Greg sighed and rubbed his face with both hands. He shouldn’t think that. Their artists were all good, but they had more of an Indie following than the mass popularity of Top Forty acts. What he would give to have an artist who could break into the top ten on the charts again, to be able to launch a tour playing to venues capable of holding more than a couple thousand. But, maybe he needed to come to the realization that the days of Phoenix being a label of superstar performers were long gone.
    Stress churned Greg’s stomach. He really shouldn’t think like that. He had to stay positive. Someday, Phoenix would be able to attract the big name musicians again. Maybe even some of the ones who had jumped ship when the label started sinking would come back once they saw it was stable again. If they could get out of the contracts they had signed with other record companies. If not, they could always attract new ones and launch someone else to the status of music elite. If they could find someone with the talent, someone worth throwing everything they had behind.
    Greg looked to the wall on his right where four framed concert posters of Evan Arden hung, one for each of his tours. Around those, Gold and Platinum records covered the wall. Beneath them, a long glass case held awards from the Grammy Awards, the American Music Awards, the Billboard Awards, the MTV Music Video Awards, and various other award shows. At least they still had Evan, wherever in the world he was.
    Though, it was probably better that Evan was hiking the Himalayas, or horseback riding across Mongolia, or scuba diving in Bora-Bora, or any of the other things Evan did in the far off places he had gotten letters from. Maybe it’d mean Evan wouldn’t find out they had re-released his masterpiece album, One More Time , with two new bonus tracks and new liner art without his approval. Doing it was a complete breach of Evan’s contract. It specifically stated no unreleased masters of his were to be released without his direct consent as Evan had full ownership rights to all his songs and had that clause written into his contract when they renegotiated it before his third album, Allegro . In order to keep the label’s head above water, he had decided to risk it, hoping when Evan found out and flew into one of his rages, he’d be able to calm him and make him understand the reasoning behind it. In truth, it was worth the risk of raising Evan’s wrath. Evan’s fans were the very meaning of fanatical and gobbled up the re-release after waiting so long to be fed anything by him.
    Greg turned back to the ugly figures on the papers in front of him. Fortunately, he probably wouldn’t have to deal with a tirade from Evan any time soon. The last letter he got from him over a month ago said he was going to Greece, so there wasn’t much point in worrying about it until the time came. He dragged his calculator across his desk to make sure the accountants had gotten the figures correct and paused, his ears catching the sound of someone humming.
    He sat quiet. The humming grew louder as if someone was walking up the hall toward his office, the voice a smooth, rich baritone that could never be mistaken for anyone else’s, even at so subtle a pitch. The humming stopped outside his office door.
Greg stared at the open doorway, listening, waiting.
    A head peeked around the corner, a glowing smile on the handsome face that looked to be around twenty-two years old, yet Greg knew would turn twenty-seven in the coming month. A pair of purple lens sunglasses shadowed his eyes, but Greg didn’t need to see them to know they were eyes of radiant blue that either enchanted or intimidated depending on their owner’s mood.
“Evan,”