First, I didn’t get a contract. Now I’m stuck driving home in a monsoon. Peering through the water streaming down the wind­shield, Eden Voss kept an eye out for the turn going into her southwest Atlanta neighborhood. Typical of any Tuesday night, city traffic had been akin to driv­ing in a demolition derby, and the rain only exacerbated that. The farther she got away from the city proper, the more she relaxed. She’d just spent three hours sitting in a smoky hookah lounge in Midtown with a producer and his newest act, discussing whether her songwrit­ing might be a good fit for them. If the young artist had been as decisive as he’d been flirtatious, the meeting might have actually led to something concrete. She wondered what she would have been like if her dreams of singing stardom had come true. Those ambi­tions were long ago laid to rest. However, she knew that if she had made it, she wouldn’t have been so disrespect­ful as to ogle another industry professional, especially during what was supposed to be a business meeting. Eden pushed those thoughts away, concentrating in­stead on making it home intact. Even with the wipers going full blast, visibility…