“Tour risk. The people who are depending on us. Crew. Vendors. Contracts. This is bigger than any one of us.”
“Then say it that way. Don’t act like I’m an error to be minimized.”
I feel the clock in my head. The money. The schedule. The label. The calls lined up. I slip into command mode by reflex. I start issuing orders because orders are how I make panic sit down.
“Pull the posts. Lock the deck. Send me a revised timeline by two. Quincy needs a clean grid for the next ten days. Tighten your approvals to me only. No external screenshots. No one else needs your working files until we’re past the add dates.”
She blinks. Slow. “Excuse me?”
I don’t stop. “Also, no more balcony shots with type in the background. No room glimpses. No corridor angles. I don’t want the internet parsing carpets and guessing door numbers.”
“I’m not an intern or your secretary,” she says.
“This situation is on fire. We need to act now. It won’t be pleasant. Ten days. Then we go back to normal.”
“You’re treating me like a problem to move offstage.”
“It’s ten days. Keep at it, just keep it off the radar until then. You’ll deliver behind the scenes later. Right now, we need you to pivot.”
She holds up a hand. “I’m not your servant. I deliver my work. I have never missed a deadline. I built this album with you. For god’s sake, I’m on it!. I got you here. You don’t get to talk to me like I’m a mistake you made on vacation, Knox.”
I sigh loudly. “I didn’t say you’re my servant?—”
“You barked orders at me like one.”
My face goes hot. “I’m trying to keep the tour funded. I’m trying to keep people paid.”
“So am I, by doing the job you hired me to do. By keeping the story about the work. By building a system that stops you from improvising yourselves into crises.”
I scratch my head, trying to figure out where this went sideways. I knew it would, but not like this. “This is crunch time, Lou. Things aren’t going to be pretty. We have to?—”
“Crunch time is when you should try to be extra nice, not use it as an excuse to be a dickhead.” She stands. “I deliver my work,” she says, voice steady. “I have never missed a deadline. I have helped you get this album together. You have no right to treat me less-than, because you are lucky to have me.”
She picks up her laptop, tucks her pencil behind her ear, and walks out. The door shuts hard enough to make the glass hum. The room is quiet.
Salem says, “What the hell was that?”
“A hissy fit. She’ll cool off.”
He blinks at me. “I mean you, Knox.”
“Look, I’m trying to keep people employed?—”
“No. You don’t get that excuse right now. You were an asshole to her.”
Houston looks at me like I’m a stranger. “You sounded like the label.”
“She’s in this with us,” Salem says. “You just put her in the hallway because some exec lost his nerve to deal with extra publicity. You put my fighting and Troy’s bullshit on her shoulders.”
“Don’t,” I cut him off. “I didn’t put her anywhere.”
“You did,” Houston says. “After bringing her into the light, you told her to stop being visible. You told her to send her workto you and not to the world. You took her voice away because someone emailed you.”
“I took heat so we don’t lose money we promised a hundred people,” I say. “I took responsibility. That’s my job here. That’s the way it’s always been.”
“You took control from her for no reason.” Salem sneers. “You treated her like a problem to manage.”
“She is getting death threats! Is it so bad to take her off the board for a little while?”
