I take a deep breath and let it out slowly. She’s right. I was ready to turn back around once we made it here. If it weren’t for Ashley’s insistence and strong grip on me, I’d be back home now, instead of fearing I’m about to hyperventilate.
“Did Sullivan give you pointers on what to say? He’s used to dealing with huge businesses and getting what he wants from them, right?”
“He did. He wanted to come with me, but I need to do this myself.”
“And you will. You’ll blow them out of the water.” Ashleysmiles, enjoying every minute of this. She’s been role-playing my argument with me on the cab ride over, preparing me.
I straighten my shoulders and approach the young man at the desk.
“Hello. My name’s Tate Miller, and this is my colleague, Ashley. We’re here to talk about my song that Liberty Records has produced without my permission.” I drop my folder of evidence on the desk and tap a finger on it. “All of my evidence is in here and I will be going to the press if this isn’t resolved.”
My voice is loud enough that we attract curious glances from people moving around the large marble lobby.
The man at the desk looks taken aback and clears his throat. “Just a moment, please.”
He picks up his desk phone, his attention bouncing from me to Ashley and back again as he waits for it to connect.
“Mr. Drayton. Apologies, Sir, I know you didn’t want to be disturbed. But there’s a Miss Tate Miller here.” He nods. “Yes, Sir.”
He places the phone down and beckons another staff member over, saying something quietly to her that we can’t hear.
“Hilary will take you to Mr. Drayton’s office.”
The woman smiles brightly at us. “Right this way.”
We follow her into the elevator. This is going smoother than I expected. I was prepared for more push back before I made it anywhere near the head producer, Kyle Drayton. Brandon always told me getting a meeting with him was harder than playing “La Campanella” by Liszt with your eyes closed. Although, I bet Sullivan could do it.
We step out into a huge office, filled with people working, making calls, and walking around with steaming cups of coffee. On the walls are giant posters of musicians and album covers the label is famous for. We walk past one of a femaleartist who picked up no fewer than nine Grammys at the last awards ceremony.
“You’re lucky,” the lady says, as she stops in front of a closed door and knocks. “Mr. Drayton was about to leave for a meeting.”
I take another deep breath for courage as the door is opened by a suited man in his forties. His skin lacks brightness, the area beneath each eye dark like he’s had too many late nights. But he forces a welcoming smile onto his face and extends a hand.
“Miss Miller. Nice to meet you.”
I shake his hand and stop myself from glancing at Ashley as he greets her with the same professional, albeit unexpected warmth. Not what I was expecting when I came in here slinging around accusations like confetti.
“Please, come in.”
He shows us into the large office, decorated with multiple music awards and framed gold albums on the walls. We take a seat on one side of a large glass desk, and he falls into the seat behind it.
“I believe I know why you’re here.”
“You do?” I stare at him, and his chest deflates like a sad old balloon.
My death grip on my folder loosens a fraction. Adrenaline pumps through my veins, ready for battle. But he looks defeated, and we haven’t even begun.
“Brandon Rutter.” He sighs the name like it’s one he’s heard far too many times. “He came to us yesterday and confessed to stealing a song you wrote. We opened an investigation immediately and discovered…” He rolls his lips, leaning over his desk and clasping his hands together. “This might not be the only time he’s done something like this. Thankfully, yours is the only song that’s actually been released.”
Nausea coils its way up from my stomach. Brandon’s donethis to other people. Other songs. Other dreams. Taken without remorse. How did I date a guy like that and not see it?
Kyle scrubs a hand around his jaw, continuing, “He no longer works for the company. And Mya’s song…yoursong,” he corrects himself, “has been removed from all stations. It won’t ever be played again.”
Won’t ever be played again? His words crash over me, stinging everything they touch. I wanted my song to be heard. Just not like this. I wanted it done my way, and?—
“I’m sorry… Mya?” I ask, the name sparking something.
“The artist. She signed with us six months ago. We’ve been looking for the right song for her,” Kyle confirms, looking at me as I shift in my seat, memories making my skin prickle.
