his body shrinking inside it.
The next hour is spent listening to Raymond and Ronnie bicker over Jesse Draven, who ran his mouth on social media.
Now it’s a problem.
“He’s out of control,” Raymond snaps.
“He’ll make a public apology,” Ronnie mutters.
Raymond laughs—“He won’t do it.”
Back and forth,
they argue louder, stupider,
neither hearing each other.
One more year,
I’ll be the golden-age of twenty-five,
and Soundwave Records will belong to me.
In the meantime, I do what I do best:
take care of the artists,
write songs,
fix problems.
When producers hit a wall, I knock it down.
When the label needs fresh songs,
ones people won’t skip after ten seconds,
they come to me.
I’m paid too much for what I do for Raymond,
not enough for what he did to me.
“I told you not to sign him. This is what happens when you keep chasing TikTok virals.”
Raymond waves a hand.
“C’mon, Allie. Write the guy a song.
“Throw him a bone.”
I laugh. “A song? How will a song help? You want me to write anI’m-sorry-I-slandered-your-precious-Theo Rainesballad?”
He chuckles. “Relax, sweetheart.
“Not askin’ you to sleep with the guy.”
There’s a chilling yet smug smile in his eyes when he says it.
