Chapter 1
Dean
Dean walked into the meeting with a confident strut, wearing an impeccably tailored black Gucci suit. He had an astonishing, sometimes intimidating, air of self-confidence. So yes, he tended to strut. But then, when you’re the highest-grossing DJ in the world, you've earned that swagger.
“Okay, folks!” He plopped into a leather chair in front of his production team. “My new album and single drop in six weeks. We need ideas for a video to promote the first single, ‘C’mon’.”
Dean, who performs under the stage name DJ DVLN, has already amassed some of the biggest dance and electronic music hits of all time.
For ten years, Dean busted his ass to get where he is now. He knew that, in order to be successful in the music industry, he had to use every tool in his toolbox, including his handsomeface and fit, muscular body. And it’s something that has worked extremely well. He had millions of fans and followers on his social media platforms, all eagerly awaiting his next thirst trap or hint of new music.
But just because he had a pretty face and a banging body, didn't mean that Dean was stupid. Quite the opposite-he's building an empire and, as it's ruler, that means he's hands-on with all aspects of his music. Hence, the reason of leading today's meeting.
The meeting was in one of the smaller conference rooms at Harris Entertainment.
This particular space had no table, but rather several comfy swivel chairs surrounding a small oval coffee table, with floor-to-ceiling windows framing the view of the San Francisco Bay. Dean preferred this conference room to the other larger, more serious spaces, with their standard set up because it felt warmer, more cozy, and far less stuffy.
“So, what d’ya got? Dazzle me.” Dean urged his team, while gesturing with jazz hands.
Dean’s production manager, Thom, had decades of experience in the music industry and had been with Dean since his first number one single. He leaned forward in his chair. “We could create a compilation video of your previous live performances.”
“Nope, we’ve already done that…several times.” Dean sighed. "Next?"
Sven, Dean’s choreographer, chimed in. “How about a video of you working out?” As his name might suggest, he had strong Nordic features with blonde hair and blue eyes, a tall frame, and skinny as a rail.
Dean rolled his eyes. “No…been there, done that.”
Dean’s marketing and publicity manager, Terri, a thirty-year-old woman with jet-black hair who fully embodied that typical San Francisco, hippie-chick vibe chimed in.
“Maybe you driving down the coast in a convertible?”
“Hmmm, that’s not bad. But it doesn’t really fit the song,” Dean muttered.
Thom crossed his legs and opened his hands in a presentational gesture. “Okay, get this…a spaceship in outer space, with aliens dancing to your song.”
Dean squinted and furrowed his brow. “Thom, I love you but why the hell would we do that?”
Thom slumped into his chair, pouting a little.
Dean slapped his thigh in frustration. “Okay, guys. Come on. We need fresh ideas. This album is fire. It’s my best work to date. We need to be creative and innovative. ‘C’mon’ is all about pushing your limits, breaking boundaries, never settling for just one hundred percent, and never giving up. Think about that as you’re coming up with ideas.”
Gina, the newest member of the team, timidly raised her hand at the back of the room.
Dean smiled. Aside from him, there were only five people in the room. It was cute that she raised her hand.
“Yes, Gina?”
“Well, um…” Gina stammered and adjusted her waifish body in her chair, nervously twisting her brown hair. Dean usually sucked most of the oxygen out of a room, and it’s intimidating to some folks. Gina was one of those folks.
“It’s okay, Gina. Go ahead.”
“Well, I listened to the song, and I was thinking…college athletes…maybe track and field?”
Dean leaned forward in his chair. “Hmmm, athletes…” He gently bit his bottom lip as the wheels turned in his brain. “It fits the theme of the song perfectly. Athletes could be a really interesting angle for the video,” he muttered, thinking out loud. “And athletes are fucking hot!”
Dean smacked his knee and pointed at Gina. “I like it! Nice job, Gina!”
Gina smiled and exhaled as ideas began flowing through the room at her suggestion.
