Sebastien’s voice boomed from the reception desk an hour later before he opened his office door.
“What are you doing here?” he barked, turning on the light.
“Have a seat,” she said calmly, motioning her hand toward his chair.
“I’m busy, Tyler.”
“No, you’re not.”
He grumbled something under his breath and sat in his chair.
She handed him a piece of paper. “My two weeks’ notice,” she told him, sliding back in her seat. “But since you owe me so much vacation time, I’m leaving today.”
“Oh, don’t be such a girl,” he sneered, his tone dripping with mockery. “Is this about the other day?”
“It’s aboutallthe days, Sebastien. You treat me like shit and I’m over it.”
“What do you want?” He took out his checkbook and grabbed a pen from the holder. “How much is this going to cost me?”
“Not your money.” She waited until their eyes met. “Yestown.”
He snorted a laugh. “You’re not taking that band.”
“Want to bet?” She handed him another piece of paper. “They’re exercising their key person clause. I’m taking them with me.”
It took him a long time to read the document. “This is an addendum to their management contract,” he said finally.
“I know what it is.”
“How did this happen?” he asked, his lip snarled.
“I asked the band to sign it,” she said, her voice steady.
When she told Bob that Sebastien wanted to sign her band to SDM, he suggested adding a clause that would void their contract if she left for any reason—or none at all.
“Where’s Bob Shaw?” He pounded his fist on the desk.
She shrugged. “Bob Shaw knows about it.”
“What?” He picked up the phone on his desk and covered the receiver. “We’ll see about this.” A few seconds later he yelled into the handset, “Lara!” He mispronounced her name. “Get me Bob Shaw on the phone, pronto!”
They sat in silence for a few minutes, waiting for Bob to call back.
The past fourteen years flickered in her mind like a dying lighter, sparks failing to catch. Had she ever been happy there? She doubted it. A job shouldn’t be a death sentence, and she refused to let him be her executioner.
“Bob Shaw’s on line one,” Lara said through the speaker.
Sebastien hit the line and picked up the receiver, glaring at Tyler like she’d murdered his entire family.
“What the fuck is this key man clause?” he shouted into the phone. There was a pause. “Yes, I fucking know it means the band can leave with Tyler. But how did it happen?” An even longer pause ensued. “What do you mean you approved it? I swear to fucking god, Bob Shaw, I’m going to fire you!” He slammed the phone, missing its cradle, and slammed it again while she held in her laughter.
“All good then?” she asked.
“This isn’t over.” He stabbed the air with his finger. “You may have them contractually”—he ripped the document in half—“but good fucking luck getting them shows. I’ll have Tommyruin your little snot-nosed friend, Allie.”Snot-nosed?He went on, “And the rest of your bands, if you’ve got any.”
“If that’s the case, I’m sure Tommy’s boss will be interested in hearing what you guys have been saying about him.”
Sebastien balked, resting his hands on his belly. “You’ve got nothing on me.”
