“Wow, you’re so amazing,” I say, figuring that’s a pretty safe thing to reply, no matter what he just finished saying. “Please don’t take this the wrong way. But you’re so amazing, I can’t believe you don’t have a deal with a record label. If you ask me, you should be headlining a world tour.”
“I had a record deal once, actually. A big one.”
Here we go.“That’s so cool! What happened?”
“Oh, you know. The music business is crazy.”
I wait, but that’s all he says. “Actually, no, I don’t know anything about the music industry.”
Troy shrugs. “The label holds all the power. No matter how talented you might be, the label can decide to shelve your debut album. And that’s that. You’re done.”
“Really? I didn’t know that. That’s terrible.”
“Yep. They have full control.”
“So, they shelved your album?”
He nods.
“But why would they do that for someone as talented as you? Don’t they want to make money, every bit as much as you do?”
“Not if the owner of the label decides he doesn’t like you for personal reasons and wants to fuck with you out of spite. When that happens, when the owner of the label is a fucking dick, then you’re done, no matter how good the album is. Because the contract says the label owns and controls the album, and has the absolute rightnotto release it, ever, if that’s what they decide to do.”
“Holy hell. That sucks. What label was it?”
“River Records.”
I look at him blankly.
“It’s a good one. You’ve heard of their bands, I promise you.”
“Let’s see.” I pull out my phone and google it. “Oh, wow! Red Card Riot, 2Real, Laila Fitzgerald, Danger Doctor Jones, 22 Goats! Holy crap, Troy!”
“Yep. They didn’t have all those bands when I signed. The guy who owns the label was planning to build his entire label on my band, Red Card Riot, 2Real, and Danger Doctor Jones.”
I point to a photo of Reed on my phone, my heart aching at how excruciatingly handsome he is in the shot. “Is this the guy who screwed you over?”
“Yup. That’s him. Reed Rivers. Fucking dick.”
Despite everything, hearing Reed’s name sends butterflies racing into my belly. “Yeah, that guy looks like he’d be a fucking dick.”
Troy chuckles. “He’s more than a dick, actually. He’s a fucking psychopath.”
My eyebrows shoot up. “Apsychopath? In what way?”
Troy pauses. “I’m actually not allowed to talk about this in any detail. I sued that guy’s ass after he shelved my album, and we reached a confidential settlement. If I say too much, and it gets back to him, I’ll owe him a shit-ton of money.”
“Whoa. Yousuedhim? You’re such a baller.”
Troy looks enamored with himself. “Yep. I brought that bastard to his knees.”
“Oh my gosh. I’mdyingto hear this story. Something tells me it’s super-hot.” I bite my lower lip suggestively. “Hey, aren’t lawsuits public record?”
“Yeah...?”
“So, you’re allowed to tell me stuff that’s already in the public record. You can’t get in trouble for doing that, if it’s right there for anyone to find it.”
Troy considers that logic for a beat. “Good point.”
