“Shall we begin?” Steven says while unbuttoning his jacket and gesturing for the other men to sit. It’s impressive. These aren’t his offices, yet he owns the room with poise.
Owen, their lawyer, begins. “We appreciate you coming here today, Miss Thomas. As you’re aware, this meeting is voluntary, and I’m sure you and your legal representative wish to see this resolved quickly and efficiently, considering your condition.”
Charming way of saying I’m a beached whale.
“My client would appreciate no further unnecessary stress from this situation.” Steven points at the stack of papers sitting on the shiny mahogany conference table. “Provided today’s meeting goes accordingly.”
The three men exchange looks, silently communicating.
I hold my breath, trying to appear cool, calm, and collected.
A drop of dread sinks in my stomach. They’re going to challenge my claim as rightsowner. It was stupid to think I could go up against such a prestigious label, regarding their golden child, no less.
“We’re confident we can resolve the matter today,” Owen says and opens a folder. “We don’t contest Miss Thomas’s claim to being the rightful copyright owner of Tate Brooks’s recent single,Left Lonely.We would also like to reiterate that this does not reflect the ethos of Vance Records, and we have dismissed the individual responsible, with immediate effect.”
I exhale, fingers twisting in my lap as I fight to contain mywhoop.If learning Peter got his slimy ass handed to him is the only positive news today, then it’ll be music to my ears.
My stomach chooses that moment to tighten further, squeezing a sharp hiss from my lips.
All eyes dart my way.
I wave them off. “I’m good. Please, continue.”
Steven leans in. “We can take a break.”
“No. No.” After thirty or so seconds, the pressure eases off. I’ve been experiencing Braxton-Hicks for the last few weeks, though the timing today could be better.
Seemingly convinced, Steven returns his attention to the rest of the table. “This is promising, but what about compensation? Let’s not pretend Tate Brooks isn’t a global sensation or rumored for a Grammy nomination, all of which could be linked to Miss Thomas song.”
I could really kiss him.
“That was our next item.” Owen loosens his tie, and dare I say, he looks nervous. “The usual process is to purchase the rights to the song, which we are willing to do. There is a second proposal on the table, one I would like to mention is not customary. However, Mr. Brooks insisted once he was made aware Miss Thomas was involved.”
My eyes bulge. “Tate knows it’s me?”
Howard clears his throat, speaking for the first time since we entered the room. “He is, putting it mildly, furious. Had we have known your relationship with him from the beginning?—”
“My client’s relationship with Mr. Brooks is irrelevant, considering they’ve had zero contact in almost a year,” Steven cuts in.
Talia is going to lose her shit if she learns this tidbit. Which is why I will not be telling her. In her words, the less she knows, the better.
“And what is it your client is insisting?” Steven presses.
Everyone turns to Owen. “If Miss Thomas doesn’t wish to sell the rights, Mr. Brooks is open to pulling the entire album, halting his tour, and putting out a statement explaining the situation. As you can imagine, this would be a PR nightmare, and we?—”
Steven holds up a hand. “I hope you’re not trying to sway my client’s decision?”
Owen reddens. “Not at all.”
“Once we have a clear idea of the offer, I’ll ask for the room so we can discuss this privately.”
“Certainly.” Owen picks up his pen, draws a line across the paper before closing the folder, and slides it across to us. “I think you’ll find our offer substantial and considers any damages, including the inconvenience and stress experienced.”
I’m reeling from the news as the men exit, leaving Steven and me alone. We share a look.
“Is this bad?” I whisper.
Steven shakes his head. “It’s good. Really good. You’ve got options. Now…” He pushes the folder in front of me. “Let’s see what they’re offering and don’t feel pressured to make a decision today.”
