“Exactly! Crossover appeal!”
Another suit leans forward, a guy who looks like he was born in a boardroom, wearing a tie that probably costs more than my first guitar. “We’ve done the market research. A Levi Cole-Mia Monroe collaboration would generate approximately three hundred percent more media coverage than a solo release. The streaming projections alone...”
“I don’t care about streaming projections.”
The room goes quiet.
Richard’s smile tightens. “Everyone cares about streaming projections, Levi. That’s how the industry works now.”
“Then maybe I’m tired of how the industry works.”
More silence. Someone coughs. Mia is watching me with an expression I can’t quite read, curiosity maybe, or calculation.
“Look,” Richard says, his tone shifting to something almost paternal. “I get it. You’re burned out. It happens to everyone. But walking away isn’t the answer. You’ve built something incredible. You don’t want to throwthat away.”
“I’m not throwing anything away. I’m just…figuring out what I want it to look like going forward.”
“And what do you want it to look like?”
I think about Delilah. About Twin Waves. About the life I’m starting to imagine, one where music is part of it but not the whole thing. One where I have space to breathe.
“Smaller,” I say finally. “More sustainable. Tours that don’t destroy me. Music that actually means something instead of content to feed the algorithm.”
Richard exchanges a look with someone across the table. The kind of look that says “here we go again.”
“We can discuss parameters,” he says carefully. “But we need something from you. A commitment. A timeline. Something to show the board that you’re still in this.”
“I’ll think about it.”
“That’s what you said last time.”
“And I’m still thinking.”
Mia leans forward, and I catch another wave of that perfume. It’s the kind of scent that announces itself from across the room and refuses to leave. “I think we could make something really special together, Levi. Our voices would blend beautifully.”
She puts her hand on my arm.
I move my arm.
“I’ll think about the album,” I say. “The tour. But the duet isn’t happening.”
The room goes quiet again. This time it feels heavier.
Diane’s jaw tightens. She’s going to have words for me later. Many words.
Richard’s jaw tightens further. “Let’s not make any hasty decisions. Take some time. Look over the proposal.” He taps the folder. “We’ll talk again before you leave.”
The meeting wraps up shortly after that. Lots of handshakes and “great to see you,” but absolutely nothing getting resolved. One of the junior executives tries to make small talk about my “creative process” and I give him answers that are technically true but reveal nothing.
Diane intercepts me before I can escape. “We need to talk.”
“Later.”
“Levi...”
“Later, Diane. I promise.”
She doesn’t look happy, but she lets me go. Harper is waiting by the elevator, and I’ve never been more grateful for an exitstrategy.
