Orielle waved him off. “You’re good. You’re keeping it real with me. Thank you.”
“Of course. We can get straight to it then,” Zahir said, sitting back in his chair.
He was so chill with it; Orielle couldn’t help but smirk.
“I want to take you on as my client. Your sound is one I don’t come across often, and I’m not letting you slip through the cracks. I know as an independent artist, you’re used to doing everything on your own, but that will change.”
Zahir saw the relief leave her body as her shoulders loosened. From day one of taking her singing seriously, Orielle had done it all. The mixing and mastering, the composing, the singing, the ad-libbing, the marketing, the songwriting, the bookings, and so much more.
She should’ve hired an assistant a long time ago, but it was hard delegating tasks to others when it came to her work. Anything attached to her name, she didn’t play about and would lose her shit if someone played with her. How was she supposed to make her best music behind bars? Knowing her man, he’d help her figure it out and still hit the charts. Najee didn’t play about her at all.
“That would give me so much time and energy to focus solely on the writing,” Orielle concluded.
“Most definitely. You can still tap into the other areas, but you don’thaveto. That’s what you’ll have a team for. I’m assuming you don’t have an assistant.”
She shook her head. “Nope. Not yet. I’ve used a virtual assistant before, though.”
“How was that?” Zahir asked.
“Eh. It was okay. I’m more of a hands-on, meet me in person kind of girl, so it didn’t last long.”
“That’s understandable. We have a few on the team who can take on duties. We tell artists to test a few out until they find one that aligns with their morals and not just their schedule. Everyone isn’t meant to work together.”
Orielle knew that was the truth. “I love that. Do you manage any other female R&B singers?”
“Yes. One, but her sound and yours are completely different. That’s the beauty of music.”
She smiled. “Yes, it is.”
“Do you write all of your songs, or do you think you’ll need a ghostwriter?”
The look of disgust on her face let Zahir know she was highly offended, and he smirked. He was testing her.
“I write all of my shit. Excuse my language,” she said, smirking, hitting him with his words from earlier.
Zahir chuckled. “Yeah. I think we’re going to get along just fine. Nothing wrong with collaborating, though. Is that something you’re open to?”
“Yes. I haven’t come across anyone worth collaborating with, yet.”
Orielle would never jeopardize the integrity of her pen and identity with mediocrity. She’d catch carpal tunnel before that ever happened. That may have sounded a bit dramatic, but it was the truth. She’d rather overwork herself before ever putting something out that lacked quality, originality, and authenticity. However, she was open to exploring new creative processes.
“That’s not a bad thing. But sometimes feeding off of another creative’s energy and seeing their style added to a project can be some of the best work. Especially, if you’re having a bad day creatively,” Zahir explained.
He’d been in the game long enough to know that there was more than one way to skin a cat. Meaning, shit still had to shake, and he was going to make it.
“Duly noted. We’re talking as if I’m already on the team,” Orielle said, chuckling.
“You wouldn’t be here if you didn’t want to be.”
He had her there. Sliding a manila folder her way, Zahir explained what was inside as she looked through it. There was a personalized welcome letter from MTA, a brochure explaining who they were and what they did, artist development sheets, and a plethora of other papers she’d read later. What stood out the most was a mock branding sheet with her professional headshot image in the corner.
“Oh, wow!” Orielle exclaimed, grinning. “I wasn’t expecting to see this.”
“We like to give a preview of what’s to come.”
She didn’t have to be told anything more. Orielle was ready to sign her name on the flat line.
“Well, you sold me,” she said.
