Page 307 of Call Me Baby 2: Side B

I fall back into the chair. “Drew, after that whole mess with Bianca Vega last week? I can’t afford to choke in the conference room like that again. I can’t get worked up and take shit so personal. And I definitely can’t let Raymond overpower me. I promised Callista I would stop this deal from going through.”

I glance back at the clock,

rubbing my head.

“Now I have exactly three hours to figure out a plan, shower, change into something that doesn’t scream songwriter, and get all the way down to the label in morning traffic.”

He slides a mug in front of me and takes the next chair over. “C’mon. Tell me about this deal.”

I pull my knee up to my chest

as if I can trap all my anxiety there.

Then we’re staring at each other.

Him, waiting for me to proceed.

Me, wondering if I should let him in.

But truth is, as stubborn as I am,

he’s my only hope.

A defeated sigh spills out of me.

“Clementine’s Reserve wants to license one of Callista’s songs—y’know that summer vodka brand.” He nods, right there with me. “She doesn’t want this. Callista’s a role model. She advocates for mental health, fights against addiction.” My stare lands deeper. “This is an alcohol company. It’s personal to her.”

I scoop up the mug, bringing it to my lips. “But Raymond wants the deal. And the millions that’ll come with it.”

“Doesn’t sound like a smart move,” he agrees.

I gesture to him. “Thank you. And Raymond does this shit on purpose, too.” I scoff. “Every board meeting’s the same. He’ll keep pushing me until I shut down so hard I look taxidermied… or I’m one second away from goin’ batshit crazy and throwin’ a chair through the window.” I gasp for air after saying all of it in one breath.

Andrew’s gaze hasn’t left me.

But he’s not with me.

He’s in his own head,

already ten steps ahead.

“Can I ask you somethin’?” he treads careful, almost as if he’s scared of my reaction. “Your dad’s label—you fightin’ for it ‘cause it was his dream or you fightin’ for it ‘cause this is your dream?”

The question knocks my brain empty.

It’s a question I’ve never asked myself.

“CEO’s not my dream, but it wasn’t his either… Dad only wanted to protect music. Was never meant to be some money-making machine. Or a cage. Or a pyramid that only benefits the top. It was meant to be a wave big enough to carry us all. Cheesy as hell, but that was his mission.”

I adjust in my chair,

my feet sliding off the edge.

“Drew, I know I’m not cut out for CEO. But it’s like, if not me, then who? ‘Cause no one cares about these artists more than me. So if I have to pretend that I know what I’m doing to save the heart of this place? Fuck it. I'll do it. I don’t want to be CEO. I don’t want a label. I want a home. For music. A safe place. That’s it. That's how I'm looking at this.”

He stares at me for a long moment.

I have no idea what he’s thinking.