Page 97 of My Three Billionaire Rockstars

Gabe watches us like he’s filing this away for later. Xander doesn’t look away from me at all.

I focus very hard on my food.

“So,” I say, because silence feels like a trap, “what was so important it required dinner?”

Gabe leans forward, hands resting loosely on the table. “The label.”

That I can work with.

“Okay,” I say. “That’s less ominous than expected.”

“We’re at a point where things are starting to move. Faster than we planned. We have the infrastructure,” Gabe says. “Artist development, recording schedules, investor backing, distribution, rollout timelines. The business side is solid.” His gaze settles on me. “What we’re trying to avoid is becoming another label that feels manufactured before people even hear the music.”

Xander cuts in. “We’re ready. But we need to be really ready.”

I glance at him briefly, then back to Gabe. “So, you’re trying to get ahead of it?”

“Yes.”

“And you think I can help with that?”

“You see things differently,” Gabe says. “And I’m quite sure you said you studied PR, right?”

I widen my eyes. “I did? I don’t remember that.”

Xander smirks. “When we first met. Before you even told us your name.”

I swallow hard. “Alright. What exactly are you doing now?”

Gabe explains. Strategy. Timing. Control. The way attention builds, how quickly it can get out of hand if you don’t manage it early.

It all makes sense, which is the problem, because it’s also exactly how people end up distrusting something before it even launches.

“I think you’re approaching it from the wrong angle,” I say.

Gabe doesn’t react. “Explain.”

“You’re trying to control how people see this before you’ve given them anything real to attach themselves to,” I say. “That’s backwards.”

“It doesn’t have to be,” he says.

“It does if you lead with branding before trust.”

That gets Xander’s attention. He goes still in that way he has, like all the air in the room has just aligned itself around him.

Gabe just watches me. “Go on.”

I set my fork down. “Right now, you’re thinking like people who already understand the industry. But audiences don’t care that you’ve built a beautiful compound and have a five-year plan. They care whether the music feels real, whether the artists feel interesting, and whether any of this looks like it exists for a reason beyond rich men deciding to build a kingdom in the woods.”

Julian chokes on a laugh.

I ignore him.

“You already have the structure. What you need now is emotional entry points.” I continue, “You need people to feel connected to it in stages. Local trust first. Then curiosity. Then identity.”

Gabe’s focus narrows. “Break that down.”

“Fine. First, take my advice from before. The town has to feel included before the internet does.”