Page 11 of For The Record

I wave a hand. “Absolutely. We take workplace harassment very seriously here. Anyway, on that cheerful note… What can I do for you, Ryder? My assistant says she put this meeting as a top priority and that you sounded very… concerned.”

I steeple my fingers beneath my chin, a pose that Raina always says reminds her of a serious college professor or stern headmaster. Leaning forward in my seat, the pen clatters to the desk.

“Oh no, I assure you, it’s not a huge deal,” he says with a laugh. “No, I just wanted to talk to you about an artist advance.”

I’m a grown man, perfectly capable of putting aside any barely existent personal politics to look at this situation from an objective standpoint. After all, Saturday night at his party was nothing more than a blip in what ought to be a successful professional relationship. So I nod, gesturing for him to go on. “Hmm. Tell me more.”

“Well, I thought that maybe I could… have one.” He clears his throat, shoulders pulling back. “That is, for my new album.”

“I’d be open to the idea.”

“Is that business-speak for no, but more politely?”

“I’d like to hear more. Why do you want one, exactly? We offered a pretty generous deal, if I remember. I could pull up the contract now if you’d like.” My hand hovers over the mouse.

“No, it’s not a big deal. I know that what we have is a licensing contract, right?” He taps on his chin.

“Yep, that’s correct. Since you already have a fairly large following online, it’s only natural for the contract to be for distribution of your work, not to own your work for a lifetime.”

“Well, I was thinking maybe I could tinker with that deal a bit.”

“Well, that depends on which part of it. I’m interested in hearing more.”

“Good to know, Leo. I was hoping to get an artist’s advance… the budget for the music video, forThought You Hated Me, has been pretty bare-bones, to be honest.”

“Correct me if I’m wrong, Ryder, but I thought you already had the video concept approved by A&R? It was going to be a bare-bones video, just you and an acoustic guitar, right?”

“Yeah, but I’ve been thinking. What if we add some, I don’t know, bells and whistles? I mean, go big or go home, right?”

I’m sure he’s sincere in his wishes for an advance, and that his artistic integrity is practically begging him to turn his music video from a Shawn Mendes-style live acoustic concert into a head-banging, neon-splashed, backup-dancer-laden production. The thing is, well, the problem is that I have problems of my own. “Listen, Ryder, I’d love to help you with that. But my hands are tied. And these contract changes… I’d hate to see you get burned from not having a lawyer present. You’d have to take it up with your agent or your manager.”

His face falls. “Well, thanks anyway, Leo.”

“Sorry I couldn’t be of more help.”

“No, no, I get it. You did all that you could.” With that, he leaves.

I watch him go, trying to get back to work.

Ryder Black’s contract is the first big licensing deal that I’ve gotten since I started at this company, and I don’t want it to be—no, I can’t let it be—jeopardized by anyone. Not even the artist himself.

#

@VolumeRecordsOfficial: We are so excited to sign our newest artist, the winner of this year’s America’s Got Talent, Ryder Black!

People in this Tweet: @TheRyderBlack, @LeoJPerez

@RyderBlackFanOfficial: @VolumeRecordsOfficial YESSSSSS

@LeoJPerez retweeted @VolumeRecordsOfficial tweet

Chapter 7: Skye Holland

In the glassed-in conference room, I chew on a pen and stare at my laptop. Across the room from me, Ryder is fiddling with an acoustic guitar and Mark Leong is reviewing some papers. Ryder and I have been working at Volume for two weeks, and the tension has yet to culminate in a blow-up of nuclear proportions, which is good… or a sign that the crap is about to hit the fan.

To be quite honest, I don’t even know why we’re all working in the same room together. When I asked Ryder why he was here, he just shrugged and said all the other studios were full, so he had no choice. Which left me with no choice, since he’s the talent, and I’m just a lowly PR staffer.

Every chord that Ryder strums makes me want to wring his neck, and my pounding headache doesn’t help. Maybe this will be the day that I lose my job over an office catfight?

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