Page 63 of No More Love Songs

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Fifty-six days later

SKYLAR

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“We need to talk aboutthis album,” Chase announces the second he steps foot into the conference room. Zayne is right behind him, nodding, a smug look flashing in his eyes.

“I assumed as much when you called this meeting.” I sit up taller, but I don’t bother getting up to greet them. Maybe if they hadn’t kept me waiting over half an hour, I could have mustered more manners, but as it stands, I’m done here. Showing up to say it out loud, is just a formality and one I don’t care to be particularly formal about.

“You don’t sound happy with it,” Janelle points out, though she hardly sounds like she gives a shit either. Not about their opinion anyway, not now that my ex-husband’s is meant to be considered.

“It sucks,” Zayne says bluntly, tossing a manila folder across the table at me.

I don’t bother looking at what’s inside.

Neither does Janelle. But she does inquire about it. “What’s this?”

“An extension,” Chase answers this one. I was always on the fence about him, even when Barry was still around. Chase is young but being Barry’s grandson allowed him to grow up in the business, and while it was hard to take him seriously when he was just an entitled little boy marching around this place, I still hoped he’d grow into the man his grandfather left him the space to become. “We’re giving you another thirty days to fix this shit.”

I’m not holding out hope anymore.

“There’s nothing to fix,” I tell him, getting to my feet. This meeting is about over. “This is the album. Take it or leave it.”

“Sign the fucking papers, Sky,” Zayne snarls.

“No.”

“We’re not signing,” Janelle backs me up, standing from her chair as well. “And you can’t make us. Sky has creative privileges. It’s written in her contract. You can’t force her to give you the album you want, you can only reject ones you don’t.”

Zayne’s expression begins to shift. He’s starting to understand. “It’s career suicide.”

“You’re certainly entitled to see it that way,” Janelle says frostily, reaching her hand for the file he tossed at us and pointedly sliding it back across the table toward him.

“We’re not putting out that album,” Chase reiterates, a little slow on the uptake. Not that I blame him. He’s the only one at this table who doesn’t know the past that brought us here. “If you don’t comply with the extension and deliver a sound authentic to the Skylar Thompson brand we’ve spent the last twenty years turning into a goldmine, you’re done. We’ll release you from your contract.”

It’s what I wanted, but I can’t deny it hurts to hear. “You really think that’s how Barry would have handled this situation? After twenty years of working together?” Even Barry couldn’t have persuaded me to stay under the circumstances. But then Barry never would have let it come to this.

“How my grandfather would have handled this is irrelevant,” Chase says coolly. “He isn’t here. I am. The empire he built is mine now and I don’t intend to spend my life in the shadows of his legacy when I can create one of my own. By making decisions he never had the nerve to.”

“Keep this up, and you won’t have to worry about shadows,” Janelle mutters dryly. “You’ll be standing in nothing but ash and smoke, having burned to the ground everything he created.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Chase sneers.

“Right,” I confirm, my tone dripping in sarcasm, “we don’t know the first thing about this industry.”

“Check your emails,” Janelle says, gesturing for them to look at their phones. “We already sent over a signed copy of the release form. Just in case.” She waits, giving them a chance to see for themselves. “You’re just one digital signature away from being rid of us.”

“Last chance, Sky,” Zayne warns, his finger on his screen as if his signature could threaten me. “Quit playing games. I sign this and your bluff falls through. Face it, you overplayed your hand.”

“I’m not giving you another album of sappy love songs,” I reiterate my point. “I’m done churning out the same ballads on repeat. I’m ready for change. If you’re not, that’s your prerogative.”

“If that’s how you feel.” His finger swishes across the screen.

A second later, Janelle’s phone dings.

“I guess we’re done here.” She nods at both men, gesturing her farewell as she starts to make her exit.

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