me over the tops of her glasses, her lips pursed like she’s swallowed something sour. “You and Colt are making quite a splash, it seems.”
I smile, despite the fact that she doesn’t sound particularly pleased about it. “Thanks.”
That glare again. Apparently that wasn’t a compliment? She returns her gaze to the papers in front of her then turns them and slides them across the desk to me. “We got another offer.” I sit up straighter, leaning forward to look at the papers. “Bad Wolf reached out to me. They saw the article. They’re not happy to learn that you’re considering either going indie”—she raises an eyebrow as though that’s news to her, though I’m not sure why since she encouraged me to keep writing and performing songs—“or signing with Spellbound.”
I huff out a sigh. “Well, they’re the ones who’ve been dragging their feet on me for ages. What right do they have to get unhappy about anything?”
Delores smiles. But it’s more frightening than her frown. She’s in full barracuda mode. At least she’s on my side. “Too true. And I told them as much. But this is actually going exactly the way I’d hoped. I knew once you generated some good press and interest from other sectors that they’d come swooping back in. They seem to think they have right of first refusal for anything new you do.”
Leaning back in my chair, I cross my arms. “That was part of our contract for Golden Enigma. They terminated that contract. And Golden Enigma doesn’t exist anymore.”
Her smile turns a little less scary, a little more satisfied. “Which is exactly what I told them. But I promised them I’d pass along their offer.”
Reaching for the papers again, I look them over. It’s a contract for a single album with a clause to add more albums depending on the success of the first one. It also contains a right of first refusal clause, meaning I have to offer any and all new work to them first before shopping for another label, even if I’m unhappy with them. And lots of money. Almost double what Spellbound is offering.
“Spellbound is offering a three album deal and no right of first refusal clause,” I comment after I’ve glanced over the summary.
Delores nods. “And substantially less money.”
“And substantially more control,” I counter.
I know Delores wants me to take the deal that gives me the most money, because that also gives her the most money, but this one’s a greater risk in the long term. I say as much.
Delores nods, taking off her glasses to look at me directly. “That’s true. There’s also another contingency I didn’t include on that sheet.”
I raise my eyebrows. “Which is?”
She fiddles with the earpiece of her glasses, which sets my Spidey senses tingling. Delores doesn’t get flustered or fidgety when she has to deliver bad news. She tells you the good and the bad with the same dispassionate bluntness, and it’s your job to assimilate the news and react accordingly.
So for her to look away and fidget? This can’t be good.
With a soft sigh, she meets my eyes again. “They want you to cut ties with Colt. They feel he’s lived out his usefulness of reforming your reputation as a party girl and that he’ll be a hindrance to your rising star. He’s a relative nobody, his recent successes notwithstanding, and their PR firm will want to pair you with other hot commodities to help raise your profile.”
My mouth opens and closes, but no words come out. That wasn’t on my radar as a thing anyone would care about. At all.
Which means, not only will I be unable to help him by convincing the label execs to take a look at his music after I’m well established, but they want me to cut off the only seriously good thing I’ve had going in my life up till now.
Delores ignores my dying fish impression and passes a manila envelope to me. “Go home. Think about what you want to do. Let me know.”
Standing, I take the envelope in nerveless fingers, barely aware of what I’m doing. I just know that Delores is ending the meeting, she’s giving me something, and it’s time for me to go. “Is there a deadline?” I manage to rasp out before turning for the door.
“Next Tuesday,” she says, back to her calm, rational self. A week from today. She slips her glasses back on and turns to her computer screen. “Let me know your decision by Tuesday.”