they probably shouldn’t have promised you that before I got in the room.”
Trey’s smile kinda faded. “I didn’t know it was an option to get you in the room.”
“Here I am.”
Brody shifted in his seat, like he was gonna say something, but didn’t.
“I need an album, Cary,” Trey informed me. “By December. That’s the deal. Beyond that… you’re gonna start running up a bill that the Players are gonna have to pay for. That kind of debt can drown a band before they even get their heads out of the water.” He looked over at Brody.
“You’ll have your album,” I said.
Trey looked at me again. “And you don’t even know what genre it is yet. It’s July, Cary.”
“Fuck genre.”
Brody cleared his throat. I didn’t bother looking over at him. I knew Brody Mason well enough to know he didn’t really care about this dance with Trey. We had contracts locked down, and he stood behind his talent. This was just a bunch of peacock strutting bullshit, dudes whipping out their dicks and rulers to size up who was the alpha in the room.
In terms of actual power in the music industry, Brody was the alpha in the room. Dirty was the hottest ticket in town, and they had been for at least the last five years. Everyone knew this. This whole conversation was probably amusing to him. I was surprised he hadn’t sent some underling to sit in on this meeting, but hey, he probably just couldn’t resist the opportunity to experience a rare Cary Clarke sighting in the wild.
Trey was still staring at me, sizing me up, though he looked mildly amused himself. Possibly just happy to see me here, no matter what came out of my mouth. We’d always been friendly.
Still, this was business, right? And I wasn’t naive about the reality that with a man like Trey, business always came first.
“How many albums have you played on, Trey?” I asked him. “Written? Produced?”
He sat back in his seat and studied me. “I don’t play anymore, brother. You know that.”
I just let those words hang in the air for a long moment to make sure he heard them.
“Let’s just let the album flow, yeah?” Brody spoke up. “The album will rock, Trey. Can we all agree on that?”
“Yeah. We can agree on that,” I said. Then I got to my feet, and I told Trey, “You’ll have your album, and it’ll probably even be on time. It’ll be a whatever-it-is album. And whatever it is, it’ll be brilliant. I can guarantee you that. I can’t guarantee you anything else other than that. Give us a chance to deliver on that, and we’ll deliver.”
Trey was silent, considering that.
“And by the way, if you’ve got any more notes on creative, of any kind, you can send them to Taylor. Your assistant has her email.”
Trey smiled, slowly. Then he got to his feet. “Sure, Cary. You work your magic, we won’t have a problem.” He offered me his hand. Yeah, he just ate that shit. In front of witnesses.
Which meant he was giving me one chance to deliver, and if I didn’t deliver the magic, his A&R monkeys would be so far up our asses, the members of the Players wouldn’t be taking a shit in that studio without his approval.
I shook his hand.
When I turned around, Taylor and Brody had stood up, too. I shook Brody’s hand.
“Take care, Cary,” he said, a glimmer of amusement in his eyes.
Then I headed the fuck out and Taylor followed. I’d had about all I could stand in that room.
When we headed back through the halls to the elevator, I noticed Brody stayed behind. Pretty solid chance they’d be talking about me, again, as soon as I left the room. Knowing it just made me want to get out of there faster.
We blew past the reception desk and got into an elevator. Taylor stole a couple of glances at me, but she didn’t say anything. As soon as the elevator doors closed, I realized I was holding my breath and forced myself to breathe again.
Four in. Hold four…
Taylor turned to me. “Am I allowed to say that was hot?”
“Fuck yes,” I breathed. I grabbed her velvet blazer and kissed her. Her body softened against mine, and she moaned as I thrust my tongue into her mouth. When I broke the kiss, I pressed my lips to her jaw, to her throat, and she clutched at my back.