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.”
Chapter Thirty-Three
Colt
Something’s off with Alexis after she gets back from her latest meeting with Delores. But she won’t tell me what. She smiles and acts like everything is normal, but she’s not nearly as excited as I expected her to be when she tells me about the contract offers.
And even though I secretly want her to turn them both down and commit to going indie with me, I don’t ever voice that. Instead, I make us a delicious meal to celebrate—steak and pan-fried vegetables, with her favorite wine, and brownie sundaes for dessert.
“I won’t be upset about you taking either contract, you know,” I tell her quietly as she finishes her dinner.
She freezes with a bite of carrot halfway in her mouth. Slowly, she closes her lips around her fork and pulls the vegetable into her mouth in a move so unconsciously sexy that I can’t wait for the rest of my celebration plans. Eyes on her plate, she doesn’t say anything until after she’s swallowed. “Thanks. I know we said—“
“Alexis,” I cut in, “this is an amazing opportunity. If it were me, I’d want to see where it goes. I’m happy supporting you and continuing my own career. You getting a contract doesn’t change anything between us, though.” I reach across the table and cover her free hand with mine. She flips her hand over, her fingers gripping me surprisingly hard, like she’s clinging to a lifeline in stormy seas. My brows furrow, and I give her a questioning look, but she doesn’t say anything. “I’d still love your help choosing songs, though,” I tell her. “And I wouldn’t object if you wrote more for me too.”
She gives me a smile that almost doesn’t seem forced. “Of course,” she says. “I love helping you.”
That at least sounds genuine. And I hope that maybe that’s why she hasn’t been as excited as she should be. That she was worried I’d be upset. Now that I’ve reassured her that I’m not, maybe she can settle into the thrill of choosing between two contract offers.
And even though we spend the rest of the night in our favorite way and everything works right when we’re naked, during the day, she’s more reserved. And she’s writing more songs, even though she has a whole album’s worth all ready to go.
Maybe the contracts stipulate that she can’t use anything that we’ve been performing? Or maybe she just feels the need to make herself more impressive?
She didn’t say anything about making a counteroffer, but maybe this has to do with that? I know one offer was only for one album, so maybe she’s trying to get a jump on another one to show them she’s good for a better deal since that one offered more money?
I don’t know, and she’s not letting me into what she’s thinking. All she’ll say is, “I’m still weighing all my options,”
