Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 98652 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 493(@200wpm)___ 395(@250wpm)___ 329(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 98652 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 493(@200wpm)___ 395(@250wpm)___ 329(@300wpm)
The same way I was, once upon a time.
I force my lips into a smile. "What's the direction for the album?" It's not the most graceful reaction, but it's better than don't tell me you're writing with her too. I know he's working with the other woman. Why force him to say it?
"You know I love your voice," Frederick says. "But I need something different for this project. Something softer."
There it is. I'm too hard, too guarded, too difficult, too strong.
As a person, sure, whatever. If he wants to paint me as a bitch, I don't care.
But as a songwriter?
No fucking way. I can nail any voice, from Amy Winehouse's sultry self-destruction to Gwen Stefani's I want to take over the world but also get married and have kids pop perfection. I can write bubblegum confections for former Disney stars, love songs for sad boys, and breakup anthems for independent women.
Sure, I'm better with wit than naked emotion, but I can do naked emotion. I've done it before.
"Let's face it." Frederick studies my expression. He frowns, unhappy with my displeasure, but he barrels forward anyway. "We should have ended this a long time ago."
"You mean before or after you fucked someone else?" Shit. So much for playing it cool. I bite my tongue.
"Exactly." He nods, proud of himself for taking the high road. I guess the high road involves getting horizontal. "I hurt you, and I'm sorry. I understand why you can't forgive me."
I eat another bite of salad, so I won't say something else. This isn't the time or the place. And he isn't the person. Not anymore. He lost the access to my heart the minute he touched someone else.
"It's hard for me too." He drops his voice, as if, somehow, we are equally culpable in our professional breakup, as if he's the one who walked in on me balls deep in someone else, then ceded every part of our former life together except for our creative partnership. "We should have split after we finished our last project."
Probably, but I'm not giving up this gig. "I can do softer." I try to make my voice softer too. My posture. My language. I need this job. I need to get out of my parents' house (my crash pad since the breakup). I need the opportunity. "Whatever the album needs."
"Cass." His voice drops to an old tone. The boyfriend who loves me. But boyfriends who love you don't spend six months sleeping with someone else.
Love isn't the sugary confection it is in pop songs. It's a bunch of chemicals our brain releases to override our logical impulses. Say, letting go of a rent-controlled apartment to move in with a boyfriend.
Okay. Maybe the asshole has a point about my inability to access pleasant romantic feelings. But I don't need authentic romantic feelings. I can fake it.
"It's not just your voice," Frederick says. "Don't you remember the agreement? All the meetings with Bryce? The weekend at the producer's house?" The up-and-coming musician did insist on working together closely so we'd hit just the right note for his image. "Do you really want to spend three days locked in a room with me?"
No. Of course not. I don't ever want to see his traitorous face again. But I'm willing to stare at him for weeks if it means fifty percent of this deal.
As a songwriting team, we were on our way to bigger, better things. As a solo lyricist, I'm a nobody.
This is a major label project for a solo artist on track to be the next Harry Styles. That's a rare opportunity where a massive payday and a ton of exposure overlap with my writing style.
If I nail this album, I'll be the go-to lyricist collaborator for every up-and-coming artist who wants to project wit and intelligence, which means future jobs. Success. Proof I can do this on my own. Proof I can do this, period.
Frederick doesn't mention any of that. He doesn't even apologize for trying to steal the opportunity. "We signed a contract. You remember the terms." We can cancel the contract, without penalty, if we dissolve our partnership. "We can give the job to someone else. Or you can let me take it and keep ten percent of my share."
Ten percent of a lot is still a lot. And I need the money, I do. But I want the fifty percent I was promised and the reputation that comes with it. "If I don't agree with your terms, you'll get nothing."
For the first time in our meeting, Frederick frowns. I have the power to deny him, the same way he has the power to deny me. As far as he knows, I'm petty enough to do it.
After all, if I'm going down, I might as well take him with me.