Chapter 34
Chapter Thirty-Four
Danger, Zena, Trevin, and Johathan sat around the oak conference table, surrounded by half-empty water bottles and scattered lyric sheets.
They were drowning in music. Zena had spent the past year recording more than thirty-five tracks, and now came the brutal task of cutting that number down to a cohesive eighteen.
They had been going back and forth for more than two hours. Everyone had agreed and disagreed at least a dozen times.
“I just feel like we’re missing something structurally,” Johathan said, rubbing his temples and jotting a frustrated note on the legal pad in front of him.
“It’s almost as if we’re trying to force two completely different albums into one box,” Trevin added, gesturing vaguely with his pen. “All these tracks have different vibes. Half of them are sad, and the other half are—”
“That’s it! That’s exactly it!” Danger blurted, cutting Trevin off.
The room fell quiet. Everyone turned their heads toward the head of the table, where Danger sat, his eyes wide with clarity.
“What if we are working on two different albums?” Danger asked, leaning forward, his hands flat on the table. “What if we stop trying to blend oil and water and instead split the experience?”
“An A-side and a B-side.” Zena finished his sentence, the realization hitting her a split second after it hit him.
Danger flashed her a brilliant smile straight on. “Exactly.”
This was one of the many reasons he was drawn to her. Beyond the bedroom and the cabin trip, they were utterly in sync creatively. She caught his wavelength before he even finished broadcasting it.
Trevin darted his eyes back and forth between them, sensing the electric current crackling across the table. “Alright, can someone break that down for the rest of the class?”
“Think back to Pac’s All Eyez on Me,” Danger explained, turning to Trevin.
“It’s a double album, but we play it smarter by structuring it as a sonic journey.
The A-side dissects the wreckage, the toxic, destructive side of love that destroys you.
The B-side then chronicles the rebirth, the positive, healing side of love. ”
Zena watched him in awe. This was Danger in his true element, a visionary.
“Great. That’s brilliant and all,” Johathan interjected, his tone laced with irritation as he tapped his watch.
“But what the hell are we supposed to call this new project? These last-minute conceptual overhauls are unheard of, Danger. Marketing needs a title yesterday, or this will push the rollout back by months.”
“Well,” Trevin spoke up, trying to ease the tension. “If we view the track list as a whole narrative arc, what’s the core message?”
Instead of answering out loud, Zena shot up from her chair. Fueled by a sudden surge of adrenaline, she marched to the pristine white glass whiteboard on the far wall. She snatched a black dry-erase marker and drew a long line down the center of the glass.
For the next three minutes, the room was silent except for the squeak of the marker as she cataloged her songs, dividing them into two armies.
“The A-side starts with ‘Wonder Girl’ and bleeds all the way down to the rock-bottom track, ‘Still A Rose,’” Zena said, her voice vibrating with excitement. She capped the marker with a snap. “We call that half: Death of a Lover Girl.”
She stepped to the right of the black line. “Then we flip the record. The B-side initiates the healing. It kicks off with ‘Dangerous Heart’ and ends with...” She paused, tapping the plastic marker cap against her lower lip as she scanned the remaining titles.
“End it with ‘Amour’,” Johathan offered quietly. “It anchors the resolution.”
Everyone nodded in a unified agreement.
“I still need a main title, though,” Zena said, turning on the ball of her heel and resting her hands on the edge of the conference table, looking at the men. “The umbrella that holds both worlds together.”
“Hopeless Romantic,” Danger said. The words rolled off his tongue as smooth as butter. His eyes found hers with a double meaning only she would truly understand.
Trevin leaned back in his leather chair, a slow smirk spreading across his face as he looked between the two.
"Hopeless Romantic," Trevin repeated, letting the words bounce around the room. He let out a low whistle. "Yeah. That’s the hook. It gives the executives the radio-friendly branding they want, but it gives fans the truth they need.”
"It's risky," Johathan grumbled, already typing furiously on his phone to revise the promotional rollout notes.
"Double albums mean higher vinyl pressing costs.
We're talking about gatefold jackets, two master discs, and double the clearing fees for samples.
" He looked up, pointing his pen at Danger.
"If this flops, Danger, it doesn't just hurt Zena.
It leaves a deficit on the label's balance sheet. "
Danger didn’t even blink. He didn't look at Johathan. His eyes remained fixed on Zena, who was still standing by the whiteboard. Her cheeks flushed with excitement over the breakthrough.
"It won't flop," Danger said. "The music is undeniable. We aren't giving them filler tracks to pad the runtime. We're giving them art. Clear the budget, Johathan. I'll personally authorize the overage from the label's reserve account."
Johathan stared at him for a tense second, realizing Danger was immovable on Zena's vision.
"Fine. It's your funeral if the numbers don't add up.
I'll get legal to update the metadata production sheets.
" Johathan grabbed his tablet and stood, nodding at Trevin.
"Come on, Trevin. Let's give the design team a heart attack over the new packaging layout. "
"I'm right behind you," Trevin said, gathering his notepad. As he passed Danger, he leaned in and whispered, "Brilliant call, boss man. Seriously."
The glass door shut, leaving Danger and Zena alone in the sudden silence of the room.
Zena let out a breath she felt she’d been holding for two hours, her shoulders dropping as she leaned back against the whiteboard. The black marker lines framed her like a piece of art.
Danger slowly stood from the head of the table. His eyes were fixed on her as he closed the distance between them.
"Death of a Lover Girl?" Danger asked, a low, private smile playing on his lips as he stopped just inches away from her. The scent of his cologne enveloped her. "That's an interesting title for an A-side."
"It's an interesting feeling," Zena whispered, her heart doing that familiar, chaotic flip-flop it always did when he got too close in a professional space. She looked up at him through her lashes. "But we need death in order to have the rebirth happen.”
Danger reached out, his hand sliding against the glass whiteboard right next to her shoulder, trapping her between his arm and the wall. He leaned in close, his breath warm against her ear, bringing back vivid flashes of the candle-lit bathroom and the rain-soaked grass.
"You're a genius, you know that?" He murmured, his baritone voice vibrating right through her. "Every time I think I have you figured out, you rewrite the whole damn script."
"I have a good teacher," Zena said, her hands instinctively finding the lapels of his grey suit jacket. "You looked good out there today. Managing the team. Protecting me. I know you had something to do with that leaked video with Xavier.”
"I told you before," Danger said, tilting her chin up with his free hand as his thumb brushed her lower lip. His eyes softened, the boss energy melting away. "I protect my assets. And I protect my family. You're both."
He gave her a quick peck on the lips before reluctantly stepping back as the faint sound of footsteps approached the conference room door.
"Go get some rest," Danger said, reverting to his smooth, professional demeanor just as the doorknob turned. "Monday morning, we start mixing the master tracks. We're about to change the world, Lover Girl."
Danger pulled into the Whole Foods parking lot and killed the engine just as his phone buzzed in the console. He swiped the screen and put it to his ear.
“Yeah.”
“Is this Danger?” An unfamiliar voice said on the other end of the phone.
“Speaking.”
“My name is Christian. I just took over operations at my dad’s pawn shop, and I’m going through some old backlogs. I have a note here that you were looking for a specific item.”
Danger’s grip tightened the steering wheel. He sat up, his eyes fixed on the windshield. “That was years ago.”
“I know, man. I’m sorry,” Christian said. “My dad didn’t know; he wasn’t great with keeping up with everything, and things got buried. I’m just now cleaning out his desk. There’s a sticky note with your number on it regarding a pink ring. You still looking for it?”
He had received closure on this situation. So why was it coming back up? Havoc killed the man who was responsible for that night. So why is this ring just now turning up?
“Where are you located?” Danger asked.
“In Raleigh.”
Why would the ring be all the way down there?
“Can you tell me who brought it in?”
He heard ruffling, then a few seconds later, Christian spoke into the phone. “C. Fitz or something like that.”
It wasn’t adding up.
“You got a copy of their ID?”
“We don’t really take ID here… Do you want the ring or not?” Christian's voice grew impatient.
“Yeah, I take it. Send me an invoice and ship it. One last question. Do y’all still have security footage from that day?”
“More than likely. My dad had an old school setup; he has tapes that go back to the 2000s.”
“Send me the footage from that day, along with the ring; add that to the invoice.”
“Sure thing.”
They disconnect the call.
He wasn’t sure what would come of this, but at the very least he would have his mother’s ring back.