53. Coffee #2
“Remember that, angelo mio.”
// DEVIL IN A NEW DRESS — KANYE WEST //
He returns the black blazer to the closet, trades it for a leather blazer, lays it next to a mini skirt and camel sweater.
“This is you,” he says. “Fiercely you.”
His eyes lift to me.
“You’re not playing the part of CEO,
“Sonny. You are the CEO.
“You are the voice of the artists.
“You are the songwriter.
“You are the music.
“You are the fuckin’ label.
“It was born on the foundation of you,
“never forget that.”
He doesn’t blink, like—
I believe it, your dad believed it,
so you have to believe it.
And water starts to pool in my eyes.
I don’t know what to do or say.
So I stand and drop the towel.
Andrew’s heavy gaze drags down,
and he swallows thick.
“If this meetin’ wasn’t so important to you, I’d be on my knees, fuckin’ you with my tongue so deep,
“so slow,
“so fuckin’ filthy,
“you’d be shovin’ a ring down my throat.” His eyes crawl back to mine.
I slide my panties on.
“Rain check with Pussy-drunk Drew?”
“With Allison-drunk Drew,” he corrects.
“Yeah? Obsessed?”
He lifts his chin with a smirk.
“Two-four-seven-three-six-five.”
“Cute.”
He tosses me my bra.
“Now get dressed faster.
“You got my mouth waterin’.”
// COFFEE — MIGUEL //
For the last ten minutes, Andrew lays out the most important details, step by step.
How Raymond will convince the board,
how to counter it.
It’s like he can see every direction the meeting could go then has a way for me to win from every angle.
“Listen,
“them boardroom motherfuckers?
“They see fast money.
“They’re lookin’ for immediate payoff.
“You gotta be thinkin’ five years ahead.”
He slides my laptop across the table
and opens it.
“Type in your password.”
I freeze. A moment of hesitation.
Then I breathe out and lean over him,
typing it in.
He presses his tongue into his cheek.
Tries to hold back what he wants to say.
But can’t, and he lifts his hand. “Yo—why’s your password fuckandrew?”
I deliver a dead glare for peeking.
“'Cause it fits whatever mood I’m in.”
He laughs quick under his breath,
bringing the laptop closer to him.
“Aight. So, quick profit means jack shit if the audience stops believin’ in Callista after.
You gotta make ‘em understand there’s a difference between revenue and reputation.
One takes a quarter to build. The other takes years.
And you’re showin’ the difference in their language—with numbers, not feelings. ”
He clicks into Callista’s streaming data,
merch conversion, tour sales.
“Here’s your baseline.
“This is what she’s pullin’ right now.
“So now we figure impact.”
He taps the kitchen table,
thinking,
thinking—
got it.
“You take engagement dips tied to past controversy cycles, right? Even small ones. You apply that to her core audience. If trust drops even ten to fifteen percent, you’re not only losin’ listeners, you’re losin’ repeat buyers. That’s where shit sinks faster.”
He keeps going and I’m lookin’ at him, shocked. I’m not even listening anymore. My brain's just got a boner.
Who the fuck are you, Andrew Harding?
“We also pull comparable artists who had credibility hits. The board needs to see the proof. So, now it’s not ‘she might lose fans.’ It’s ‘here’s the decline in revenue after she does.’”
He spins the laptop so I can see.
I look from his profile
down to the screen.
He falls back in the chair,
takes off his glasses,
looks up at me,
tracing the temple tip across his bottom lip. “Looks real stupid now, don’t it?”
We’re not talking thousands in loss.
We’re talking millions.
Next thing I know he’s sliding me a coffee to-go into my hand. “You’re not choosin’ between three million and nothin’. You’re choosin’ between three mil now, and a ten-to-twenty-five mil loss in less than a year.”
He pulls me in closer,
eyes steady on mine.
“You’re gonna show ‘em how stupid Raymond looks for entertainin’ this deal, and how it shoulda never been brought to the table, wastin’ everyone’s time in the first place. Aight?”
He kisses my forehead.
Grins.
“Now go kill it.”
// 10:48 AM - SOUNDWAVE RECORDS - MIDTOWN, NYC //
Andrew
Turn that room upside down.
This shit's easy. You can handle it.
I click off my phone with a smile.
The room’s so cold my muscles hurt from fighting back the shivers, but Andrew’s fire is still burning inside me.
The table stretches long, filled with faces that are more obstacles than allies.
Raymond’s at the head, cocky, talking as if he’s got the deal in the bag.
“Look,” he says, flipping through the papers, “three million, guaranteed. And that’s only the beginning.
This deal will boost the label’s profile, keep us ahead of the competition, fill the gaps in our bottom line.
Not to mention, we could leverage this to launch more big campaigns for our artists… ”
I wait until he delivers his most important point, then pretend to tune him out, glancing over at the clock with a hum.
When my eyes slide back to Raymond,
they catch onto Gerald.
Andrew was right.
They’re watching me.
“We can’t afford to miss this opportunity,” Raymond hesitates, confusion crossing his eyes when he looks at me. Then he narrows his gaze with the look that says, ‘Just nod and let this happen,’ as he continues, “This company has the exposure we need.”
The board members’ attention is tunneled in on Raymond. Some of them are nodding, dollar signs in their eyes.
And I’ve heard enough.
“I can’t let this go on any longer,” I say, glancing at the clock and straightening my spine. “The answer’s obviously no. I can’t approve this.”
The room goes silent.
‘Cause I literally just fucking said that.
My head’s screaming—
Oh, shit.
Here we go.
All their eyes snap to me.
“You can’t approve this?” Raymond repeats.
“That’s right,” I say. “The numbers are not even close to making sense. The gap is so wide, it’d be fiscally irresponsible.”
Fuck. Don’t know if I used fiscally right,
but I keep going as if I did.
“Your reasoning ignores the long-term damage—” he says, but I interrupt fast, “I’m not done, Raymond. We’ve heard your take. I’ll tell you when I’m finished.”
Haha.
What the fuuuhck.
My gaze slides off a stupefied Raymond,
and floats across the room,
sweat sliding down my spine as I start with the importance of Callista’s brand, her message, her loyal fanbase.
Meanwhile,
the board’s waiting for me to slip,
to crumble,
to back down.
But not today.
Andrew’s voice is still in my head—
You got this, baby. Keep going.
And I do.
I fucking do.
“You’re being idealistic, sweetheart,” Raymond says, dismissive, but I don't react. And it’s getting to him.
His middle finger’s frustrated, tapping the table.
“This is a business. We’re here to make money, not be moral crusaders.
We’re not asking Callista to become the face of Clementine’s Reserve.
We’re licensing a fuckin’ song, not endorsing the product. There’s no conflict of interest.”
Then he’s standing, as if to intimidate me. “This deal is the kind of lifeline we need. We need the cash now, not later—”
“Lemme stop you right there,” I say, my gaze unflinching. Raymond laughs under his breath in disbelief. “I’m being realistic, Raymond. And the loss from this? Not funny if we look at the real numbers.”
Then for five minutes,
I lay out the hard truth.
How much we’ll lose.
How much we’ll risk.
How much other comparable artists have lost before us.
The ability to physically feel the change in the room is staggering—the tension stacking, like they were ready to pack their shit and go, and now they’re embarrassed for even considering.
“But while we’re here,” I point at Raymond, “and I’m glad you brought up the part about needing cash.
Thanks for pointing that out,” I add casually.
“We have three artists on our roster who haven’t been paid in over six months.
There’s no excuse for that. Money’s leavin’ faster than it’s comin’ in, with no explanation. ”
Raymond studies their surprised expressions. “My point,” he interjects. “Three million would sure be a fuckin’ start to fix things.”
“Sure,” I shrug, “three mil sounds great right now, but only desperation acts on fast cash without thinkin’ about the consequences.
And how desperate do we look sellin’ out to the first offer on this song, one that goes against everything Callista stands for?
We need to take a step back, handle our business first. The last thing we’re doing is bringing in a seven-figure paycheck only for that to disappear too. ”
I can see the panic in Raymond’s head, trying to figure out how to maneuver his way out of this.
But I don’t let him—“Clementine’s license is off the table.
No question. We need to address the bigger issues and open an internal investigation.
I want to know exactly where every cent is going.
If we don’t start taking care of the artists we have and laying a stronger foundation, brand deals only slap Band-Aids on bullet holes. A temporary fix.”
I turn to him.
“What’s your plan the next time we’re bleeding out? Throw another artist under the bus?”
I let the words hover in the air.
But they drop like bombs.
Raymond shakes his head slow
with an I-can’t-believe-this-bitch smile.
Like this is something I’ll soon pay for.
He laughs lightly when he says, “You have any idea how much an internal investigation will cost us?”
As if I’m idiotic for even bringing it up.
I lean in slow, palms flat on the table. “You have any idea how much no investigation is costing us right now?”
His brows raise, breath held.
Yeah, I'm definitely gonna pay for this.
To my left,
Gerald turns to another member,
says something so low I can’t hear.