CHAPTER FIFTY-SEVEN
Cassie
“… and this would start the week after Wagon Wheel if you approve. It’s what I’ve been able to line up.”
We’re in Dax’s office in Nashville a few days before I leave for Wagon Wheel. I take the folder he hands me; it’s filled with proposed dates and cities. I’m confused, but he’s wearing an excited expression.
“I know you wanted to only commit to thirty shows over the summer, but getting asked to tour with Nate Simon’s band is huge.”
I flip the page and take in all the proposed dates.
“But I told you, Dax. I’m writing a lot for the first time in two years. I want to focus on that. I want you to start approaching artists to use my songs. You said you could act as my publisher.”
I can feel anxiety creeping up my throat just talking about this with him. I force myself to breathe. To tell myself I am in control here.
“I thought you understood that I wanted to finish out the dates I’m already committed to, which means Wagon Wheel and a few shows on the festival circuit. You said you would let me pick and choose. Or have you already forgotten that?”
Dax takes a sip of his sparkling water and leans back in his chair. “That was before you got back onstage. You’re doing so well, Cassie, and you’re gaining such a following.”
My brow creases. “But you knew music was only ever a means for me to write.”
“But performing your own music yields more. It gets you out there.”
And there it is.
“I don’t need more. I’m quite comfortable with the record streaming and selling the way it is. I also want to live.” And go to Kentucky, kiss my cowboy and see my family.
Dax rubs his temples and closes his eyes. “When the hell did you get so difficult?”
“Excuse me—?”
“You used to just do whatever was best for your career. But now it seems you’re intent on doing what’s best for that fucking cowboy you look so sullen over most of the time.”
“This has nothing to do with Haden.” I slap the folder down on the table.
“This has everything to do with you treating me like I’m a puppet for hire.
You have no idea what it’s like to do these shows night after night, city after city.
It’s the highest of highs and the lowest of lows.
This is a forty-something city tour when you combine both of your proposed itineraries.
I’ll be traveling non-stop and in a different city every other day.
And I am tired, Dax. You’re supposed to guide me, not control me. ”
My voice is getting louder as I speak, but so is his. “You’ve fucking changed, Cassie. It’s just like these last two songs Ned is telling me he wants to put on your album. They aren’t your norm. They’ll never get plays on social media, or airtime.”
I blink back in astonishment. “But they’re … really fucking good.”
“Good doesn’t sell, sweetheart.”
I lean back in my chair as I let his words sink in.
All his groveling on the phone that day, telling me he was sorry.
It was all bullshit. He just wanted to get me back on the road and figured, once he did, he’d own me again.
Fiona was right. Every single thing she said to me in the hospital was true.
Some managers only care about their bottom line.
I look back up at Dax, never seeing him more clearly than I do right now.
“I’ll think about it. Right now, I’m late for rehearsal.” I stand and make my way toward the door.
“You’re making the right choice, Cassie,” he adds, his tone gentler now that he thinks I’m on board with his schedule.
I nod over my shoulder as I leave his office.
Once I’m outside, I lean on the wall and feel the tears fill my eyes.
I want to march back in there and tell Dax to go fuck himself, and that I’m done with him the second I step foot off the Wagon Wheel stage.
But I didn’t get this far in my career by being impulsive.
I need to take a beat and get my ducks in a row.
I need to make sure I owe him nothing, and I’ve got to get through my show this weekend.
But one thing is certain: I need a good plan—and for that, I know just who to call.
“At least you’re protected,” my lawyer, Tom Shanks, says as he sits across from me at my small kitchen table in my apartment in Nashville.
This is only the second time I’ve been here in months.
Its cozy and clean and overlooks downtown.
At one time, I loved it. Now, it just feels empty and sad, but it’s where I’ve sat over the last two days talking with Dr. Payler.
We hashed out all my feelings over two long sessions.
She was adamant that I search my heart about where this performing path is taking me, why I’m doing it and why I might want out.
The end result has been Tom giving me those ways out.
Because I need them. I need to follow my instincts, and putting everyone else first—including Dax—is just my way of people-pleasing.
I’m learning from Dr. Payler that people-pleasing can be a form of self-sabotage, and it’s time to break the cycle.
“Since you’re an independent artist, you decide who you hire and fire.
Where the money is concerned, I see nothing here out of the ordinary.
Dax just isn’t the type of manager you want for your career now.
You’ve done well for yourself, Cassie, over the last few years.
You have some financial freedom now to pursue anything that interests you. Which includes writing.”
I look down into my lap. “Dax seemed to have my best interests at heart in the beginning, but now it feels as though everything has gone to his head. Like he’ll stop at nothing to squeeze every last drop of money from me—to pimp me out to the music industry.”
Tom is an older man in his sixties and is very serious and proper. So when I see the hint of a smile playing on his lips, it takes me by surprise.
“Well, that’s where I come in. We don’t need anyone pimping you out.” He uses air quotes, which makes me laugh, as he leans back in his chair.
“You can’t go unrepresented though, not now. You’re a moving machine in this industry. You need people—” He’s interrupted by a knock on the front door.
“Hold that thought,” I tell him as I stand to answer it.
“Sorry I’m late. There was an accident on Highway 40,” Fiona says as I usher her inside. “You look great.” She smiles at me warmly.
“Thank you,” I reply.
“Fiona Teller.” She extends a hand to Tom as he stands to greet her.
She rushed here for me after a two-hour-long phone call the other day.
The phone call that started with her asking me how I was: how my therapy was going, how I was sleeping, etc.
All things Dax would never dream of bringing up with me.
If it doesn’t pertain to him earning money from me, it doesn’t get asked.
We discussed the standard things she does as a manager for Evan and the other artists she represents. Her approach felt foreign to me after sticking it out with Dax for the last two years.
For example, Fiona only manages three to four clients at once.
She only books Evan the shows he wants, and never makes cold calls to prebook without his knowledge.
She makes sure the other artists he plays with vibe with his style of music and, in turn, help grow his popularity.
Her clients have healthy meals when they’re on the road and she makes sure to factor downtime into their schedules.
Real downtime. Plus, she charges five percent less commission than Dax.
I’ve never made an easier choice. I’ve wanted to talk to Haden about this more than anything, but I knew I had to do this all on my own, with no outside influences.
Now, after introductions have been made, Fiona, Tom and I sit down around the table.
“I’d like to hire Ms. Teller to represent me as my music publisher with her firm Harper-Colburn. As far as I know, Dax is on a yearly managerial contract with a guaranteed commitment of two years. Those two years expired in February, and we haven’t renewed that contract.”
“Yes, that’s correct,” Tom notes, flipping through his pages. “I had a note here to follow up with you both in May if I hadn’t heard from you and ninety days had elapsed outside the contract.”
Thank you, universe, for timing.
“We’ll have to vet you, and your firm, to make sure there are no conflicts of interest of course,” Tom says to Fiona.
“Absolutely. I will act as Cassie’s music publisher but, given her established career, my firm is interested in bringing her on with the advance and proposed terms I just forwarded to your email,” Fiona says.
“I’ll also have my assistant forward you any documentation you need for vetting and, just so we’re clear, I want an open-ended contract with you, Cassie.
I don’t need a time commitment. I want you to stay with me and Harper-Colburn because you’re happy with the work we’re doing for you, not because you have to. ”
She faces Tom and continues. “If Cassie’s happy with it, I’d like to add an open clause in there that states that if for any reason she is unsatisfied or feels like this isn’t working out, we can go our separate ways after her initial commitment.
It protects us both. Her advance laid out there is for five songs.
I’ve already listened to Cassie’s rough recordings of them and am pleased to say that we have artists interested in licensing a few of them.
” Fiona turns to smile at me. “Cassie will be in charge of her own workload after those five songs. But my guess is that they’re all going to be hits when they find a home with whichever artist wants to sing the hell out of them. ”
I beam back at her. “I sure hope so.”
The rest of the meeting is spent discussing terms and conditions and, when everything has been finalized, and Tom stands to leave, I feel like I can finally breathe again. Fiona and I say our goodbyes to Tom, who promises to keep us posted. When he leaves, my new manager wraps an arm around me.
“I can’t wait to be the one to bring your dreams to fruition. The sky is the limit now, Cassie. Thank you for trusting me with this.” She checks her watch. “Now, I don’t have anywhere else to be for the rest of the night. Drinks and dinner? Let’s celebrate.”
I let this feeling of freedom engulf me. “Love to.”