Chapter 21 #2
I smile despite the nerves still fluttering around. “Okay. Let’s go see LA.”
The waiting area outside the conference room has uncomfortable-looking modern furniture and walls covered in platinum records. Framed magazine covers featuring artists I’ve never heard of. Which is doing absolutely nothing for my confidence right now.
Somewhere downstairs in the lobby, Jack is waiting for me.
I’d told him this morning he didn’t need to come, that he should stay at the hotel and relax by the pool or explore or literally do anything besides sit in a lobby for however long this meeting takes.
But he’d insisted. Said he wanted to be there the second I got out.
I was secretly thrilled when he said that. Relieved, even. Because as much as I tried to sound like I had this handled, I definitely want him there the second I walk out of this room.
Yesterday was perfect. We spent the afternoon exploring LA after we arrived, and it reminded me of traveling with him in Miami.
How easy it felt, how natural. Like we’ve been doing this for years.
But today the pressure is back, sitting on my shoulders like something physical and heavy, making it hard to breathe properly.
Maya appears from around the corner, looking effortlessly put-together in that LA way, wearing expensive jeans and a sharp blazer.
“Lark, good to see you,” she says with a quick handshake. “How was your flight? Hotel working out okay?”
“The flight was good, and the hotel is amazing. Thank you again for arranging everything,” I say, trying to project confidence I absolutely don’t feel.
“Of course, we’re glad to hear that. We’re ready for you when you are.” She gestures toward a hallway. “Everyone’s looking forward to talking with you.”
The building itself is exactly what you’d expect from a successful label.
Glass conference rooms where people are having important-looking meetings.
Music playing faintly somewhere. People moving around with that purposeful creative energy that makes me feel both excited and completely out of my depth.
I follow her down the hall, past more platinum records and framed photos of artists at award shows.
I take a deep breath, trying to be discreet about it.
This is like stage fright except instead of forgetting lyrics I might accidentally agree to sign away my soul.
Is there such a thing as meeting-fright?
Maya opens a door to a conference room where two people are already waiting around a long table. They look up when I enter, smiling in that friendly professional way that could mean anything.
“This is Lark Reyes,” Maya says, and I force myself to smile back as she does quick introductions.
David is head of A&R, late forties with graying hair, and Sadie is the marketing director.
They’re both welcoming, asking about the hotel and whether I’ve had a chance to explore the city.
Standard small talk that should put me at ease but mostly just makes me hyperaware of how much is riding on this meeting.
We all sit around the conference table and someone offers me coffee, which I accept even though I’m already jittery with nerves. At least it gives my hands something to do.
“So Lark,” David starts, leaning back in his chair. “We’ve been following your work for a while now. Your streaming numbers are really impressive for an independent artist.”
“Thank you,” I say, taking a sip of my coffee.
“But what really caught our attention is your songwriting,” Sadie adds, leaning forward. “That emotional honesty, that vulnerability. The way you take really specific personal experiences and make them feel universal. That’s what connects with people.”
Okay. This is good. They’re complimenting me. This is going well.
“Your demographic is perfect too,” Sadie continues. “Young women primarily, but you’re crossing over into the broader market. And your look is great. Authentic, relatable, not overly produced. That authenticity is really valuable.”
There’s something in the way she says it that makes me slightly uncomfortable, like I’m a product being assessed rather than an artist, rather than a person, but I push the feeling aside.
“We’d love to hear more about your creative process,” David says. “How you approach songwriting, what influences you draw from.”
I talk for a while about how I write, about processing emotions through music, about the artists who’ve influenced me. They’re all nodding along, asking good questions, seeming interested.
“That’s wonderful,” David says once I finish. “Really. Your core talent is undeniable. We’re definitely interested in moving forward.”
My heart jumps. “Really?”
“Absolutely,” David says, and then he exchanges a look with Sadie that I can’t quite read. “Your talent is there, but we have a few thoughts about direction. Ways we could maximize your potential and really break you into the mainstream market.”
And there it is. The but.
“Okay,” I say slowly, trying to keep my voice open and receptive even though my stomach is already starting to sink. “I’m definitely open to feedback.”
“So your current sound is great,” Sadie says, leaning forward slightly with her hands clasped on the table. “Very authentic, very you. But we think there’s room to make it bigger. More commercially viable.”
“What does that mean exactly?” I ask, my fingers tightening slightly on my coffee cup.
“Production value, mainly,” Maya jumps in, her tone matter-of-fact and businesslike. “We need to beef it up significantly. Bigger production, layered vocals, polish the sound, bring in some top producers and DJs for remixes. Create tracks that can cross over to pop radio and dance floors.”
I’m nodding along, trying to process what they’re saying. Bigger production. Commercial appeal. These are good things, right? These are the things that actually make careers happen, that turn artists into household names.
“And your lyrics are beautiful,” Maya continues, and something in her tone makes me brace for impact.
“Really poetic, layered with meaning. But sometimes they’re a little too complex for mainstream audiences.
We might want to simplify some of that imagery, make it more immediate and accessible.
More people can connect with simple, direct emotions than intricate metaphors. ”
“Simplify my lyrics,” I repeat, and the words feel strange in my mouth.
“You know, nothing big, just make them more universally accessible,” Sadie says quickly, like she can sense my hesitation creeping in.
“You’re so talented at creating these intricate lyrical landscapes.
But sometimes that complexity can alienate casual listeners who just want something simple they can sing along to in the car without having to think too hard about what it means. ”
“We’re not trying to change who you are as an artist,” David says, his voice warm and reassuring like he’s telling me something for my own good.
“We’re just trying to help you reach your full commercial potential.
This is how the industry works. You take the raw talent and you shape it, polish it, package it for mass consumption.
That’s what we do here. That’s what we’re good at. ”
I nod, taking a sip of my coffee. It tastes bitter on my tongue. Or maybe that’s just how this conversation tastes now.
They keep talking. Words washing over me in waves that I’m struggling to process.
Producers they want to bring in who have worked with major pop stars whose names I recognize from radio.
Songwriters they could pair me with to “strengthen the commercial hooks” and “modernize the sound.” Marketing strategies for a more mainstream image.
Photo shoots and styling sessions and social media campaigns designed to maximize engagement.
And I’m nodding along, saying things like “that makes sense” and “I’m open to collaboration,” because this is the opportunity, right?
This is what I’ve been working toward for years.
You don’t say no to a major label, especially not when they’re talking about investing real money in you, believing in your potential enough to fly you out here.
But it feels wrong. Off. Like they’re describing someone else’s music, not mine.
“We also think bringing in some co-writers would be beneficial,” Sadie says, pulling up something on her tablet. “Plus we’d want to work with a stylist. Develop your visual brand. It’s not just about the music anymore, it’s about the whole package. The aesthetic, the story, the lifestyle.”
The whole package. Like I’m a product on a shelf, not a person who writes songs because they mean something to me.
“One other thing worth mentioning,” David continues, “is that we have partnerships with several major sports organizations. We handle a lot of the entertainment booking for events—NBA playoffs, NHL championships, major tennis tournaments, college football bowls. We’re always looking for emerging artists to feature at these high-profile events. Huge exposure opportunities.”
“One of our bigger partnerships is with Formula One,” Sadie adds casually.
“We supply the entertainment contracts for all the US races. Each event features a showcase of new artists we’re developing—it’s incredible exposure.
The Las Vegas race in November, for example, has a massive pre-race concert.
Hundreds of thousands of people, huge media coverage.
That’s the kind of platform we can offer our artists. Offer you.”
She says it matter-of-factly, like it’s just one of many opportunities they’re listing, not specifically about Jack. Just part of their roster of partnerships.
“So those are our initial thoughts,” David says, sitting back. “Obviously there’s a lot more to discuss if we move forward. Contract terms, recording schedules, marketing budgets. But we wanted to give you a sense of our vision for how we’d develop your career.”