The second round came harder.
The labels had seen the Power 106 clip by now. The freestyle had been cut up and shared everywhere and the numbers on the EP had kept climbing through the week, which meant everyone walking into those rooms knew they were competing. That changed the energy. The first round had been them presenting to me. This round felt more like a negotiation from the first handshake.
I sat across the table from Interscope with Franklin on one side and June on the other and let them open. They came in at 300k. I kept my face neutral. That was a real number. A year ago that would have been the whole conversation.
Franklin let the silence sit for about four seconds longer than comfortable, then said, "We appreciate the offer. Our client has significant competing interest at this stage. We'd need to see something that reflects where the streaming is trending, not where it was when you first reached out."
The label rep looked at his colleague. They went back and forth on the side of the table for a minute, quiet, the way people talk when they've already mapped the ceiling and are deciding how fast to get there.
They came back at 420k.
June leaned forward. She'd been quiet up until that point. "We're looking for a deal that reflects a long-term partnership, not just the first project. That means better royalty splits, a shorter initial term, and a hard out on the 360. If those pieces are in place, the number is easier to agree on."
The rep nodded slowly. "What number are we talking about?"
"Five hundred," June said. "With the structure we outlined."
Another side conversation. A phone came out. Someone typed something. Then: "We can do that."
Franklin wrote it down without reacting. I kept my hands flat on the table and thought about nothing.
* * *
Atlantic the next day came in already knowing what Interscope had offered. I didn't know how, but they knew. They opened at 450k, which told me everything. They were trying to leapfrog without asking what the number was.
Franklin let them finish their presentation, which was polished and thorough and included a whole slide about artist development that June told me afterward was mostly standard language they reused. Then he said, "We have a confirmed offer on the table that we're currently evaluating. To make Atlantic the conversation, we'd need to be at six hundred with the same structural provisions."
The Atlantic rep — older, had been in the industry longer than I'd been alive — didn't flinch. He looked at me directly and said, "You remind me of someone I signed fifteen years ago. He said no to us too. Biggest mistake of his career."
I looked back at him. "Then I'll make sure it isn't mine."
He smiled. The real kind. "Six hundred. We'll match the structure."
June made a note. We shook hands and left.
In the elevator Franklin said, "That was well handled."
"Thank you."
"I mean the whole room. Not just the last line."
* * *
Sony was the next day. I went in already knowing I was probably going to sign with them. I didn't tell June or Franklin that. You don't walk into a negotiation having already decided.
They had the same positives as the others: distribution, marketing infrastructure, promotion muscle, but their A&R team had actually listened to the EP and came in with specific notes. Not feedback, just observations. They knew which track was doing what on which platform and why. That told me they weren't just buying the buzz. They actually understood what they were signing.
Their opening offer was 550k.
June ran the same play. Structure first, number second. The Sony rep, a woman in her late thirties who had a quiet way of being the most important person in the room, listened to the full ask and then said, "Seven hundred. We want an album before summer. That's the timeline we need to make the campaign work."
Franklin looked at me. I looked at the rep.
"Eight to ten tracks," I said. "I don't do filler. Everything has a theme and a reason for being there. You'll have it before summer but the rollout is mine to design with your team's input, not the other way around."
She considered that. "Agreed. Seven hundred, album before summer, artist controls creative direction with label input on rollout."
"Then we have a deal," I said.
Franklin was already reaching for his pen.
* * *
I paid Franklin 30k. I paid June 70k. The label wired 700k to the LLC account that Savannah had set up.
I sat in the office alone for about ten minutes after confirming the wire.
Okay.
I had a list. Move the family out of East Highland. Get Rue help before anything else fell apart. Start on the album. Keep building the Tahoe. Don't let any of it make me someone I didn't recognize.
I folded the list up and put it in my pocket and drove home.
* * *
I knocked on Rue's door that evening.
She said come in. I opened the door and she was on her bed on her phone, the room dim, the same energy it always had now — low, contained, like she was trying to take up less space.
I sat next to her on the bed. Not at the desk, not across the room. Next to her.
She looked at me.
"Why do you do it?" I said. "Not the addiction part. I know about that. But underneath that, if you could describe it. What is it actually about?"
She didn't answer right away. She looked at the ceiling.
"I'm bored," she said finally.
"Bored."
"Like, all the time. Not bored like I need something to do. Bored like nothing feels like it matters. I wake up and there's nothing pulling me anywhere. There's no version of tomorrow I'm excited about. There's just right now, and right now is nothing, so I make right now feel like something."
I sat with that.
"Do you have anything you want?" I said. "Any version of your life you can see that you'd actually want to be in?"
She was quiet for a long time.
"No," she said. "I can't see it. I can only see right now. Like there's a wall where the future is supposed to be and I can't get past it."
"What do you like?" I said. "Not what are you good at. What do you actually like."
She thought about it. "Pretending."
"Pretending."
"Like when I was a kid. I used to make up whole other lives in my head. Different names, different places. I'd spend hours in them." She paused. "It sounds stupid."
"It doesn't." I looked at her. "Rue. That's acting."
She turned her head toward me slowly.
"I'll help you become an actress."
She stared at me for a second. Then she looked back at the ceiling. "I can't see that either."
"You don't have to see the whole thing. You just have to see the next step."
"Which is what?"
"Three clean months. That's it. Three months, you take the classes, you feel it out. If it's nothing, it's nothing and we figure something else out. But if it's something, then you've got the next step after that."
She was quiet.
"I'm not saying I'm going to fix everything," I said. "I'm saying give me three months and give yourself three months. That's all."
Rue looked at me for a long time. The room was still.
"Okay," she said. "I'll try."
"That's enough."
I sat there a little longer. Not talking. Just there. Then I got up and she didn't say anything and I closed the door behind me.
* * *
I walked down the hall and knocked on Gia's door.
"Yeah."
I opened it. She was at her desk doing homework, which surprised me. She looked up.
"What do you want to be?" I said.
She blinked. "What?"
"When you grow up. What do you want to be. Not what you think I want to hear. What do you actually want."
She turned in her chair and looked at me like she was trying to figure out what the right answer was. I waited.
"I don't know yet," she said.
"That's fine. Think about it. I'm going to ask you again."
"Why?"
"Because I need to know so I can help you get there."
She looked at me for a second with that face she got when she was trying not to show that something landed.
"Okay," she said, and turned back to her homework.
I went to my room and sat at my desk and looked at the blank Photoshop canvas I'd had open for a week.
Album. Eight to ten tracks. Theme. A reason for every song.
I started making notes.