Page 64 of Dedicated
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I hada week of quietly torturing myself at home in Nashville before Byron called me in for a meeting, and when I walked into his office on Music Row and found not only him, but Levi and Kenny, our A&R guy from MGD, I knew something was up.
Blink had texted me the day before to tell me Les had checked into rehab, to which my only reply had been “about fucking time.” I didn’t regret firing Blink. I thought he was an enabler of the worst kind, and if Byron or MGD had something to say about that, fucking fine. But no one even mentioned Blink.
I walked into the conference room, and all three of them stood and came forward to shake my hand. Byron’s receptionist asked if I wanted anything to drink, and when I declined, everyone moved to sit again. Byron looked distinctly uneasy, which put me on edge.
“So we find ourselves in an interesting position, Evan,” Kenny said, cutting to the chase. “Byron tells us you’re not interested in continuing on as Porter & Graves, but you and Les have the next album written already, correct?”
“Yes.” I hadn’t planned ahead, which was a mistake, so my tactic was to say as little as possible and see what direction this meeting was going in.
“My thinking here is we proceed with the album and they record separately, if Evan is okay with that,” Byron said with a glance over at me. He and I had discussed this on the phone before, but I hadn’t been able to come to a final decision. And we hadn’t talked to Les about it yet. I thought we’d have more time. Les and I had always been in the studio together, and it almost shocked me how wrong it felt to hear Byron suggest otherwise. But I got it. It was a practical solution and would fulfill the contract in technical terms. It didn’t take into account touring after that, though, and I didn’t think releasing an album without a tour to promote it would fly with the label. I couldn’t imagine six months on a bus with Les right now.
“That’s certainly an option,” Kenny said. “I have another one for you to consider, as well.” He leaned forward, lacing his fingers on the conference table.
From the way Byron’s eyebrows shot up toward his hairline, this was news to him. My interest was more cautious.
Kenny continued. “In lieu of a fourth album from Porter & Graves, you fulfill your portion of the contract by delivering us a fresh album. In addition, we’d be highly interested in two additional albums after that. So essentially a three-album contract, for which we’re willing to offer—” Kenny held up his finger, withdrawing a folded paper from the breast pocket of his coat and sliding it across the table. It landed between me and Byron. I skimmed through far enough to find the numbers as Byron looked on. Then he pressed his lips together and looked over at me.
Six figures, within kissing distance of seven. It was more than I knew what to do with. I didn’t even know how to digest the amount.
I glanced up and met Kenny’s eyes as he smiled. “There’s a signing bonus included, which isn’t mentioned in that contract.”
“How much?” Byron asked, kicking back into business mode.
“A hundred K.”
Our career as Porter & Graves was good. I’d made enough to buy my own house, have a personal assistant, and pay off my mom’s mortgage, but this contract was… this was a nest egg for life, insurance that if I was smart with the money, there was never a chance I’d have to go back to scraping by. Ever. God, it was tempting. But there had to be a catch.
Kenny must have sensed my wariness. “You’re the powerhouse, Evan, the voice and the sound. And reliable. We’d really like to keep you. I’ve got artists and writers already falling all over themselves to work with you. One in particular I’d like to point you toward. I think you would both get along really well. She’s a writer and singer, too.” Just like Les, but he didn’t say that, seeming to want to avoid mention of Les altogether.
“Amanda Faulks,” Byron said immediately.
Kenny grinned. “Yes.”
“We’ll need time to talk about this.” Byron looked over at me to see if I had any input, but I wasn’t opening my mouth about that until I’d talked to him more in private.
“Of course. Take some time. And while you do, I’d love to set up a meeting between you and Amanda,” Kenny said, glancing at me.
“What about Les? He just gets discarded? His name is on the original contract, too.” I had a weird feeling in my stomach, some combination of butterflies and discomfort.
Kenny’s smile was less patient this time. “We’ll work that out with him ourselves and compensate him fairly.”
Why did I get the impression that it would be both less than fair and probably involve some strong-arming? Still, was that really my problem now, anyway?
“They’re wantingto make you and Amanda The Civil Wars, version 2.0,” Byron said, once everyone left.
“Obviously.” I chewed on my lower lip and shook my head. “I don’t even know her. They sort of made it sound like I could operate solo, too, though.”
“Yeah. But do you want to?”
“That’s how I started.” I wasn’t sure, though. The game had changed drastically since I’d woken up this morning, and it was hard for me to get a read on what my standing was.
“Amanda’s really good. The two of you would probably work really well together, like Kenny said. She’s driven.”
I knew of Amanda, and Byron was right. She was good. Better than good. She was up-and-coming and had stubbornly refused to ink any deals with major labels, so if MGD was dangling her in front of me, they must have done some ninja-level wooing.
I planted my elbows on the table and tugged at the roots of my hair, trying to make sense of the tangle of thoughts and emotions inside me. “I keep thinking about Les.”