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26
Austin
“Well, I was hoping we might have at least a small conversation,” my father says, calmly. “But I guess that’s how these things go.”
“She was the artist you were courting?” I ask him, still standing. The few people who have been witness to the entire argument resume their lunch. “Jade Barkley was who you were trying to sign? Why didn’t you tell me?”
“What for?” he asks. “I don’t tell you each and every artist we are trying to pry from their record companies.”
“Mr. Richards, I apologize for that,” Bret interjects. “But I’m still here. I just want to make sure my deal is still in place.”
“What the hell?” My jaw drops. “You just let her leave? What kind of dirtbag are you?”
“And who the hell are you?” he spits back. “Are you the guy she left me for? Let me give you a tip, she’s all business. That’s all she ever has time for.”
“I can’t believe you.”
“Austin, sit down,” my dad says. When I continue to stand, his eyes jump up to me, and then back at my seat. I’m flabbergasted about this entire thing and how it’s all blown up in my face. “Sit,” he orders again.
Unsure what else to do, I take a seat. “I can’t believe this,” I mutter to myself.
“Bret, I know what I promised you, but—”
“Mr. Richards, please,” Bret cuts my father off. “Look, you don’t have to put up any money. Please, just give our band a chance.”
“You have to look at this from my end, son. We’d have to bring in producers, artwork for the EP, not to mention touring costs.”
“We’ll do it,” Bret pleads. “We’ll do everything. I’ll book our own gigs, we’ll hire freelancers to make our artwork, everything. Sir, please. All we need is a chance. We need a place to make the record.”
I shake my head, listening to everything. This guy really is a piece of work. Not only for staying but now he’s basically about to sell his soul to my father for just the shot of making an album. Then again, who am I to talk? I never told Jade the truth.
“You have the masters to her demos,” Bret continues. “That’s gotta be worth something.”
I audibly scoff, earning an eye raise from him.
“We do,” my father agrees. “But I don’t even know what we have there. I don’t know if they’re manageable or if we can do anything with them.”
“But you have them. I helped you do that, sir. She would’ve never even signed that contract if it wasn’t for me. Please, sir. Please. We just need a chance.”
“You’re a piece of trash, you know that?” I tell Bret.
“Austin,” my dad chides me.
Folding my arms over my chest, I lean back in the chair. My father pulls out his phone from his suit pocket, checking the time. He gets up from the table, and Bret follows suit. I can’t bring myself to get up. My eyes stay on the two of them, as I watch my dad think over the deal and Bret waits anxiously, hoping for the best.
“Fine,” my dad says. “You did get that, so perhaps that does deserve something.”
“Thank you, sir! Thank you! You won’t regret this.”
My father chuckles an uninterested laugh. “That’s to be determined.” Reaching into his coat, he hands Bret a card. “That’s my assistant. Call his number, and he’ll set you and your band up with studio time. It won’t be much. And you’ll have to provide everything.” Sticking his hand out, Bret quickly takes it. “I wish you the best, son.”
“Thank you,” Bret repeats, following my father out of the restaurant.
All I can do is shake my head at the two of them. But my mind quickly floats to myself and how I royally screwed up everything.
