There’s floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city, and the room looks like it belongs in an interior design magazine. There’s a bottle of champagne on ice with a handwritten note from Maya:Looking forward to our meeting tomorrow.
“Holy shit,” I breathe, walking over to the windows. The view is insane. You can see all the way to the Hollywood sign from here, those big white letters perched up in the hills like they’re surveying their kingdom. The city sprawls out below us, buildings and palm trees and hazy sunshine that makes everything look like a movie set.
“This is what they give artists they’re interested in?” I ask, turning to look at Jack who’s set down our bags and is watching me with an amused expression. “Like, is this standard?”
“They’re courting you,” he says, walking over to wrap his arms around my waist from behind. His chin rests on my shoulder and we both look out at the view. “Showing you what life could look like if you sign with them. The nice hotels, the good treatment, all of it.”
“It’s working,” I admit, leaning back against him. “I’m very courted. Extremely courted. If they showed me a walk-in closet right now I’d probably sign anything they put in front of me.”
“Don’t sign anything without reading it first,” he says, and I can hear the smile in his voice. “That’s how they get you. Fancy suites and promises of walk-in closets.”
“Too late,” I laugh. “I’ve already been seduced by the thread count on these sheets.”
He turns me around to face him, his hands still on my waist. “How are you doing? Real answer, not a jokey deflection.”
I consider giving him a joke anyway because it’s easier, but he’s looking at me with those green eyes that always seem to see more than I want them to, and I find myself being honest instead. “I’m nervous. The label party was one thing, casual, low pressure. But this is the real pitch meeting. What if I say the wrong thing? What if they decide I’m not what they’re looking for after all?”
“They already know what you’re capable of. They’ve heard your music, they met you in Seattle, and they liked you enough to fly you out here.” He tucks a strand of hair behind my ear. “Tomorrow is just about seeing if you’re a good fit with each other. And if they can’t see how great you are, then they’re idiots and not worth your time.”
“Okay,” I say, taking a deep breath. “You’re right. I can do this. It’s just a meeting.”
“Just a meeting,” he agrees, pulling me closer. “Now let’s go explore LA.”
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 asmeeting-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.”
