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“Madi Banker isn’t gonna be able to fulfill that contract if something doesn’t change with her workload,” she says.
I frown, swiping my email open. Nothing in there on Maddy.
“Why?”
“I spoke to her, and she’s making progress on the album, but she’s crashing,” she says, voice tightening.
“Why’s that?” My forehead tightens in a familiar scowl.
I hear Marion’s footsteps, then a door shuts. “Her father is managing her,” she says, voice lowering. “He’s got her making a bunch of different appearances. The poor kid is already worn out.”
“Jesus,” I say.
Banker is a new acquisition to our agency. A young, very promising country star from Alabama who already had a lot of commercial success online. She signed with ITA last year, and we got her a record deal with Houston-Best, already signed, sealed, and delivered. I wasn’t entirely truthful with Coen back in Wyoming because this is my first-ever contract with them, and I want to figure it out without scrutiny. Coen is a little critical of Houston-Best because of some conflicts we had with them before they sold the company.
I have confidence in it—in myself. It’s a really fucking good contract. I would know; I was on the ground fighting for every line in every clause to make sure she wasn’t getting fucked over and everyone got their fair share. Honestly, I’m positive Madi is going to skyrocket the second that album drops. What I didn’t anticipate is her asshole of a father, Noah, trying to run her into the ground and make as much money as he can before she realizes she’s being used.
These situations are tough. It’s not the first time I’ve dealt with predatory parents for young talent.
“I can fly out and have a word with Noah,” I say.
“You might have to,” Marion says. “After Coen stepped back, we can’t afford to lose any more work.”
“Boy do I fucking know that.”
“So, fix this,” Marion says crisply. “If you need to take Noah out back and do a little threatening, do it. I didn’t see a thing.”
“Can I have two days? I have something happening here.”
“Oh?”
“It’s personal.”
That gives her pause. “Personal? You don’t do personal.”
She says it lightly, but beneath it, I hear what she means. Jamie Iron doesn’t do personal days because he has no boundaries; his entire life is work; and he doesn’t have any family left. That last part stings a little, even after all this time.
“I got a girl here,” I say gruffly.
It’s not weird for me to admit that; Marion and I are close. She knows the way I am and have been for years. It’s not weird, just uncomfortably vulnerable. There’s a beat of silence.
“Really? You’re having a sleepover?”
“Jesus, I’m not that bad.”
She clears her throat in loud disbelief. “It’s been a while since you had a real girlfriend. Since…what was her name? Amie or something. Since then, you’ve been a menace on two wheels.”
I’m shocked, honestly. I didn’t realize anyone had noticed.
“Who is it?” she asks lightly.
“Nah, better not say.”
That was a more loaded answer than I meant. I should have just said it was nobody, but she wouldn’t have believed me. It would take more than a random encounter to make me shut my phone off.
“Just don’t tell anyone,” I say. “I need a second, some privacy, and then I’ll be on a plane to sort Madison’s account out. Alright?”
She’s quiet for a beat.
