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CHAPTERTHIRTY-FOUR
Aurelia
I try notto feel disheartened as the fourth supposedly highly-qualified talent manager leaves the room. Actually, that’s a little unfair. They have all been highly qualified and, in many cases, heartily recommended by other people in the business I respect. But, there’s something I can’t put my finger on with each of them. I think back to the relationship I had with my former manager and the hold he had over me—one I eventually rebelled against. One thing I’m now clear on is this ismycareer, and whoever takes me on needs to respect that.
I’m no longer going to work back-to-back and tirelessly for every single potential dollar. I’m going to have a life, otherwise, how can I come up with new, original material, or give my fans the best possible version of me? I want to be managed by someone who respects that but who also isn’t afraid to speak their mind and object if they think I’m wrong. I want someone who sees me as the grown-up billionaire pop star I am, but isn’t afraid to challenge me too. All the managers I’ve spoken to have been either slightly too arrogant about their experience, or far too eager to please.
I look down at the schedule my personnel advisor prepared. There’s been an addition. I click on the app and read down the list. Apparently I haven’t finished up for the day; there’s one more candidate to see. I don’t have time to click through for more details when a knock comes at the door.
“Come in,” I call. I try to muster some energy, but the problem is I’m tired of talking about myself, but that’s kind of what the job is about.
I sift through the resumes on the desk. This one really is last-minute because there are none left I haven’t already been through with a candidate.
I plaster a fake smile to my face and look up to greet the fifth and final candidate of the day, and freeze, not knowing whether I should laugh out loud. “Isaac?”
“Miss Bird,” he replies, formally, letting the door swing closed behind him.
“Can I help you?” I’m smiling and my heart is thumping like it’s on steroids, but my frown must give away a huge amount of confusion.
“I’m here for the interview,” he says, calmly. “Talent Manager.”
“What?” I look around, which is silly really because the room is small and there’s no one else in it.
“I’d like to interview for the job,” he says. His eyes bore into me, willing me to take him seriously.
“Ok,” I say, shaking my head lightly.This is going to be interesting.“Please, take a seat.”
He pulls out the chair opposite and sits down, pushing a sheet of paper towards me. It’s every hiring manager’s dream. Clear, to the point, no longer than two sides. I look over it but barely take anything in.
“So, Mr. D’Amico. Where to begin?” I roll my eyes upwards, genuinelynotsure where to begin. “Have you had much experience of managing musicians before?”
“Yes,” he replies. “I managed a band called the Blue Hides when I was in school. They went on to perform at the local student bar several times and I ensured, with ticket sales and various, um, forms of merchandise, they had turned a profit by the end of each night.”
I take a deep breath and bite down on the inside of my cheek to stop myself from laughing. “Ok, um, great. Ok, so further to that, have you had experience managing people or teams in other professional areas?”
“Yes, ma’am, I have.”
“Can you give me details? Any examples of scenarios where, perhaps, you’ve had a disagreement with someone you’ve managed, and you’ve been able to work through your differences to reach a satisfactory conclusion?”
“I do have examples, ma’am, but I can’t tell you.”
I’m not sure I heard correctly. “You can’t tell me?”
“They’re classified.”
I bite my cheek again. “I’m sorry,” I say. “This is an interview for my new manager, not a scene fromTop Gun.”
“I understand that, ma’am.”
“Also, we have already established I don’t like to be referred to as ma’am. We’re not getting off to a great start, are we?”
“I apologize, ma—, sorry, Miss Bird. I am genuinely interested in the position and I’ll tell you everything you need to know. That isn’t classified, of course.”
I roll my eyes and fail completely to hide a smile. “Are you really here for the job?”
Isaac leans forward, so far that I can smell him—that distinctive smell I love, and have missed, even though it’s only been a few days. “I am. I’m being serious. I don’t want you to feel obliged to hire me, but I think I could do a good job as your manager. You know I respect and admire you. You also know I won’t hesitate to challenge you if I question some of your ideas.” He says the words as though he knows my exact brief. “I might not have had experience managing musicians specifically—Blue Hide aside,” he smiles, sheepishly, “but I don’t think I need it. All I need is the desire to help you be the best you can possibly be.”
He sits back in his chair, the confidence I’ve come to love about him sneaking back to the fore. “And I think I have more of that than anyone else you’ll ever speak to.”
