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I didn’t know it made someone a diva to want to speak their own truths.
They all left the room as the guys and I sat at the table.
The guys and Max.
We all glanced his way with confused looks. He looked around with a cocked eyebrow.
“What?”
“We were hoping to talk alone,” Marcus mentioned.
“I’m your manager. I need to be here for these meetings.”
James shook his head. “This is more of a band-only conversation. We’ll notify you once we get our thoughts together.”
Max sighed and brushed his hand over his mouth. He muttered something under his breath, and I was happy I didn’t hear him. He was probably calling us spoiled brats or something.
He picked up a folder and slid it our way. “These are some of Warren’s songs for you. Look them over. These have Grammys written all over them. Don’t be stupid about this, you guys. Make the right choice.”
With that, he left, closing the door behind him. The moment that door clicked, Marcus flew to his feet. “Are you fucking kidding me?” he exclaimed, waving his hands around like a madman.
“There’s no way we can do this,” Eric said, flipping through the songs. “I mean, I’m sure these tracks by Warren are great, but they aren’t us. And we’ve built our whole social aspect around being us. People don’t want songs from Warren; they want songs from us.”
“It’s impossible to create a brand-new album in that amount of time. We can’t do it,” Marcus said, sounding defeated. “Plus, I’m sure they’ll fuck us with law fees, and we’d end up broker than we were before we left Eres.”
“We can try,” James offered. “We can try to make our own music over the next few months. I know it will be hard as hell, but we can work our asses off to make it happen.”
The three of them began going back and forth—arguing about what would work and what wouldn’t. The more they argued, the more my chest felt as if it were on fire.
I picked up the pages on the table and began flipping through the songs Warren Lee had written.
I zoned out as I read the lyrics. Lyrics that meant nothing to me. Lyrics that were cookie cutter and mainstream. Lyrics that belonged to someone else.
And I was going to be forced to sing those songs.
“We’re taking Warren’s songs,” I said, pushing myself to stand up.
“What? No. Dude, we can’t do that. We can’t sell out like this,” James said.
“He’s right, Ian. I know we are in a hard spot, but we can’t just throw away everything we’ve worked for,” Marcus agreed.
“We have a limited amount of time, and we can’t waste time trying to create new songs,” I explained.
“But ...” Eric sighed, but he didn’t finish his thought.
Probably because he knew I was right.
“I can’t let us all go into major debt and lawsuits because of this, you guys. We can’t go backward. We have to move forward.”
“Even if that means selling out our souls to mainstream music?” Marcus asked.
“Let’s be honest; we did that the moment we signed the contracts. If we wanted to stay small, we should’ve walked away at the beginning. We signed a contract, you guys, and there’s no way to get out of it. I’m going to go tell Max we’re taking Warren’s songs, and we’ll get in the studio tomorrow to get going.”
I walked out of the room and only stopped when James came chasing after me.
“Ian, wait up. What’s going on, man?”
“What do you mean?”
