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I pause to observe his relaxed face, parted lips, and dark eyebrows stretched out in a serene expression. When he sleeps, when worries slip from his mind, his features soften so much he looks younger than his thirty years. And right now, observing him in such an intimate and vulnerable moment, I realize that I am in love with this man who carries the world on his shoulders.
“I can’t believe I slept for sixteen hours straight, and you didn’t wake me up,” I complain to Emily as we walk through the record company gates.
“Evan, you needed it. I’m glad you’ve finally rested. How long was it since you had a full night’s sleep?”
I think about it, but I can’t remember. Our vacation lasted only one night, but despite their questionable methods, I’ll admit my friends gave me a way to relax better than when I try to sleep at home. I had no idea what it meant to live twenty-four hours without contact with the world. It helped me rest and regain the mental clarity I needed to get back to work.
“But we could have spent at least a few hours differently.” I raise an eyebrow and look at her as she smiles and shakes her head.
“Evan, we have time for that, trust me. The only thing that makes me happy is that the dark circles around your eyes have finally disappeared, and your normal healthy color has returned. I’m really terrified for your health.” Her words pierce my chest; it’s not the first time she’s told me how worried she is, and I don’t know how to tell her that physically I’m fine.
“Stop,” I tell her, grabbing her arm and turning her toward me. “I’m fine, really. I wasn’t lying when I told you I heard from a specialist. I’m sorry I scared you that night on the pier, but it won’t happen again.”
“You promise me that if you feel overwhelmed, you’ll tell me? Promise me that you’ll ask for help?”
Emily is a strong person who speaks for herself, takes what she wants, and doesn’t make excuses for it. Seeing her so vulnerable about something I caused grips my heart. I don’t want to be that person who drags her down, makes her doubt, or knocks her out. With me, she should feel invincible, not insecure.
“I promise that if I feel like I can’t do it, I’ll ask for help. I learned my lesson, believe me.”
She nods, then tiptoes and kisses me on the lips. I rest my hands on her hips and draw her closer. I didn’t think you could want a woman as much as I want her right now. If I could, I would spend my days savoring every single inch of her body.
“Evan? If you keep looking at me like this, we’ll never go through that door.” She smiles mischievously.
“I’m seriously considering that,” I admit, and she laughs.
“As much as I’d like to continue this conversation, this time, I’m the one reminding you we have work issues.”
I inhale deeply and let her go reluctantly. “Don’t remind me. I have a contract to renegotiate with the beasts. I swear I’d like to kill Adam for that shitshow he dumped on me.”
“Do you need help?”
“Do you have time to look at the contract with me?”
She nods, and the smile on her lips seems to illuminate her. We worked together on contracts for more than two years, but this time the significance of this collaboration is different. He’s not her client. She’s not obligated to do it as my assistant. This time she’s helping a friend and colleague, and I’m just now realizing how important this gesture is for her.
“Thank you,” I whisper in her ear before opening the Jail Records’ door and going back to my professional role.
***
I nibble at the sushi we had delivered to the office while I retrace the countless pages of the contract. The matter is straightforward. Under normal circumstances, the manager enters the record company’s offices, proposes a figure, the counterpart proposes a slightly lower one, and they discuss until an economic agreement is reached. The contract I have in my hand is a standard one that doesn’t require extraordinary measures or take a genius to negotiate.
But this is not a normal situation. I’m the variable in the agreement that makes everything more complicated. In our industry, relationships are everything, and my last dealings with the record company pretty much made scorched earth of the place. I’m lucky if I can close the deal at all. Adam will kill me if I can’t help his friend, and my name in this industry would completely lose credibility. It would ruin my career permanently.
“The intellectual property of the songs is the same as the Jailbirds, right?” Emily asks me as she searches through the papers for the band’s contract we use as a reference.
“Sorry, what?” I look at her for an explanation.
“I remember in the Jailbirds contract there was a clause for the transfer of intellectual property of the songs to the record company. It’s something that came to my mind because Aaron is particularly attentive to this nuance of rights and gave me a two-day lesson. I got sick of hearing him talk. Did you know your brother loves the sound of his own voice?”
I smile because she is one of the few people unaffected by Aaron’s power and prestige.
“Here, in this paragraph, they transfer the intellectual property of their songs to the record company,” she points her finger at the contract in her hand.
I go through what I have in my hand, and, despite rereading it several times, there is no trace of that clause.
“They own the masters, but not the intellectual property.” The realization of what we have just discovered explodes in my belly like a bomb. “This means that, potentially, this contract isn’t worth the paper it’s printed on.” The news first makes my heart stop and then pump furiously into my chest. “The solution to the Jailbirds’ problem has always been right in front of our eyes, but it’s so simple I’ve never considered it,” I murmur incredulously.
“Wait. I’m lost. Explain.”
