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“Sure, I can pop by in ten?”
“He said now would be good.” Daisy winced, looking like Will’s demand poured more tension between him and Quint.
“Okay, give me two secs.”
“I’m just gonna say, he said now would be good. Don’t shoot the runner!” Daisy tried to step up her assertion but iced it with a bit of humour.
Quint huffed out a sigh before shutting his laptop and mouthing an ‘okay’ to her, accompanied by a sarcastic salute, then he muttered a curse under his breath before sloping off to Will’s office like a berated child. He performed a token knock on the door before entering, and found Will mopping up the remainder of a soy sauce and wasabi mix with a bit of salmon sushi before cramming it into his mouth.
“Take a seat, brother,” chomped Will, pointing to the chair in front of his desk, mouth still half full.
Quint forced a smile. “You needed to see me? I can come back if you’re still hungry?”
Will swallowed the rest of his mouthful, looking to try and banish his digestion with a wave of his hand before gesturing again for Quint to sit. “So, I’ll get straight to the point. I’ve been hearing some stuff that your mind’s not all on the job. My sixth sense is telling me that you’re not happy at the moment,” said Will, still swallowing. He was a Player too.
“Izzy?”
“Amongst others. She’s saying your head’s not been in the sessions lately. Sort of wondering why that is? It’s that Bitcoin stuff, right?”
Quint laughed. “Not Bitcoin, no, that’s had its day. At the moment it-”
“Quint, I don’t care what coin it is. The bottom line is, I need a good pair of ears in my sessions, you know what I’m getting at? It’s just, you seem more interested in… well, anything that’s not one of our acts.” Will steepled his fingers under his chin. “I’m sensing you’ve got a problem with the talent we’re taking on.”
Quint had a flash of inspiration, his instincts screaming at him that this was the time for complete honesty. He knew that he didn’t need to be here anymore and he needed to stop wasting everybody’s time, including his own.
“Look, I’ll be honest, I haven’t been happy here for a while. It’s just that it isn’t what it used to be. It seems now that it’s all about making money and not making waves. Do you know what I mean? We used to have a rep for producing innovative, stylish acts with something new and cool to offer, plucking people out of obscurity and offering them a platform to flourish. Now, it’s just a bunch of pricks fromMade in Fulhamor whatever.”
“Chelsea. It’sMade in Chelsea,” corrected Will.
“I did say ‘whatever’. Will, I just think that since…”
“Dad left. Go on. Say it. You think that since I took over, it’s all been about making money.”
“Well…”
“Oh, come on, Quint. You know the score more than anyone. It’s a survival game here. We’re all just trying to make the best of things for ourselves. We’ve got to move with the times, where the money is—or we don’t pull through. You understand that?”
Quint’s shoulders sagged. He knew where Will was coming from. Of course he knew that Will didn’t want to see Wrap’d go under, not after the years of hard graft that his father had put into the place. Will wanted more than anything to continue the legacy, but Quint was convinced there had to be a better way than this. Going about it in this way would do more harm than good to the Wrap’d name in the long run.
“I understand what you’re saying and I know you’ve got to keep afloat somehow, but can’t we just send the troops out further afield? There are plenty of talented musicians hiding in all four corners of the internet, not just the ones with millions of followers.”
Will reclined in his seat and inhaled a deep breath. His frustration at not being able to relay his message across to Quint was becoming more apparent and it came swimming to the surface.
“I’m tired, Quint. The pressure I have from everyone to carry on the Wrap’d name and save its reputation is too much for me. Needs must, and I have to make money. And not just for me, but for everyone else here. If that means taking on an act that talks about what they’re having on their toast in the morning, then so be it.”
Quint couldn’t help but laugh at that. “Konshus? Actually, those guys are pretty good. At least they’re originalandmusically skilled,” he said, smirking.
Will smiled back. “People certainly love ’em. I found myself listening to one of their playlists in the gym and loved it.”
“Well, they’re better than this Drizzel fella we’ve got in Studio One. Even the name rhymes with drivel,” remarked Quint.
Will seemed resigned to argue with him. He leaned back in his chair and laughed. There was always good vibe between Will and Quint. They had known each other for years and trusted each other, not to mention the fact that they were both Players. Quint knew deep down that Will was a good guy, but like everybody else, he had a survival instinct and was just trying to keep things going as best he could.
“You want to leave, don’t you?” said Will.
Quint nodded. “I think my time here has come to a natural end. I know whatI’dwant to do here, but it’s not whatyouwant… or maybe it is? Either way, it’s not what youneedat the moment.”
Quint knew that Will’s actions were all down to a perfectly rational fear that came as part and parcel of life here. He just wasn’t willing to take the risks that his father did to keep the Wrap’d flag flying high, but that was fine. It was what it was. Will extended his hand over the desk and Quint grasped it.
