Amp set the meeting to take place at an upscale restaurant boasting only locally-sourced food. As we’re waiting for the hostess to find our party, I lean over to Danny.

“Do you think it’s a bad sign they don’t recognize the irony of meeting in a local foods restaurant to talk about picking up a local band and taking it international?”

He only smiles. “I think if they give me a great big stage and let me play my bass on it, I’ll find that a damn good sign, Jimi. That’s what I think.”

“Right this way...” The hostess gestures with a sweep of her hand and we follow her to a round booth in the back. The label scout is already waiting, wearing a slim, hipster blazer with another open-collared shirt, accompanied by a woman with blond hair done in a style that’s trying a little too hard to be casual.

The woman looks up and beams a smile at us. “Hello! Hello, hello.” She stands up. “So nice to see you all. This is Rob Righetti, from the A&R Department.”

Rob nods at me and smiles. My stomach twists as I remember the awkwardness on his face when he stopped me in the parking lot. This meeting would be intimidating enough but spending the whole thing second-guessing what he overheard of my argument with Jacob? Stab me now, please.

“I’m Kari Nichols, from the PAR department.” She must have seen the crease forming in my forehead because she adds, “That’s Public and Artist Relations. Most places just call it PR, but here at Amp, we believe it’s not just the public’s opinion of you that matters but the relationship we want to build between our artist and their fans. I know, I know, it’s a tall order for one little acronym.” She giggles. 

Dad laughs along with her, too heartily, and I cover my wince with a smile. I’ve been dreading this part ever since I got the call about the meeting. The part where we introduce ourselves and everybody realizes I brought my daddy along.

Kari enthuses all the way through the introductions, though it throws her a little bit when Rob recognizes Dad’s name and she doesn’t. I have to admit, I enjoy watching her try to prompt Rob into dropping Dad’s band name without directly asking what it was. Plus, it distracts everyone from the awkwardness while we all do the bouncy-slide move to scoot into the giant round booth. A move that sucks extra for me, because Jax made me wear a skirt.

“So.” Kari folds her hands on the table with a click of her sparkling rings, and leans forward. “We love your music. We love it!”

Rob smiles. “Your demo is getting passed all around the company. Even the secretarial pool was fighting over it.”

My shoulders tighten. Did he tell anyone what he overheard? So many of those songs have to do with what I went through after Andy and I broke up, and anybody who knew that would interpret them much differently.

“Your hooks are addictive without being cheap, and your instrumentals are top-notch.” Rob nods. A tingle of excitement breaks through, and I peek over at him.

“Not to mention that voice!” Kari pretends to fan herself, and then points a flirty sidelong look toward Jax. “I love it,” she says again. “I love it!”

“Well, thank you, that’s really good to hear.” Jax gives her a smile whose panty-dropping powers are probably short-circuiting work productivity all the way to the Washington border. I take a sip of water to hide my smirk when Kari’s eyes widen.

“And your lyrics...” Rob stops and he curls his fist in front of him, as if he’s about to pound it on the table to make a point.

I find myself holding my breath in spite of myself.

“Your lyrics...” he says again, his tone awed.

“Yes, your lyrics!” Kari beams. 

My eyes narrow and Danny’s knee bumps mine under the table.

Shit.

It’s not just me, then. These people sound kind of fake. Does Rob even remember our show? Did Kari hear the demo at all? But he chased me down in a parking lot, and they set this meeting so fast. Somebody must have really liked it, right?

“I’m glad you enjoyed it,” Danny says. “If you remember—did you have a favorite song?”

“‘My Air,’” Kari answers without hesitation.

Oh hell, please don’t say that in front of Jax...

At the same time, Rob says, “‘Delilah.’”

The waitress interrupts to take drink orders. I shoot a glance at Jax and his smile is as plastic as I’ve ever seen. Jeez, why can’t he be happy for all of us? We’re a band. We’re supposed to be in this together.

While the waitress is still taking drink orders, Kari starts talking over her to say to Jax, “Oh, yes, ‘Delilah,’ too.”

The waitress raises her voice. “I’m sorry, did you say Dr. Pepper or Diet Pepsi?”

“It’s nothing short of brilliant delivery of top notch lyrics,” Kari says, and Jax holds perfectly still, absorbing her every syllable. “Especially the one line at the end where it hints the women may be just as lost as the men. That they know not what they do and all their sins come from a place of misguided innocence. I love it,” she adds. “I love it!”

I glance at Rob, then down, hoping nothing in those lyrics rang a bell with him after overhearing me yell to the whole damn world that I was frigid. But then, who cares what he knows? These record execs can quote our lyrics after two days. Suddenly, I want to pause this entire meeting so I can sneak a quick fist pump, shout, “Take that, bitches!” and possibly drape myself in a feather boa.

Danny’s hand fumbles for mine under the table. He ends up grabbing just my wrist and the base of my thumb, and he holds on so hard I almost flinch. My heart flutters as I realize he’s excited, too. Maybe more excited than I’ve ever seen him. I try to fold my fingers down enough to squeeze back, but don’t get there before he lets me go and takes a placid sip of water.

“We think your music has so much potential,” Rob says. “With a little guidance, we think you guys could be groundbreaking.”

“Right, of course.” Dad nods. “It’s so important to young musicians to have the help and support of knowledgeable industry professionals such as yourself.”

Um, what? Am I having a nightmare in which my iconoclastic dad became a kiss ass?

“And they have you, of course,” trills Kari, who didn’t even recognize his damn name. 

“You guys had some ideas for our new album?” Jax’s face is very neutral.

“Well, just brainstorming, really.” Rob pushes his water aside so he can rest his elbows on the table. “It’s obvious you guys have already thought about breaking out of the bounds of traditional rock and roll. I bet you’ve been talking about adding a keyboardist, maybe a little synth sound to offset your classic rock guitar roots with a modern flair.”

I will not glare at my father in a professional meeting.

I will not glare at my father in a professional meeting.

I will not... but what the fuck? Did he tell them to bring up the damn keyboardist? We do not need a keyboardist.

“I mean, I can already hear you guys hinting toward that modern edge.” Kari leans in closer. “I really think a synth could bring that intention around to completion.”

What in the ham sandwich did she just say?

“It’s not that we haven’t played with the possibilities of a synthesizer.” The calm in Danny’s speech manages to project the idea of politeness, despite his words. “It’s just that we prefer a classic rock interpretation. Little bit of blues influence, contemporary lyrics. That is our sound.”

Aaand...bitch slap, wrapped in a flaky pastry crust. My best friend is such a badass.

He nailed it though—it’s not that we hate synthesizers. It’s more that in today’s market, a synth is just a gateway drug, and then you start sampling and looping until your entire song is two lines of lyrics and a catchy beat. I’m not interested in making repetitive garbage. Is that what we’re going to have to do if we sign this deal?

“It’s so early in your career, though.” Rob raises his eyebrows. “I mean, you always want to leave yourself room for artistic growth, and the market is exploding right now with new uses for synthetic sound.”

Kari laughs. “Right, right! You’re artists. The worst thing you can ever do for your creativity is to pigeonhole yourselves.”

“It’s like what Hendrix did for the guitar.” Rob looks to Dad for support. “Old instrument, all new potential.”

So wait, they want us to be “groundbreaking” by following an existing trend? Do they need a freaking dictionary?

The waitress comes back with drinks and we order food, though my stomach is in such turmoil right now, I can’t even consider eating.

When the waitress leaves, Kari leans forward again. “Let’s talk about ‘My Air.’” Kari drops her hand from where she was toying with her necklace. “It is an absolutely unique addition to your repertoire, and one I found personally very touching.”

Let me guess. She loved it. Loved it.

“Jera’s a very talented songwriter,” Danny says, the plain honesty in his voice clashing with Kari’s too-frequent changes in inflection. “We’re lucky to have her.”

Oh jeez. I’m like one big mood swing today, and I’m wearing eye makeup. Not ideal if Danny’s going to be sweet.

“She’s also quite a talented singer.” Rob looks between Jax and me. “Have you ever experimented in your live shows with swapping back and forth between female and male leads for different songs?”

“Not much at this point, no,” Jax says. “Don’t you think that would be confusing to an audience? I mean, it’s a totally different sound. Her voice is—” He glances at me. “No offense, Jera. You’ve got a hell of a set of pipes but they don’t sound very rock and roll.”

I quash a sudden desire to give him an energetic poking with my fork. He just had to cut me down in front of these two executives who were complimenting my sound. What pisses me off even more is he’s right.

Dad and I have talked about it in exactly those terms before. I have a very feminine, singer/songwriter voice. A voice for love songs, not for the kind of heavy-hitting, bass-forward songs I like to write, and I can’t exactly pull off the throaty growl that made AVA a rock goddess.

“Most rock bands have a soft song or two on each album,” Rob says. “Even rappers hire female vocalists to sing backup for contrast.”

I bite the inside of my lip, not wanting to speak before I’m sure what side I’m on. It would be fun to sing a little more, change it up a bit. I just don’t want Jax to get all fidgety because he thinks I’m trying to steal his glory. He’s so much more confident in the spotlight than I am, and a pro when it comes to handling a crowd.

“We’d love to hear a track where you and Jera do a duet.” Kari turns her full wattage on Jax. “You two together could really light up a stage.”

“There are several songs where she sings backup for him,” Dad says. “They came out beautifully.”

“Maybe we could change up the mix, bring Jera’s part forward,” Rob says. “And her voice would work really well with the synth. A smooth slide, if you will.” He smiles. “These are all great ideas, folks. It’s nice to work with a band where it doesn’t seem like their last album was everything they had to put on the table.”

My hand falters as I reach for my soda. These are pretty much all their ideas, not ours. Though I guess the change with “My Air” was mine, and I do love how that song came out. Whatever Danny says, the brilliance of it is in his bass playing, in the way he times everything and pitches each note just right so his deep voice supports mine without overpowering. Crap, I should have said that when we were talking about the song.

“I think this creative partnership could be a really positive collaboration,” Dad says. “Your label has a talent for developing some truly exciting artists, especially in the last few years. The Red Letters are looking for a label that can guide them toward building a following without being confined to the tried and true paths.”

Jax is watching him, nodding along, and my nose twitches. I have to hand it to Dad, that statement was like refrigerator magnet poetry made out of terms from all the bullshit business-speak the Amp execs have been oozing. Is Dad buying in or is he making fun of them?

Never in my wildest dreams did I think I’d be sitting here at twenty-one with an actual record label, but if I stand up for our sound, will they walk away?

“I assume you brought a preliminary version of the contract?” Dad settles further into his seat.

“Of course.” Rob turns to the briefcase sandwiched on the bench between him and Kari. He passes out copies and I flip through mine.

I have no idea what most of this means. Probably because I should have been looking up record deal terminology this week instead of pictures from Jacob’s old baseball games. But then, does it matter? We’re so lucky to have any kind of offer, and I want somebody who can help me take my music to the next level. If Amp can do that, I’d sign anything they gave me. The problem is, I can’t tell right now what they want from me.

Danny nudges me, and I realize it’s probably really rude to read through the contract in the meeting. I move to put it in my messenger bag, then remember Jax vetoed that particular wardrobe accessory. Folding the paper, I tuck it under my leg.

The waitress brings the food. The rest of the meeting passes in a blur of flattery and exciting but non-specific talk about stadium shows and the droolingly fancy recording studio we’ll be using to record our first album with Amp.

I keep my mouth closed until we get out of the restaurant, into the car, and Dad puts it in gear to back away.

“Am I the only one who is freaking out here?” I explode. “I mean, what was that? Was that good or bad?”

“Did they actually listen to our songs?” Jax twists to face me from the front seat. “Or just ‘My Air’ and ‘Delilah’?”

“Did they like them?” I grimace. “Or was that all just blowing smoke?”

“They liked them,” Dad says. “Or they wouldn’t have set up the meeting in the first place. You have to understand, these guys are really busy, and they listen to a ton of new bands every week. The fact that they can remember the names of two of your songs is a positive thing.”

“Okay.” I sit back and take a breath. “Cool. So what about the contract? Does it totally suck? Do we negotiate? Can we negotiate?” Longing aches in my throat every time I think about the studio they mentioned. It’s horrible wanting something this much and having so little control over how it will turn out. 

“Will it scare them off if we push back?” Jax asks. “What was all that stuff about changing our sound? Do they want us to be completely different, or were they talking just a small thing here or there?”

“Does that go in the contract?” I ask Dad. “Can we specify our amount of creative control? How would you even quantify that? Do we need a lawyer?”

He turns on his blinker and watches the traffic coming the other direction. “We already have my lawyer, and he’s well-versed with entertainment contracts. I didn’t get a chance to look at what they gave us but my guess would be it’s pretty bad. You’re unknowns right now, so all the bargaining power is theirs. They want you enough to offer, so we’ve got that, but they can walk away at any time. You have no idea how many other bands they might be courting.”

I try to dry my palms against my bare legs. “What about the music? Do they want us to change it? How much? I always hoped to work with a record label that could help us expand, but the ideas they were throwing out weren’t exactly clicking with me. I mean, I wouldn’t mind singing a little bit more but Jax is the voice of the band.”

“Right.” Jax blows out a breath. “I guess we could use a little synth, but I don’t want to go electronica.”

“No synth,” Danny and I say in unison, then glance at each other.

“I told you a keyboardist would expand your range,” Dad says, “and you know if you’re serious about making a career out of music, you’re going to have to make compromises.”

My fingers clench on my seatbelt. I know he wants me to have the career he couldn’t, but this is my band. “A keyboardist is a big compromise because it’ll change our sound entirely. I was thinking about violin, maybe even electric violin, but I don’t know anybody else who plays and I haven’t had time to set an audition. Do you think they’ll let us try out a violin?”

“Look, this is your first album,” Dad says. “You won’t have full creative control, no matter what they tell you and no matter what the contract says. It’s their label. They decide what they put out with their name on the back.”

“Yeah, but it’s our name on the front.” I lean forward against my seatbelt. “Can’t we ask how much they actually want changes and how much of that was just tossing around ideas?”

Dad shakes his head as he pulls out into traffic. “They’ll never give you a straight answer. They want you to sign, and they’d rather manipulate than negotiate. It’s the reason my band quit our label. They’ll make the answer sound like whatever you want to hear, but they always get the final say. That’s just how the game is played.”

“We can’t walk away from this deal.” Jax shoves a hand through his hair. “I’m warning you guys, though, I’m not going to let them push me out.”

“Nobody’s trying to push you out, Jax.” I rub my eyes. “This isn’t all about you, okay?”

“Easy for you to say. You’re the one they were fawning all over in there.”

I take a sharp breath to argue, but Dad cuts in. “Hey, the flattery is just part of the game. On all sides. They liked all you guys or they wouldn’t be here.”

“Danny, what do you think?” Jax twists to look back at him.

My best friend is sitting calmly like he always does, one ankle resting across his opposite knee. But he’s wearing his good shoes—the shiny ones I haven’t seen him put on for anyone since graduation—and his eyes are dark and pained.

The only sound is from the traffic outside as Dad drives and we all wait.

“I don’t know,” Danny says. “I just don’t know.”