Page 119 of Sing Your Secrets

“I can’t. I have business in L.A. tonight, but I figured I’d squeeze this in before my flight.”

Wow.Charming. “Thanks for making time,” I say sarcastically. This should be the biggest moment of my life. The pot of gold at the end of the rainbow, so why does it feel so sleazy? I always imagined my family would be here tucked in the corner, with matching tears in their eyes. Reese should be here—this is all because of her. It shouldn’t be rushed. It should be celebrated. Why do I feel like the moment I sign, he’s going to hand me an orange jumpsuit and show me to my cell?

“What are your questions?” Roger says as his bushy auburn eyebrows pull in different directions. It’s like they can’t decide between an eagerness to please and his obvious agitation.

“My current EP—”

“Is a mess. I know. Don’t worry about it. We’ll assume the rights to the masters and expand it into an album. It’ll all come together, don’t stress about it.” A mess? Strike three.

I blink at him and feel my face falling. “I’m pretty happy with it, the way it is…”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Roger says holding his hands up. “I wasn’t implying the songs aren’t great. Believe me, Miles—you caught our attention. But we aren’t sure if it’s right for your brand. We actually have an artist under the label that would do wonders for those songs. And you’d get partial royalties as the songwriter.”

“Whoa, wait, wait—you want to give my songs away?”

He holds the pen out again in a demanding fashion. “We’re all one big family at Elite. Our main goal is to make sure that each artist is swimming in the right lane. Our only job is to do what’s best for you and your career, Miles. If you’re happy, it’s a win-win for all of us.”

But…what if I’m not happy?

“What exactly do you guys think is my lane?”

“We want to explore different angles, but your look is more digestible in pop, maybe even a crossover with country. What we’re trying to test out is the male version of Taylor Swift—” He stops as he tilts his head. “Can you play guitar?” He shakes his head rapidly as he dismisses his own question. “Don’t worry about it right now, we’ll work guitar lessons into the budget.”

“Whoa…hey, I don’t—”

“Miles,” Roger says with a new inflection, “look I’m going to level with you, you’re lucky to get a deal. If it wasn’t for Petey, this wouldn’t be a conversation.”

My nostrils flare as I try to control the air flowing in and out. “What did Petey say?” As far as I know, Petey had the connections to get my demo heard. I thought my music spoke for itself.

“We don’t typically take risks on new artists. The label rarely sees a return on the investment. The only reason I can offer you this,” he says tapping the contract, “is because Petey has agreed to come back to Elite for another three-album run. He’s been a major part of the Elite family and losing him wasn’t ideal. This is a way for us to all work together again. His only demand was a deal for you too.”

It hits me like an earthquake. The shock absorbs, and then the aftershocks take over. “You guys weren’t actually interested in me—”

“No, no, man. Don’t think that way. We think you’re talented. But there are a lot of talented singers on this planet. We were willing to make room for you because…we had incentive.” Roger holds out the pen again. “When someone hands you the golden ticket, don’t ask why, just run with it. How you got here doesn’t matter—just the fact that you’re here. And we’re excited.”

A million and one thoughts zip through my mind. My debt. The fact I’m still living in Law and Sienna’s basement. The car and pretty jewelry I wanted to buy for my mom as a thank you for all she sacrificed. I wanted to look my dad in the eye and thank him as I handed him a check to pay him back for covering my ass. I’m feeling the ache and the pain of wanting this for so fucking long, and how bad it hurt when I was ignored and had to move back home.

Maybe I’ve been chasing this dream for so long, I’ve lost sight of what I’m chasing.

How many more Taylor Swifts do we need? She seems to be holding down the fort all on her own…

“Roger, I just have a few more—”

The door rips open and the last person I’d ever expect to see stands at the doorway. A neat gray suit that hugs her slim figure. Her hair is pulled back in a sleek blonde ponytail.

“Robin?”

“You’ve got a lot of nerve,” she hisses as her hand finds her hip. I shrivel in my seat until I realize she’s not talking to me. “I’ve seen some shady business practices in my day, but your label really takes the fucking cake.”

Roger gives her a disgusted look. “Who the hell are you?”

Robin nods in my direction and shoots me a quick wink. “His lawyer.”

Last I heard, Reese and her mother had a huge fight, and from what I gathered, I’m part of the problem. I’m not sure why she’s riding in here like the cavalry. “Miles, honey, don’t put one dot of ink on that contract.”

“What’s wrong?” I ask. From the fury in Robin’s eyes, it’s clear she’s offended. As if Roger has a personal vendetta against her.

Yanking a plastic chair from the round table where Noa’s pie sits, she pulls it to the other side of the coffee table. Robin takes a seat, facing Roger and me, head-on. She taps the stack of papers in front of us. “I combed through this…no…more accurately I poured over this.” She looks at me. “I’m sorry, Miles, but this is a scam if I’ve ever seen one.”

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