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Loren’s feet sound heavy behind me. My voice is a croak. “I don’t think I can keep him from going forward with the book.”
“That book is the least of your worries,” they say, and my stomach clenches.
“Why? Did something happen to Sam?”
“No. Something happened to you. Lighthouse rejected your album. They’re demanding you return the advances and compensate them for the studio musicians’ time.”
Somehow, on some level, I’d been expecting this. After the long days of silence and that awkward phone call with the VP. At some point, I’d gone into worst-case-scenario mode—at least with regard to the studio. I hadn’t seen the shit with Colin coming.
So my response is measured. “I can do that.” I pause. “Right? I have enough.”
“You do.” They sigh. “But that’s not all. Apparently Lighthouse isn’t amused by today’s revelations about your relationship with Sam Stone. They’re asking a lot of questions. Of him.”
“I can’t let that happen. I can’t have him get in trouble because of me.”
“Might be too late for that.”
“What can I do?” I ask.
They shake their head. “I’m not sure, but sit tight. We’ll do what we can.”
CHAPTER43
Sam
After running around Beverly Hills with Jules on my lunch break, I return to the office. Being seen with him like that was perhaps not my smartest move, but I’ve been wanting to go public with him so badly. And him wanting the same made my heart sing in ways I didn’t know it could. I’m so proud of him.
I wonder what the pictures look like. I wake up my computer to search.
But before I click into a search engine, I see an email that makes me cold to my core.
Dear Mr. St. Martin and Mr. Stone:
After much deliberation, Lighthouse Records has made the decision to reject Julian Hill’s submitted album. It doesn’t fit his brand. The public wants to be entertained, not explore their fears or failings. And they’re not going to be inspired if he won’t claim it as an “own voices” album, which he has declined to do.
Thus, unfortunately, we want you to proceed with a formal demand for rescission of the contract and restitution of the sums paid in advance.
I wasn’t supposed to get this email. I recused myself. I’m not supposed to know about any of this.
Didn’t Terrill tell them?
I’m going to be sick. I’m about to hurl, hands shaking, utter dread in the pit of my stomach. I automatically reach for my phone to call Jules.
But,shit.
This is confidential client information. I can’t tell Jules any of this.
My professional duty is to Lighthouse, not Jules. Even though I shouldn’t have received this email—Terrill should have informed them of the staffing change—I did. And now I have to deal with it.
And it’s not just Jules who is affected, but his whole band. What a clusterfuck.
Standing up, I hurry down the hall to Terrill’s office to find out how to resolve this ethically.
Unfortunately, the client representative for Lighthouse Records is standing in his office when I burst in.
Terrill looks up. “Sam, there’s a problem.”
“I know,” I say. “But I shouldn’t have received that email. I should go.”
