Page 200 of Collide
“What did you do, Mark?” I whisper.
He leans forward, voice low, like the truth is going to hit me like a freight train. “It was the only way Pacific Records would honor the deal. You disappeared for two years, Elena. You broke your obligations. They were ready to drop you, blacklist you. The clause was their insurance.”
I bite my tongue, holding in what I want to say.
“If your actions—your personal life, your public image—if any of it causes reputational damage to Pacific Records, leads to poor record sales, public boycotts, media scandals, they can void the contract.”
I stare at him, the coffee cooling in my hands. My career, my future, balanced on a knife’s edge because of something I didn’t even know I was carrying.
“What? Why wouldn’t you tell me?” My voice cracks, too loud in the stillness of the apartment.
Mark exhales through his nose, pinching the bridge of it like he’s holding back the urge to shake me. “Idid. You just weren’t listening. And it’s partly your responsibility too. You have to take some blame.”
“You’re right, I’m…sorry”
“Is this guy really worth it?” he asks, his eyes searching for some sliver of sanity in mine.
“I don’t know,” I rasp, the words sticking in my throat.
“This all hangs on your album’s ability to perform, Elena. If you want this—if youreallywant this—then you better fight for it. Because no one is gonna hand it to you.”
“I know,” I bite out. My nails dig into the side of my coffee cup. “But this feels like a fucking collar. There’s got to be a way to renegotiate terms.”
“Maybe.” He leans back, folding his arms. “Once you prove yourself. Maybe then, you’ll have some leverage. And maybe with your dad backing you?—”
“I don’t want him involved,” I cut in fast, sharper than I mean to.
“I figured,” Mark says, softer now. “But think about it. And maybe—maybe you should actuallyreadyour contract again. There’s not just the morality clause…there’s the abandonment clause too.”
I drag a hand down my face. “As if this could get any worse.”
“Both clauses together mean if you can’t fulfill your contractual obligations, or if you abandon them for any reason, Pacific Records could sue you for breach of contract.” His words land like blows, each one making it harder to breathe.
“Fuck, Mark. You really backed me into a corner.”
“I’m sorry.” His voice is tight. “I did what I had to. Because I believe in you. I still do. You needed a foot in the door. A push to get you going again.”
My chest aches, guilt curling deep. “I’m sorry for putting you through this shit.”
Mark laughs under his breath, dry and fond. “Wayward, tortured artists are part of the job. And for what it’s worth, I think I’m right about you. Pre-release listening sessions are going well. Feedback’s been resoundingly positive.”
“That’s good,” I mutter, but the words feel weak, brittle.
“I’m gonna need more from you, Elena.” He leans in, voice dropping low. “I can fight for you. But only if you fight for yourself.”
“This album means too much to me,” I whisper, the words scraping out raw. “I can’t let it get buried over this.”
“Good.” He stands, tossing his empty coffee cup into the trash. “Then we better go.”
The car ride is short, silent but for the low hum of the engine. I stare out the window, the city blurring past, my insides twisting tighter with every block.
When we pull up to Pacific Records, I climb out stiffly, my legs numb. Paparazzi clamor at the front, trying to steal the money shot. Mark and security shield me from most of it.
Once, this place had felt like a beginning, a doorway to something bigger than I could dream. Now, it looms in front of me, all glass and steel, cold and unyielding. A prison I’ve shackled myself to with my own signature, in exchange for my voice and my dream.
As I sit there in the boardroom, I feel like a kid in trouble, called into the principal’s office. Everyone is talking at me, not to me.
I keep my eyes on the polished table, fingers curling tight around the guitar pick I found in my pocket, one I don’t even remember grabbing. I dig it into my palm, harder, just to keep from screaming.
