Page 280 of Call Me Baby 2: Side B

Simon coughs into his fist.

I flick my eyes up, a huff leaving my nose. “I'm sorry, did that make you uncomfortable?”

Raymond bars his arms across his chest, his gaze sliding over me, landing on the frantic pulse at the base of my throat.

There’s a sadistic glint in his eyes, like he can feel the pull between my thighs.

He knows.

He’s mapped out the addiction,

what makes it salivate,

what makes it satisfied.

And the sickest part is how he drinks in my panic, the one thing that gives him power over me.

His voice falls gentle when he says, “No matter how much you want to defend her, the reality is this: we can’t afford to keep her under contract.”

Every part of me wants to shout in his face. To throw something. To scream this isn’t right.

“We need to come to a decision,” the board finally says. “Fast.”

Fast, fast, it’s moving too fast.

PR: “Partners are looking for decisive action,” they decide. “I say a separation is the clearest signal of containment to the stakeholders.”

My heart hammers as they go around the table, legal next: “Legally, we're safer if we end the contract now.”

Then Finance: “I agree. If we sever ties, we stabilize relationships faster.”

The plant rattles in my grip,

dirt sprinkling between my thighs.

Her manager breaks formation,

palm cupped over his mouth, shaking his head. “You hear yourselves? She’s barely twenty,” he says, glancing around the room. “She’s basically a child being publicly violated. She trusted this room. She trusted all of you when you said you had her back.” His cupped palm turns into a fist. “She doesn’t have the resources. The safety nets. You do. And you’re choosing not to use them for her.”

PR abandons all emotion: “At a certain point, association becomes a liability.” As if it’s nothing personal.

“I can’t believe this shit,” the manager mutters.

Raymond turns to me. “She’s your artist,” he says with mock apology. It would be appropriate for you to make the final determination. And do what’s right for the label,” he adds.

My breath stalls.

He knows how much this artist means to me. He knows I can’t carry that guilt on my shoulders.

Raymond tilts his head. “Allison. Do we stand by her,” he asks, “or do we protect the label?”

I glance around the room.

Everyone’s staring, waiting on me—heir to the throne, seeing if I’m capable of making the tough decisions.

The inside of my nose burns as I stare back at Raymond, chewing on my bottom lip until the flesh cracks.

There was never a choice.