Page 314 of Call Me Baby 2: Side B

“You can’t approve this?” Raymond repeats.

“That’s right,” I say. “The numbers are not even close to making sense. The gap is so wide, it’d be fiscally irresponsible.”

Fuck. Don’t know if I used fiscally right,

but I keep going as if I did.

“Your reasoning ignores the long-term damage—” he says, but I interrupt fast, “I’m not done, Raymond. We’ve heard your take. I’ll tell you when I’m finished.”

Haha.

What the fuuuhck.

My gaze slides off a stupefied Raymond,

and floats across the room,

sweat sliding down my spine as I start with the importance of Callista’s brand, her message, her loyal fanbase.

Meanwhile,

the board’s waiting for me to slip,

to crumble,

to back down.

But not today.

Andrew’s voice is still in my head⁠—

You got this, baby. Keep going.

And I do.

I fucking do.

“You’re being idealistic, sweetheart,” Raymond says, dismissive, but I don't react. And it’s getting to him. His middle finger’s frustrated, tapping the table. “This is a business. We’re here to make money, not be moral crusaders. We’re not asking Callista to become the face of Clementine’s Reserve. We’re licensing a fuckin’ song, not endorsing the product. There’s no conflict of interest.”

Then he’s standing, as if to intimidate me. “This deal is the kind of lifeline we need. We need the cash now, not later⁠—”

“Lemme stop you right there,” I say, my gaze unflinching. Raymond laughs under his breath in disbelief. “I’m being realistic, Raymond. And the loss from this? Not funny if we look at the real numbers.”

Then for five minutes,

I lay out the hard truth.

How much we’ll lose.

How much we’ll risk.

How much other comparable artists have lost before us.

The ability to physically feel the change in the room is staggering—the tension stacking, like they were ready to pack their shit and go, and now they’re embarrassed for even considering.

“But while we’re here,” I point at Raymond, “and I’m glad you brought up the part about needing cash. Thanks for pointing that out,” I add casually. “We have three artists on our roster who haven’t been paid in over six months. There’s no excuse for that. Money’s leavin’ faster than it’s comin’ in, with no explanation.”

Raymond studies their surprised expressions. “My point,” he interjects. “Three million would sure be a fuckin’ start to fix things.”