Total pages in book: 95
Estimated words: 90951 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 455(@200wpm)___ 364(@250wpm)___ 303(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 90951 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 455(@200wpm)___ 364(@250wpm)___ 303(@300wpm)
“And just from a boots-on-the-ground perspective,” he adds, “the girls I talked to last night at the open mic night were not into this, Bea. When I asked them what they think about pictures of super pregnant women, sexy and exciting weren’t the words they used. The most common responses were ‘scary’ and ‘kind of gross.’ And ‘scary’ and ‘kind of gross’ don’t sell albums.”
My jaw drops, and a strangled sound emerges from my throat.
How could he?
How could he say any of that with a straight face?
“Well, tough, because I’m not going to hide my body. Not on the album or anywhere else,” I say. “My body is part of everything I’m going through right now, as a woman and as an artist, and I’m not ashamed of it.”
He sighs. “Well, then…I think I’m out, Bea.”
“So that’s it?” I ask, hating the wobble in my voice. “You want out of our contract because some random girls at an open mic night told you what you wanted to hear?”
“It wasn’t what I wanted to hear. It was the truth.”
I huff. “Right. Come on, Checkers. They wanted to go home with the hot, successful music producer. You think they’re going to tell him they want kids or that pregnancy is sexy? Women aren’t stupid. They know that would be an express ticket to the back of the line to suck your dick. Though, honestly, I’m not sure why they’re so hot for the opportunity. I am sure, however, that they aren’t my key demographic.”
His eyes narrow, but before he can clap back, Marcus breezes in the door, furiously texting, his headphones around his neck. “Hey guys, what’s up? Sorry, I’m late. Traffic was crazy gnarly.”
Marcus has worked with Checkers for six years. He was still a senior in high school back then, but already a genius on the board. We’ve become friends, too. He likes me, a fact he proves when he finally looks up from his phone and lets out a whoop of surprise as his arms open wide.
“Oh my God, Beatrice. What the hell, girl! Congrats!” He leans in, giving me a tight, but careful hug before pulling away. He glances down with a laugh. “Wow, you are pregnant, woman. I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone this pregnant.”
I fight the urge to wince. Marcus is just being his sweet, genuine self. Just being playful and happy for me. He has no idea he couldn’t have said something more detrimental to my case if he’d tried.
Checkers meets my gaze with the smug expression of a man who just had his argument made for him.
For a moment, I’m tempted to remind him that we have a contract, and that it’s illegal to discriminate against a woman because she’s pregnant. But I also know that the contract and the promotional commitments we’ve made are all null and void if I fundamentally change the album before release without his consent.
And I’m going to change it, with or without him on board. I don’t need his consent. I was careful to have final track approval written into our contract, as well, and if he’s going to be a short-sighted jerk about this…
Well, an easy out might be my best option, even if it means going it alone.
Hell, I’m already launching a family on my own.
Why not an album?
I know it’s not that easy. I know it’s probably a death sentence to my solo career, but I also know it’s right.
“Okay, then,” I say, forcing a smile. “Then, I’ll have my lawyer call yours? Get the contract dissolved so we can both move forward?”
Regret flashes in Checkers’ eyes. “I think that’s best, but I can’t give you the rights to my masters, Bea. Not if we’re no longer working together. Sorry about that, but that’s a no-go for me.”
I reply just as quickly, giving him a taste of what it feels like to be disposable. “That’s fine. I was going to ask for significant changes to your tracks anyway.”
His brows shoot up in a way that makes it clear he thinks that’s a dumb call, but after a beat, he nods again. “Okay, then we’ll be good. Have your people call my people and…I’ll see you around, I guess. Good luck with the album and the baby and everything. And, for what it’s worth, I hope I’m wrong. I hope, if you decide to go for this solo, it slays for you. I really do.”
“Thanks,” I say, trying to be grateful for a peaceful parting of ways.
Trying not to let the anger burning in my gut show as he heads for the door, calling over his shoulder to Marcus, “We’re going to be in the rehearsal room first today, Marc. Savannah and the girls will be here in fifteen.”
Fifteen. Wow.
He really didn’t expect it to take long to get rid of me, did he?