I blink, not sure I heard him correctly. Maybe I’m still asleep?
“That.” He nods to my open notebook. “Deserves to be heard. Not sittin’ on a shelf somewhere collecting dust. Which I’m afraid is what they’ll do to it based on the amount of support they gave you on the road.”
I’m so green, I never considered that was a possibility. But it makes sense. All they need to do to fulfill their end of the contract is produce the record. They don’t have to release it, promote it or anything else.
Not that I’m full of myself but I feel compelled to point out that I’m a good risk for the label. “I don’t see why they wouldn’t support the album. The tour gave me a lot of exposure. The singles I’ve released have done really well.” I glance down at my lap. “I have people constantly asking when the full-length album’s coming.”
“No doubt, Shelby. Releasing those singles has been good exposure for you. And you’ve managed to build up a fan base. But labels don’t always make logical choices that make sense.” He flicks his hand dismissively. “Industry’s moving toward the singles-driven approach because it’s cheap and low-risk but I still believe you need a full album. It’s hard for fans to get to know you from only listening to a song or two every couple months.”
“That makes sense.” At least I think it does.
“Through my label, you’ll have access to better distribution and I’ll be able to throw a lot of money behind marketing. I’ll have a stake in your success.” He flashes his country boy grin. “Can’t have my first artist fail. Pride thing, ya know.”
“Thanks, I think.”
“I’ll be honest, I’ve been thinking of this for a while now. But I wanted to see how you handled obstacles on the tour. I saw you do the work. You have the drive and fire to go far.”
“Thank you.”
“Also,” he hesitates for a second, “you’re loyal. Feel I can trust ya. I won’t have to be checking for a knife in my back every five seconds.”
Dang. That must be a hard thing for a man like Dawson to admit. “I’m not sure what to say.”
“Think about it.” He slaps his leg. “I wanted to talk to you first before gettin’ my lawyers involved.”
Lawyers, holy shit.
This is real.
“I don’t need an answer this minute,” he says. “Take your time.”
Chapter Forty-Three
Shelby
With Rooster in New York, my universe has a gaping hole in it. But I use the ache of missing him to push myself in the studio.
Our writing session goes even better today. Dawson’s offer has boosted my confidence and added fuel to my creative fire. I’m determined to prove Dawson’s making the right choice for his new label.
Focus. Breathe.
Today, I’m here to work on a song or two with Dawson for his album. It was a huge deal when it was a simple collaboration. Now it has the potential to be so much more.
If I bring my best work to the table.
“All right,” Dawson announces. “I’ve been working on this since you two told me I suck mothballs.”
Chaser snorts. “That’s not what we said. At all. But go on.”
“Here goes.” Dawson strums a few notes, giving us a feel for the basic melody before opening his mouth.
“You can stomp your feet.
Go on and pout.
Get mad all you want.
Shit talk me to all our friends.
Tell the world I did you wrong.
Even fuck every guy you meet.”
I chime in with, “Bitch, you need to take a seat,” without even thinking about it. Slightly embarrassed by my outburst, I slump in my chair and shut my mouth.
“Woo!” Dawson whistles. Genuine laughter pours out of him, erasing my doubt. “Damn, girl.” Grinning wide, he sets down his guitar.
“Nice, sassy line, Shelby,” Chaser says.
When the two of them stop laughing, I jerk my chin toward Dawson’s notebook. “I’m pretty sure you can’t use the big F, Dawson.”
He shrugs. “I got the fire of rebellion in me now.”
“Screw is a good alternative,” I suggest. “And it feels more country.”
“She has a point.” Chaser’s still smiling. “Let Shelby have the sassy line. It’ll be a nice contrast.”
Dawson nods, mouths a few words to himself, scribbles down a note or two, then picks up his guitar again.
“Tell the world I did you wrong.
Screw all the guys you meet.”
He raises his eyebrow at me.
“Bitch, go on and take several seats.” This time, I stand and add some wild hand gestures.
Chaser doubles over laughing, but Dawson continues the song.
“You caught me by surprise.
No amount of pretty outside can hide.
You’re the devil in disguise.”
“Oh, that’s good. I like that,” I encourage.
“I don’t want no olive branch.”
He stops, face in deep concentration.
“You can stick it up your ass?” I hope to heck he realizes I’m kidding.
Dawson and Chaser crack up.
Shaking his head, Dawson slaps his leg. “I like that, but it might be one too far.”