Chapter 10: Terms

The label dinner was in a private room above a steakhouse in Buckhead.

There was one long table, white linen, and a dozen chairs.

Jude walked in with his hand at the small of my back and didn't let go.

Stevie had refused to come, so I wore my good black dress and the gold guitar pick on a chain around my neck.

Deirdre sat at the far end in her cream suit.

Beside her was the label president, a man in his sixties with a tan and a pocket square.

Two lawyers flanked him with leather folders.

Kit sat near the middle, pale and still, with a glass of water she wasn't drinking.

"Jude," said the president warmly. "And your friend."

"Maggie Doyle," I said. "Sit anywhere?"

"Wherever you like."

I took the seat next to Kit.

Jude sat across from me, which put him directly in front of Deirdre.

Appetizers came.

The president talked about album sales, and the streaming numbers, and the next leg of the tour.

He did it for twenty minutes without once looking at me.

Then he cleared his throat.

"Now. Jude. We understand there's been some concern about the creative narrative."

"There's no concern," Jude said. "There's a decision."

"We'd love to hear it."

Jude folded his napkin and set it on the table.

"The album is about Maggie," he said.

"The voice on track nine is her. The song 'Doorframes' has a bridge she wrote."

He looked at the president.

"I'm taking her name off nothing, and I'm putting it on everything."

A silence fell, broken only by a waiter dropping a fork.

The president smiled.

"I'm sure we can discuss credit. In time."