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his body shrinking inside it.

The next hour is spent listening to Raymond and Ronnie bicker over Jesse Draven, who ran his mouth on social media.

Now it’s a problem.

“He’s out of control,” Raymond snaps.

“He’ll make a public apology,” Ronnie mutters.

Raymond laughs—“He won’t do it.”

Back and forth,

they argue louder, stupider,

neither hearing each other.

One more year,

I’ll be the golden-age of twenty-five,

and Soundwave Records will belong to me.

In the meantime, I do what I do best:

take care of the artists,

write songs,

fix problems.

When producers hit a wall, I knock it down.

When the label needs fresh songs,

ones people won’t skip after ten seconds,

they come to me.

I’m paid too much for what I do for Raymond,

not enough for what he did to me.

“I told you not to sign him. This is what happens when you keep chasing TikTok virals.”

Raymond waves a hand.

“C’mon, Allie. Write the guy a song.

“Throw him a bone.”

I laugh. “A song? How will a song help? You want me to write anI’m-sorry-I-slandered-your-precious-Theo Rainesballad?”

He chuckles. “Relax, sweetheart.

“Not askin’ you to sleep with the guy.”

There’s a chilling yet smug smile in his eyes when he says it.