Chapter 24 - Chase Me, Cowboy

I’m having trouble looking at Madi Banker as my client and not seeing every potential threat that’s come up in my career. I’m overthinking and tense when I show up to their house the next day for our meeting with her producers. At least, one of them. If I’d had the time, I’d have brought in Marion on this, as Madi’s surrounded by men, and I’d like a woman advocating for her as well.

The co-producer is standing in the drive when I pull up and park. I offer him my hand, and he shakes it, a little cold.

“Are you… Sorry, who are you?”

“Iron Talent Agency,” I say. “Jamie Iron.”

Right away, his demeanor changes. “Oh, right, so sorry. I know you. I just blanked for a second. How’re you doing? Dave Manning.”

“Good, I’m here to make sure everything goes smoothly with the tour planning,” I say.

Dave sizes me up. I’m hoping he doesn’t piss me off today because I’m in a particularly touch-and-go mood.

“Alright, let’s head inside,” I say.

I let us both into the kitchen after knocking. Madi appears in the living room with an iced coffee in hand. She’s looking a little better today. At least, her eyes aren’t as tired.

“Hey,” she says, crossing into the kitchen. She offers her hand to Dave. “How’re you, Mr. Manning?”

He gives her a brisk handshake before setting his bag on the table and looking around. “Where’s your father?”

Her face falls, but she covers it. “He’s upstairs. He’ll be just a minute.”

I start making myself a coffee. “We can go ahead and get started.”

Madi sinks down at the table nervously. Dave frowns, but doesn’t protest.

“So, Madi, why don’t you outline your ideal tour,” I say. “Which cities, how many stops, what venues. What size of venue. That kind of thing.”

She bites her lip, brow furrowing.

“I was thinking maybe we do an American tour, but mainly on the eastern side,” she says finally. “From Texas to the coast.”

“Not Canadian?”

“Not this time,” she says. “I think my next album would be a really great option for a Canadian tour, though.”

We all pause as heavy footfalls sound from the stairs, then Noah appears around the corner, fastening his watch. He’s clearly fresh from the shower and smells a bit like cheap body spray. I’m sure it’s not actually cheap, not with the way he likes to spend money. He just has some strange tastes.

“Good, you’re both here,” he says, taking a laptop from the desk by the door and popping it open on the table. “We can get started.”

I don’t say that we already did. Madi goes from being nervous to closing up tight, eyes lowered.

I do not like this. Not one bit.

“Alright,” he says, cracking his knuckles. “I was up working on this. I’d like to start in LA, do a couple nights there, then Vegas, Albuquerque, Phoenix, then move into Texas—”

“Sorry, in what span of time?” I cut in.

“We can do that in the first ten days. I mean, we’ll have to if we want to hit the East Coast.”

I glance at Madi. Her eyes are knuckles white on her dripping coffee.

“Hey, Noah, can I have a second?” I tilt my head to the back door.

I go, without waiting, and when I turn around on the sidewalk, he’s behind me. We’re about the same size, both about as broad. I’m a few inches taller; I’m sure he fucking hates that. Asshole. I take a pack of Marlboros from my pocket and offer him one, lighting up.

“You have to stagger these stops more,” I say.

“We can hit those cities easily, with time to spare. What’s the problem?” He jerks his chin up, like he’s daring me to contradict him.

Unfortunately for him, I do this shit in my sleep.

“Madi’s gonna burn out,” I say. “I’d do a show a week, maybe less, at her current state.”

“A show a week? You know how much that shit costs?”

“I do,” I say. “This is my job.”

He gestures at the house with his cigarette. “Madi’s wanted this since she was a little kid. She’s ready to work. I say we let her.”

“Madi is eighteen.”

“And?”

Alright, he’s really pissing me off.

“She’s barely out of high school, and you want her working three nights a week, doing live shows with thousands in the crowd? She should be fucking going to college, worrying about her boyfriend, or whatever the fuck is normal. You are talking about working her like an animal.”

“Madi has always been mature,” he says. “She can handle it.”

“Madi will crash and burn if you ask her to do a tour of that scale.” I inhale, trying to get some nicotine in my system so I don’t swing at him. That’s the last fucking thing I need. “You pace her out. And quit with all the fucking brand deals. You don’t need that many.”

His jaw works, eyes narrowing. “Maybe we made a mistake with ITA.”

“Do you hear yourself?” I take a step in.

“Do you—”

“If you work her like that, I will drop her.”

The words come out before I have time to consider them. But I was right; I called his bluff. He knows he won’t get representation as good as he’s getting from me anywhere else. Everyone knows if you sign with Marion and me, you sign with the best.

“I won’t be responsible for watching her burn out,” I say, voice dropping. “This is a bullshit industry. Every person she meets from here on out will treat her like she’s a commodity. If she can’t rely on her father to keep her safe, who can she rely on? Because that’s your fucking job.”

My voice rises. Anger flares in his eyes.

“I’d like you to back off and take a breather,” I say.

There it is, the bomb I’ve been planning on dropping since yesterday. He takes a step back, does a circle, and gets up in my space.

“I’m her manager,” he spits.

“I’m her agent.”

“I can fucking fire you. I fucking pay your bills.”

“No,” I say, putting a finger on his chest and shoving him back. “She pays your bills and mine. The buck stops with your daughter.”

He opens his mouth to retort, but I step away. If I don’t, I’m gonna hit him.

“Read one of her contracts, for a change,” I say flatly. “I’ve read them all.”

“I’ve read her fucking contracts.”

“Oh yeah? How long until she’s out of her contract with Houston-Best?” I snap back.

His lips part, throat bobbing. “It’s nine years, standard.”

“Seven.”

“It’s the same—”

I turn on my heel. “When’s her birthday, Noah?”

He swings, and my brain goes quiet, my body sidestepping. I’ve done martial arts and self-defense classes just to stay fit, and it kicks in. My arm notches around his neck, subduing him against my chest, but not hurting his throat. He tries to struggle, but I keep him still. My mouth hovers over his ear.

“You’re gonna go in the garage and get yourself a beer and sit your ass down,” I say softly. “I’m gonna talk to Madi and her producers, and when we’re done, you can review the plan. Got it?”

He doesn’t speak. I tighten my bicep slightly.

“Okay, fucking fine,” he spits out.

Pushing him off, I step back so he can’t swing and hit me. Fortunately for me, they have outdoor security cameras, and he’s not going after me, not when he swung first. He spins, straightening his shirt. We stare each other down. I’m not budging. While he might think this is an unusual occurrence, I’ve been doing this for long enough, he’s not the first person to try to hit me for standing up for a client. He’s about the tenth.

He spits on the ground, wiping his face, then leaves to circle the house to the garage. I turn, releasing a heavy sigh. The windows are empty—good, I was hoping Madi didn’t have to see all that. Shoulders down, I go inside, but not before arranging my face into a pleasant smile. Nobody needs to know the bad parts, least of all the client.

The war is far from over, but today, the battle is won.