[Los Angeles – Firelight Studios, 11:42 AM]
Charlie sat alone in a glass-walled office room that smelled faintly of espresso and industrial carpet. Amanda Monroe left him for a moment to give him time to read the contract.
His phone was in one hand, a thick stack of printed legal documents in the other. He had been scanning the Firelight Studios contract for the past thirty minutes, brow furrowed, pen in his mouth like a chewing toy.
Every page laid out something new: percentages, terms, rights, obligations, deadlines, creative controls, licensing language, tax disclaimers, production timetables, studio-provided resources, and a clause about wardrobe damage that included an oddly specific section on "faux leather jackets during stunt sequences."
Charlie finally exhaled and pulled out his phone.
He opened his messages and fired off a photo of the contract's key pages to Irina Denvers with a simple caption:
"Read this before I sign my soul. You know where the traps are."
He figured it was smart to let a seasoned predator check for traps. Charlie was no stranger to contracts. He had signed plenty in his jingle days, usually written on the back of cocktail napkins and promising everything short of eternal life in exchange for thirty seconds of catchy nonsense. But this? This was different. This was big.
Within ten minutes, Irina replied with a voice memo.
"You're clear. Surprisingly fair contract. Fixed compensation of five grand per song, plus royalties based on public engagement and streaming performance. Firelight takes a thirty-five percent cut, which is standard. You retain full creative control. And here's the part you'll want to read twice: if the project tanks, you carry zero liability. They eat the cost. If you need actors for the music videos and fail to provide, the studio will find them for you, and their cut rises to forty-three percent, but still not a bad deal considering you're a first-timer. My advice? Sign it. Just don't miss your deadlines, and don't get cute with the visuals."
Charlie smiled. He typed back a quick thank you, added a smiling emoji because it felt like tradition, then dropped his phone on the table and reached for the pen.
He flipped to the final page of the contract and signed his name. Charlie Harper, songwriter, performer, creative lead.
It felt good.
A few minutes later...
Amanda Monroe returned with a tablet in hand, her heels clicking softly against the polished floor. She glanced at the freshly signed contract in front of Charlie and gave a small, satisfied nod.
"Congratulations," she said, taking the folder and tucking it under her arm. "You're officially part of Firelight's new wave project. We've locked in your first session for July 1. Studio B, 10 AM sharp. You'll have a full day to settle in and meet the production crew before we start."
Charlie stood and shook her hand. Her grip was firm and warm, the kind that told him she knew how to close a deal and also how to spot a phony from a mile away.
"Thanks for believing in me," he said.
Amanda smiled. "You earned it. Just don't let us down. We're building something real here, and your voice is going to be part of that."
She then gave him a copy of his contract and other legal documents.
He put the papers in his briefcase and headed for the door. As he stepped into the lobby, his eyes immediately landed on Laura.
She was sitting in a leather chair by the tall windows, scrolling through her phone with her legs crossed, one heel bouncing lazily. Her hair was tucked behind one ear, and a pair of tinted glasses sat low on her nose. She looked calm, composed, and striking in her own effortless way.
'Dang! So beautiful,' Charlie thought as he walked to her.
The moment she saw him, she stood up. "So?" she asked, slipping her phone into her pocket.
Charlie grinned. "It's on. July first. Full access. Creative control. And the first actual real contract I've signed where I don't owe anyone my kidney."
Laura beamed and walked over to him. "See? I knew you'd pull it off."
He shrugged, trying to play it cool, but the pride in his chest gave him away. "I had help. And smart people in my corner."
She leaned in and kissed his cheek. "Come on. Let's go and grab some lunch. And I want to hear exactly how you're going to turn three breakup songs into three music videos."
...
[Lunch]
They ended up at a little steakhouse just off Melrose, the kind of place with leather booths, dim lighting, and waiters who wore vests like armor.
They sat across from each other in a private booth near the back. Charlie let the moment settle in: the quiet murmur of lunch conversations, the hum of soft jazz in the background, and the simple fact that he was in an expensive steakhouse after signing a massive music contract.
The menu was short but somewhat expensive. Charlie ordered a medium-rare ribeye with mashed potatoes and asparagus. Laura went for the filet mignon, medium-rare, with truffle fries. And wine, as usual.
They talked for a moment, and then their order arrived.
He cut into his steak slowly, savoring the texture. Then he looked at Laura and spoke through a mouthful of seasoned bliss.
"I'm not gonna lie. This is hitting harder than I thought. Success tastes like garlic butter."
Laura grinned, spearing a piece of her filet. "I heard from Lisa and Berta that you worked hard. So, you deserve this win. And you didn't let the pressure get to you."
Charlie nodded, chewing thoughtfully. He swallowed, wiped his mouth, and leaned forward slightly.
"You know, I've been thinking about the next step. The videos," he said. "I can write songs. That much I know. I know rhythm. I know mood. But directing a music video? That's a whole other beast. I know my limits."
Laura paused, fork halfway to her mouth. "You're not going to direct them?"
"Nope," Charlie said, shaking his head. "I don't want to fake my way through something that matters and mess things up. This isn't some jingle with cartoon animals. I need someone who knows what the hell they're doing with a camera. And maybe some day, I'll do it, but first I gotta learn things and how the whole thing works, you know what I mean."
He took a sip of water, then continued. "I'm going to tell the studio to bring in a real director. Someone who can take the mood and story I give them and elevate it. And since I've got creative control, I was thinking about the casting too."
Laura raised an eyebrow, chewing slowly. "Casting?"
Charlie gave her a small smile, not quite smug, but certainly aware of the impact of his next sentence.
"I might ask Lisa and you to star in them."
Laura blinked. The words hung in the air like a blown fuse. For a second, she didn't respond. She just stared at him, her fork lowered to her plate.
Charlie kept talking, "The songs are personal. They're about where I've been, what I've gone through. Lisa helped me rebuild my life. You... you've got history with me that can't be faked on camera. If we're going to show something raw and vulnerable, it should be people who get it."
Laura leaned back slowly in her chair. Her expression wasn't angry or offended. If anything, she looked impressed but a little stunned.
"You want me to be in a music video? As in… on camera. With lights. And playback. And probably a team of interns powdering my face between takes?"
"That's the idea," Charlie said.
She stared at him, then let out a short laugh. "You really are insane."
"Only on Tuesdays," He said with a grin.
Laura swirled her wine glass for a moment. Then she leaned in a little closer. Her voice dropped, not seductive but serious.
"You sure about this? I mean, I got no experience in this acting thing."
Charlie nodded. "I do. And trust me, we are gonna do lots of practice since we have enough time. Plus, if this thing works out and we get famous, then think about it... Your mom might just accept our relationship without shooting my balls. Like we'll finally have a secure future."
Laura stared at him for another second, then shook her head with a small, stunned smile. "I don't know if you're a genius or just the most reckless man I've ever slept with. Wait! You are the only man I ever slept with."
Charlie raised his glass. "Let's say both. Makes it more interesting."
Laura clinked her glass against his, then took a sip.
"Alright, Harper. I'm in. But if I get even one pimple from those studio lights, I'm making you write a fourth song about it."
Charlie smirked. "Deal. Title: 'Breakout Star.'"
They both laughed, and the tension dissolved. For now, the steaks were hot, the contracts were signed, and the future looked wild enough to be worth chasing.
After lunch, Laura had one of her signature grins plastered across her face as they walked out of the restaurant.
"You ever been to Belladonna?" she asked, slipping her sunglasses on. "It's supposed to be one of the coolest low-key casinos in LA. Never been, though. Want to check it out?"
Charlie blinked. "You've never been to a casino?"
"Nope. Never had the time, or the right outfit. Today, I have both."
He hesitated for a moment. Technically, he had never been to casinos in his past life. But he has all the memories, though they were mostly hazy due to the alcohol. And playing cards at a table with real money in real time? Whole different animal.
Still, how could he say no to that excited look on Laura's face? And he himself was a bit curious.
"Sure," he said, forcing a confident smile. "Let's hit the tables."
[Casino]
The Belladonna was clean and stylish, not Vegas-level flashy, but upscale enough to demand a collared shirt. Inside, the lights glowed gold and red, the air smelled like money and cigars, and the sounds of dings, coins clinking, and intermittent cheers filled the air like a cocktail of temptation.
Charlie walked up to the cashier and casually bought ten grand worth of chips, pretending like this was normal for him.
Laura raised an eyebrow. "Whoa. Big spender."
"Hey, if we're gonna do this, let's do it right," Charlie said, trying not to visibly flinch when the cashier handed him the stack of chips. 'I have no idea why I spent that much on gambling. It felt like muscle memory. God help me.'
He steered them away from the poker tables and blackjack crowd, where real sharks swam, and instead aimed for something simpler. First stop: coin machines.
They took a pair of seats in front of matching chrome-framed slot machines with ridiculous graphics and cheesy sound effects. Charlie fed in a few chips, pulled the lever, and let fate spin its wheel.
Three lemons. Nothing.
Then cherries. Still nothing.
Laura giggled beside him, already five spins deep. "This is kinda fun. Like scratching lottery tickets but louder."
Charlie grinned. "Yeah, but the lemons are mocking me."
Then came roulette.
They moved to the big wheel, where the tension was always thick and the odds felt just close enough to pretend you had control. Charlie placed a cautious bet on black. It hit. He won. Then he tried red. Another win. Then odd. Then even. Then a series of lucky guesses that had Laura clapping and laughing beside him.
"What the hell, Harper? You've got the magic touch today!"
Charlie chuckled, still shocked himself. "It would seem my lady luck is right beside me." She winked at her with one of his signature smiles.
She blushed slightly.
Over the next two hours, the wins started to stack. He went from ten grand to fifteen, then twenty-two, then thirty-five. He lost a couple, but went back to the winning streak again. People began to notice. A few staff members circled closer. Drinks were offered. Cameras might have been watching.
He switched machines, doubled down, split a bet on two numbers, and hit a hot streak on red again. Laura watched him with a mix of awe and giddy disbelief.
"Okay, how are you doing this?" she asked, sipping from a fruity cocktail. "Did you sell your soul on the way over here?"
Charlie shrugged, trying to keep his breathing even. "I dunno. Maybe I'm just on fire today. Or, it's real. You are my lady luck."
By the end of the fifth hour, he was staring at a chip tray worth nearly sixty grand. Not bad for a guy who walked in clueless and barely knew the rules beyond what he'd seen in movies.
The voice in his head started to whisper. One more spin. Bet it all. Pick a number. You're hot right now. Ride the wave.
Charlie stared at the roulette table. His hand hovered over the chips.
"Thirty-four," he mumbled under his breath. "I always liked thirty-four."
The dealer's eyes flicked to him. Laura leaned in.
"Thinking about going big?"
Charlie looked at the stack again. He could put it all on thirty-four and either leave a legend or leave in tears. His gut clenched.
And then he stepped back.
"Nah," he said, shaking his head. "I'm not greedy. That's how the house wins."
Laura looked at him, impressed. "Smart move."
He handed in his chips and requested a wire transfer instead of cash. As they walked toward the exit, she slid her arm into his and looked up at him with a smirk.
"You were amazing in there."
Charlie exhaled, finally allowing himself to relax. "I'm officially retired from gambling. Went in for fun, came out with a down payment on a house."
[Parking]
Charlie looked at Laura and leaned in. He whispered, "Wanna go to a hotel and have sex all night?"
"Are you going to spank me and fuck my throat?" She whispered back.
"I'll slam my entire dick in your throat until you make it sloppy enough to put it into your pussy," He replied with a little nibble on her earlobe.
"Mumm~ I'd like that. Then, let's go. I am fucking so horny now," Laura replied as her imagination went wild.
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