Simple.
Except it’s not.
Because the second I step into my room, my phone lights up.
Missed calls.
Multiple.
My manager and producer.
The studio.
Unknown number.
Balor fucking Cruz.
“What the hell?—”
The phone rings again.
I don’t even look at the number this time.
I answer.
“Yeah.”
“Mr. Mars, this is Jake Windsor from the studio. We met yesterday?”
I close my eyes for a second.
Of course it’s him. The prick chatting up my girl.
“Yeah, I remember,” I say, voice rough because I definitely remember.
“Right. We need you here immediately.”
My jaw tightens.
“Why?”
A pause.
“There’s been a flag on one of the beats you’re using in Try For Me. The system kicked it back during a rights check. Possible overlap.”
I go still.
Not worried.
Annoyed.
It’s the kind of shit that happens from time to time in this business. It’s a hassle.
But I’m smart enough to know my shit only, well, it takes time to work out.
Fuck. Of course, this happens now.
“What kind of overlap?” I ask, already moving, already thinking three steps ahead.