Ranko sighed, leaning back into the black leather office chair with a little shiver. “Why do they gotta keep it so fucking cold in here?!”
The brunette to Ranko’s right shook her head. “I told you, you should have dressed warmer. It's a shrewd negotiating tactic people do when they control the meeting place. If you're uncomfortable, you won't stay as long, and you'll give up on fights you might otherwise dig in on just to get out of the room quicker.”
The songstress rolled her eyes at Nabiki. “Are people really that… shitty? Like, they wanna be unfair so bad that they'll resort to freezing your tits off with the air conditioner to do it?” She crossed her arms over her breasts, the Cat’s Tongue affording her no mercy from the air vent located directly over her chair at the head of the Yokai Records boardroom table closest to the double doors.
Nabiki sighed, pulling her arm out of her black blazer. “Here. Put this on. I can't have you squirming around like you’ve gotta pee while I'm working. It's a bad look.”
Ranko stuck her tongue out at it. “Blegh. It looks so… business-ey. Why can't they make stuff like that, but like, cute?” Still, she took the nylon coat and began to slip it on over her teal skater dress. Fucking shoulder pads? Really, Nabs? Un-cute, and slightly itchy, though she may have thought it, she was grateful for its warmth.
The brunette chuckled at the sentiment, made all the more absurd by who it was who’d said it. “Because it's more important to look like you're no nonsense,” Nabiki said as she held the other sleeve for Ranko to slide her arm into. “Especially for us as women. We need to make sure everyone knows they need to take us seriously.”
Ranko sighed, slumping back in her chair slightly. “All these extra rules and precautions and shit for girls suck.”
“Tell me about it, sis,” Nabiki groaned. “But that's why you keep me around. I'm here to be the boring, straight-laced agent for you, so you can play the bubbly little princess. You’re a badass too, but… in a different way.”
The redhead blushed furiously at the idea of anyone besides Akane calling her little princess, even if it was her big sister. “How long are they gonna make us sit here and stare at the wall? Or is this another one of those power move things?”
The elder woman, stifling a shiver of her own without the benefit of her blazer, nodded. “Oh, absolutely. Making us wait is supposed to make us feel like their time is more important than ours.”
“Can't wear a jacket to get out of that one. How are you supposed to counter it,” Ranko asked with no small measure of genuine curiosity.
Nabiki smirked at her position, getting to impart wisdom to her apprentice. “There's a few ways. You can show up late, or leave after a few minutes if you haven't been seen. But we don't need to resort to that level just yet. We don't want to completely go adversarial. Not yet, anyway.”
“I don't get why this is even a thing,” Ranko said dejectedly. “I don't even know how much money we’ve made for them, but it's gotta be a truckload, and we haven't even seen much of it at all yet. You’d think they'd just appreciate that and be cool with us.”
Chuckling, Nabiki opened her leather briefcase and began organizing her paperwork. “The one constant in business is when you give someone access to a little bit of money or power, all it ever does is make them want more.”
“I guess. And another thing… how come they didn't ask the rest of the band to come? Why just us?” Ranko looked up at the white analog clock on the far wall, tapping her foot. The movement was helping her stay warm, however nervous it might have made her appear.
Nabiki patted Ranko’s hand on the tabletop. “Technically, they didn't ask us. They asked you. But I'm not about to let you deal with them without me. You're too fucking nice.”
“Thanks, I think,” Ranko said with a blushing smile. “As long as you aren't just covering for me ‘cause you think I'm some kinda bubble brain.”
“Well, that much goes without saying,” Nabiki said, giggling playfully with her sister.
Ranko gasped. “Look here, you little sh…” She trailed off as Nabiki nudged her leg with her knee under the table. The brunette turned in her chair at the sounds of footsteps approaching from beyond the closed boardroom door behind Ranko, and Ranko caught the hint and did likewise.
The door swung open and Amaya Uyehara entered the room in a green skirt suit, flanked by two large men in dark suits. Ranko recognized neither of them. “Hello, Ranko,” Amaya said cheerily. “Nabiki,” she said with a nod to the brunette, significantly less warmly.
“Hey, Amaya,” Ranko said with a wave and a bit of a chuckle. “What's with the bodyguards? I don't even have a bow with me today.”
Amaya rolled her eyes with a smirk, gesturing to the tall, dark-skinned blonde man on her left. “This is Yasushi Imada, from our publicity and marketing team.” She extended her other arm to the stumpy man with the black five o’clock shadow. “And this is Kichirou Kondo, from creative.”
Ranko stood and bowed politely to the two men. “Hi, guys. I'm Ranko Tendo. Good to meet ya.”
“Nabiki Tendo. I'm my sister's representation,” the brunette to Ranko's side said, standing and offering a shallow, skeptical bow of her own.
The two men bowed formally to the young women, sitting next to Amaya at the far side of the boardroom table. The gap of several seats between the Yokai team and the Tendo sisters felt ominous to Ranko as she retook her seat.
“So, what's the holdup, Amaya? I figured you guys would be thrilled to get going on another album. Or is it just too soon after the first two for you?” Ranko sat forward in her chair, resting her arms on the mahogany table.
Amaya frowned a bit nervously, glancing up at the men on her left. “We are, Ranko. We are. We just have a few… tweaks… we need to make.”
“First things first. What's the status of the canceled show in Australia,” Nabiki asked pointedly. “It's been almost two months. We need to get this put to bed.”
Amaya clicked her tongue behind her teeth. “In consultation with our legal team, we’ve decided not to reschedule. The logistics of getting the band and the gear and everything back out to Australia at the end of the tour for one make-up show just aren't worth it. Consequently, we will adjust the band’s compensation to reflect thirty-five shows instead of thirty-six. Since the show was canceled through no fault of Yokai’s, we are going to need to ask the Dapper Dragons to cover the deposit on the arena and the staff time to process ticket refunds and such.”
Nabiki shook her head. “Nice try, Amaya.” She pulled out a thick packet of paper from her briefcase, waving it in the air over her head. “The insurance policy you guys took out on the tour covers cancellations due to the health of the performers. We won't be reimbursing you for anything you didn't have to pay. That's just double-dipping.”
Amaya growled. Fuck, she's good. “Maybe so, but as much as we, of course, understand and support Ranko's decision to come home, her mother is not a performer, so that won't fly.”
“No, but Ken is, and he had already been home sick for over a day when Ranko got on that plane. It isn't the band’s responsibility to replace performers on short notice while on tour; your contract with them expressly says so. The fact you canceled one show instead of three was a gift, because they were well within their rights to shut it down as soon as Ken came down with that flu. You guys got incredibly lucky that Jacob’s partner was available to help.” Nabiki snuck a quick wink at her sister, smirking.
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“But, Zoe was available. So, the performer argument doesn't work,” Amaya countered, her hands on her hips.
Nabiki shook her head. “Zoe was performing on a volunteer basis. You guys didn't even pay them. We’ll keep that little tidbit between us; no need to involve the performing rights unions in all of this. Their assistance was entirely at will, and they chose not to volunteer to perform while Ranko was distracted due to her mother being hospitalized a continent away. The performance would have been sub-par, and Zoe understandably refused to participate in it. Thus, the band had no drummer, and you had no choice but to cancel the show. Which, in turn, triggered your insurance policy pertaining to the health of the performers, and also had the convenient side benefit of freeing Ranko up to come home and see her mom.”
We need to fire our whole legal staff and hire that kid, Amaya thought. She's out-thinking six industry professionals with law degrees and she's a fucking college junior. “I’ll… take it up with the team. We will table this for now.”
“I thought you might see it our way,” Nabiki said with a victorious grin. “Now, about the new album…”
Mr. Kondo cleared his throat. “Before we get into that, we’d love to talk about the tour for a minute.”
Ranko squirmed in her chair a bit. Oh, shit. Am I in trouble? I didn’t mean to screw things up, but… when Mom got sick, I… I didn’t have a choice.
Nabiki nudged Ranko with her knee under the table, sitting up a bit and scooting her briefcase over on the table so she could see the man around it. “We’re listening…” There was a healthy helping of skepticism in her voice.
The short man folded his hands on the table, interlacing his fingers. “We’re concerned about some of the… subject matter, as we head into more conservative countries like China.”
The young songstress growled. “Come on! I already played your game and made it explicitly clear in a song that I date boys!”
Aaaand, now my skin’s crawling. Thanks, dude.
“It’s not just that,” Mr. Kondo said. “It’s the… how do we say, confrontational, nature of some of your lyrics. We’d like to see some changes to the set list going forward. For example, ending the show with the Not Yours, Don’t Touch and Sneak mashup just… We think it sends the wrong message. Between that, Freak, Hey, Jerk! and You Don’t Know Me, almost a third of the show is songs that are, frankly, angry and violent. It’s not the sort of thing we expect from our idols.”
“Lucky for you, I’m not an idol, then,” Ranko said, a sharp edge in her tone. “This is the way I’ve always performed. It’s what my fans like, and what they expect. Record sales seem to be doin’ fine! What would you even want me to replace them with?”
“Well, Right Where I Wanna Be and Call Me Pandora are options. Nothing would work, I suppose. Fly could be cute, if we pair it with the right costume,” he said hopefully.
“Fly?! It’s a literal fucking lullaby, dude! That would destroy the energy of the show!” Ranko gestured furiously to the man, turning her aggravated gaze to Nabiki. “They can’t make us do this, can they?”
Nabiki flipped through a few papers in her hands, closing her briefcase hard to mask the sound of her stomping on Ranko’s foot under the table. She checked the language in the band’s contract, flipping through several pages before she found the relevant section. “No. They can’t. You have creative control. Says so right here in section eighteen.” Nabiki tapped the paragraph with her finger, showing Ranko the text.
The taller man at the table nodded. “It’s true. We don’t have the power to force you to change the set. However, we do control what sorts of contracts we’d like to enter into in the future, and that means…”
“The third album,” Nabiki said, sighing. “You don’t have a stick, so you’re just whacking her upside the head with the carrot.”
“Wha…?” Ranko blinked, her eyes scanning the room for flying vegetables. She found none. “What’s going on?”
Nabiki growled. “They’re saying they won’t sign on for the new album unless you give them what they want.”
Mr. Kondo shook his head with a bit of a sneer. “I don’t think any of us actually said that, Miss Tendo.”
Fidgeting in her seat, Amaya spoke up. “Ranko, look. We’ve enjoyed working with you, but… let’s be honest here. You haven’t made it easy on us. Yokai can’t continue to be fully at your mercy on everything. We need to restore a little bit of balance if this partnership is going to continue to work.”
“So…” Ranko sighed. “I let you guys blow up the show, and you sign the contract for the third album? That’s the deal?”
Mr. Imada shook his head. “That’s part of it.” He slid a sheet of paper across the table to the redhead. There seemed to be a dark satisfaction in his eyes as he did.
The further down the page Ranko’s eyes went, the more fury built in them. “You expect me to…”
Nabiki snatched the paper out of her sister’s hand, her eyes darting across the page. “Oh, come on, Amaya. You know she can’t agree to this.” At least, I’m pretty sure you do, but we’re playing it cool for the moment.
“All of our other talent does,” Amaya said matter-of-factly. “It’s standard language in the Yokai contract for artists now.”
“What other talent? The other artists Yokai has fucking suck, and you know it, Amaya!” Ranko slammed back in her seat, growling. “I can’t believe you guys would try to do this to me, after everything!”
Nabiki sighed. If she doesn’t let me go find her another label after this… “Look, clearly, you’ve blindsided us with this. We’ll need a little time to talk it over with the band. In the interim, as a show of good faith, we’ll drop one of the songs you don’t like from the set, if you let her replace it with another of her new songs. If you expect us to demonstrate faith that a deal for a third album will be reached, then it’s only fair you allow her to promote one of the new songs for it, and pick something more appropriate for the concert atmosphere.” She wanted to drop Freak anyway; so we can take what we want and let them think it’s a concession.
“We can work with that,” Mr. Imada said. “As a starting point.”
Nabiki stood, gathering her paperwork. “C’mon, Ranko. Let’s get out of here.” The redhead rose to her feet as Nabiki jammed the documents into her briefcase and slammed it shut again.
“Ranko, we really hope this will work out,” Amaya said softly as she spied the anguished expression in the redhead’s face. She hated the way the business aspect of their relationship constantly interfered with what she was relatively certain would have otherwise blossomed into a mutual friendship. “We honestly do love working with you.”
Nabiki glowered across the length of the boardroom table. “You guys sure have a funny way of showing it.” She snatched up her brown briefcase, turning for the door to the hallway and holding it for Ranko.
----------------------------------------
Ranko handed Nabiki back her blazer, slumping onto the vinyl seat of the eastbound train back to Minato. “Can you believe they tried that?!” She pulled her knees up to her chest, putting her feet on the seat.
The brunette nodded, slipping her arm back into her jacket. “I’m honestly surprised they haven’t tried it before now, given everything. With the way things have been going, it was only a matter of time. Ranko, you’ve got to let me try and find you another record company. You’ve just gotta.”
The redhead shook her head glumly. “If I did that, we’d lose access to all our old music. We’d be starting over from scratch. The guys would never go for it. The fans, either. And if we did it now, the tour would be wrecked, too. I couldn’t agree to it if I wanted to, and right now…”
“Alright,” Nabiki said with a sigh of resignation, seeming to put a little steel in her spine as she reached into the pocket of her slacks for a folded sheet of paper. “If that’s your position, then so be it.”
Ranko nodded resolutely. “I hate everything about it, but it has to be.” She sat back on her seat, rubbing her temples with her manicured fingers. “So, what’s our play now, business sensei?”
Nabiki closed her hand into a fist, crumpling the paper in her hand into a ball and tossing it onto the plastic tray table between her seat and Ranko’s. The words Artist Code of Conduct were still visible in bold as it rolled to a stop.
“Now, baby sister, we go to war.”