A Healing Love
Copyright© 2025 by Marc Nobbs
Chapter 30: Everything is Politics
Coming of Age Sex Story: Chapter 30: Everything is Politics - Paul Robertson's journey continues as his past and present collide at a star-studded movie premiere, where a connection that once terrified him reignites with passion that threatens to consume them both. Fighting to forge a new future for himself and stop drifting, Paul must finally become the man he’s always been afraid to be. A beautiful, bittersweet exploration of grief, social responsibility, the healing power of love, and learning that sometimes loving someone means letting them go.
Caution: This Coming of Age Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa Consensual Romantic Heterosexual Fiction
I got an email on my new Wintersmith account from Marie as I left my ten o’clock lecture on Monday morning—the economics elective with Doctor Bennett.
Hi Paul,
I have documents ready for signature to set up your two new companies. WSH will need to be signed electronically because Chloë is out of the country, but you can sign in person for Wintersmith Media if you prefer.
I’ve also arranged a meeting with Ben and Amiee for this afternoon. Would it be alright to meet at your house, or would you prefer to do it somewhere else?
I replied to tell her that I was happy signing for both companies electronically and that it was fine to meet at my house. With every meeting, my dining room was starting to feel more like Wintersmith’s unofficial Board Room.
“Ben. Amiee. Come on in,” I said. “How was the journey?”
“It was fine,” Amiee said. “The trains are a lot less crowded at this time of day than during rush hour. We even managed to get a seat.”
“I wouldn’t know about that,” Ben said. “I live in the city, not the suburbs. Closer to the action. So, I get the tube in and do it early to avoid the crush.”
“Closer to the action, but my flat is twice the size of yours for half the rent,” Amiee said, grinning.
The word ‘rent’ made me pause before showing them into the dining room. Both Ben and Amiee were successful lawyers. They had to be earning good money, yet neither of them owned their own home. I didn’t know exactly how old they were, but I would have guessed they were in their mid to late twenties or early thirties at most. Still, I would have thought they’d have their own house by now. My sister did, and she would have been of a similar age.
Although Vicky had her share of the inheritance and the money from the sale of Liddington-Phipps. Would she have her own house without that? Probably not.
And there I was, a homeowner at twenty-one, not due to my own efforts or hard work, but because of the death of someone I loved. It still didn’t feel right.
“We’re in the board room,” I said, gesturing to the room to my right.
“When did you start calling it The Board Room?” Imogen asked, smirking. She’d come out of the lounge, where she’d been watching television with Mark.
“Since this morning,” I replied. “Are you making a drink, by any chance?”
“Do I look like your secretary?”
“Well, no, but if you’re making one anyway, I just thought...”
“I can do it,” Marie said.
“No, it’s fine,” Imogen said. “I was going to offer to make one anyway.” She addressed Ben and Amiee. “What would you both like?”
Both asked for tea, and Imogen walked towards the kitchen. “You should put me on the payroll,” she said over her shoulder.
“I don’t have a payroll. But if you send Marie an invoice every month, I’ll ask her to pay it.”
“I might just do that!”
Ben, Amiee, Marie and I all took seats around the table. Pleasantries over before we’d sat down, Ben went straight to business.
“We’ve secured what we believe is a great deal,” he said. “To be honest, I was surprised how straightforward it was. The label must not have much faith in Kayla or this new direction she’s taking. They seemed really eager to offload the production costs.”
“Have you heard any of the music she’s producing?” Amiee asked. “Is it actually any good?”
“I haven’t heard any new songs that are finished,” I said. “But she sat with her guitar and a notepad pretty much all day yesterday, writing new songs. It’s fascinating watching her work—she gets lost in it. She told me that she’s brimming with creativity after the show on Saturday. Thanks for coming to that, by the way. What did you think of it?”
“Oh, she’s an amazing performer,” Amiee said. “It was an incredible show.”
“Agreed,” Ben said, “One of the better shows I’ve seen in a while. She’s smart, too. That trick with putting the YouTube comments on the screen behind her ... That’s smart. Not seen anyone do that before.”
“And then using comments as an excuse to sing those covers. Again, that was smart,” Amiee said.
“Judging by some of those comments, her fans seem really loyal, so I don’t understand why the label is so twitchy. Is what she’s doing really going to be such a big departure from what she’s done before?”
I shook my head. “You’re probably a better judge than me. That ‘new’ version of ‘A Woman’s Work’ that she released a couple of weeks ago—that’s what she says she wants the album to sound like.”
Amiee nodded.
“Well,” said Ben, “It’s different, but not that different. Not my cup of tea, but I can’t see it alienating her current fans. Has she considered recording any of those covers she sang, by the way? They seemed to go down really well—again, that’s just judging by the comments. I went through them all yesterday. And her mentions on Twitter. ‘Always’ definitely seemed to be the most popular. Doing a cover version is a quick and easy way to flesh out an album.”
“I don’t think she’s thought about it, but I’ll mention it to her.”
By sheer coincidence, Ben’s mention of ‘tea’ was when Imogen walked in with four steaming mugs and a plate of biscuits on a tray.
“Can you give me your email address for that invoice before you leave, please, Marie?” she said with a smirk as she put the tray on the table. I just shook my head as she turned and left the room.
Then I leaned towards Marie and said, “I want to see any invoice before you pay it. I’ll need to see if there’s any ‘room for negotiation.’”
Ben and Amiee started laughing.
“So,” I said. “About this deal. Explain it for me.”
Ben reached into the leather messenger bag he’d brought with him, which he’d slung over the back of the chair, and pulled out three bound documents. He handed one to me, one to Marie and opened the third, placing it on the table between himself and Amiee.
“Basically, if you sign this, then you’re agreeing to pay all the recording costs—not including Harry and Ellie’s upfront fees, but including any session musicians—up to a maximum of one hundred thousand dollars—”
“That’s about sixty thousand pounds at the current rate,” Amiee said.
Ben nodded. “And for that, they are willing to go as high as thirty percent of wholesale—that’s the revenue after the retailers and distributors have taken their cut. For CD sales, you’d be looking at about two dollars per sale.”
I sucked in a breath through my teeth. “If this one does as well as her last two, that’s over a million dollars. That’s what...? Six hundred thousand pounds?”
“A five-hundred percent return,” Marie said. “That’s pretty spectacular.”
“That’s only if the album does well, though,” Ben said. He left the alternative situation unsaid.
I nodded and said, “You said up to one hundred thousand. Does the percentage share drop if it costs less than that?”
“No,” Amiee said. “It’s fixed up to that amount. But if it goes over that, and the label has to start contributing, then your share drops.”
“By how much?”
“One percent for every ten thousand it goes over, down to a minimum for you of fifteen. Plus, they are likely to have less to spend on promotion, meaning it either gets promoted less, or Kayla has to work much harder.”
“We better make sure it doesn’t go over my budget, then.”
I leaned back in my chair and stared at the ceiling. I hated this. Obviously, I wanted to keep Carly here in Westmouth with me for as long as possible. But if I signed this deal, the longer she stayed, the more it would cost me. I began to question whether this was a good idea.
Then I thought about how Carly had reacted when I asked her if she minded me doing this. She was so pleased at the thought that I was willing to get the label off her back and allow her to take all the time she needed to make the music she wanted to make.
So, what if it cost me money? My time with Carly was limited and precious. I was determined to do everything I could to make this the happiest time of her life so far.
And if that resulted in great music, perhaps the best music she’d made in her career so far, then so much the better.
I looked back at my lawyers.
“We’re paying seven-fifty a day, right?”
Ben nodded.
“So, how many studio days does sixty grand cover?”
“Eighty,” Marie said. I glanced at her to see that she had the calculator app open on her phone. She was also making notes on a notepad and in the document’s margins.
I hadn’t even opened the document.
“So, just under three months. Does anyone know how many days she’s already used?”
“It’s twenty-five, including today,” Amiee said. “But remember, she’s mostly only doing weekdays, so it’s longer than three months if she sticks to that. She’s only done a couple of days at weekends so far.”
“On the other hand, each time you have to pay a session musician, that comes out of the sixty grand, too,” Ben said. “You’ll need to factor that in as well.”
I glanced across at the document Marie had open in front of her, then at the closed one in front of me. This was tough. It was clearly a good deal for me—even I could see that. But why was the label so keen to make it? What did they know that I didn’t? They knew the Nashville market better than I did, so were they aware that Carly’s—sorry, Kayla’s—star was fading, not rising? No, that couldn’t be right. Ben mentioned the comments on Saturday’s YouTube broadcast, and I’d read them too. Her fans ‘back home’ loved her and were really keen to have her back performing in person for them again.
Or were they merely afraid that the music would be too different for a broader Country audience to embrace?
But did I really care about the labels’ motivations? If Carly exhausted my sixty-thousand-pound investment, that meant I’d get to keep her here with me longer, didn’t it? Yes, I wanted to make a profit, but I also wanted Carly to create the best music she could and stay with me in Westmouth for as long as possible.
“Kayla’s told me she wants Blackfriars’ Nightmare to play on the album with her. Could we negotiate a deal with them? Perhaps a one-off fee, credit on the album, and a share of my revenue? Say, five percent? Ten? That means we then know exactly how many studio days Kayla has. I don’t want to put pressure on her, but it could help focus her.”
“We could,” Ben said, nodding. “And it would. But I’d recommend offering five percent of everything after you’ve covered your costs.”
I raised my eyebrows. “That sounds sensible. Can I leave that to you guys to sort out?”
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