Simon's Daughter

Chapter 8

The month after I was signed to Syco primarily consisted of searching for a manager. Which meant meetings, meetings, and more meetings. They were all fairly short meetings, and primarily went the same way.

The management company representative would say something along the lines of, “Hello, Miss Cowell, we hear you’re looking for a manager to handle your business as you try to become famous?”

I would then reply, “Yes, and I’ve heard great things about your company.”

And they would say, “Thank you. We pride ourselves on offering top-quality management services. It’s good to hear our reputation precedes us in such a way.”

To which I would say, “Oh, it does. So, what do you think you could offer me that other interested companies couldn’t? Why should I choose one of your managers?”

Then, they would tip their head in a calculated move to seem sympathetic towards me as they delivered the unfortunate news. “I’m sorry, Miss Cowell,” first came the effort to seem genuinely upset with what they had to say. “The sample track we were sent was remarkable and you are a true talent,” they would lead off with praise to soften the blow that would follow, “but we cannot put one of our managers in that position. You see, your father has a reputation of having high standards for his employees, and working for you is working for him,” they would say to make me see reason. “As I said before, you are talented and I’m sure you will make it far,” they would finish on a positive note with a smile.

And I would have no choice but to be polite and say, “I understand. Thank you for your time.”

I was ready to rip my hair out by the twentieth rejection. If they weren’t interested in arranging a deal with me, why did they even set up a meeting?

“Abriella, honey?” Jerry broke into my thoughts. “You have a phone call.”

“Thanks, Jer,” I replied, holding my hand out absently. “Hello?”

“Hi, Aby!” my father said cheerily.

“Hi, Dad.”

“What’s wrong?” he asked, immediately hearing the tone in my voice.

“It’s not working.”

“What’s not?”

“This signing thing. I must have gone to over 50 companies, 50 meetings, all with the same answer. No.”

“Why did they say no?” Simon asked suspiciously. “You’re talented, and sure to go far.” I hesitated in telling him the real reason. “Tell me,” he said as though reading my thoughts.

“You,” I sighed.

“What?” he asked in shock.

“You. Apparently, you have this reputation for having high standards. Shocking, no?” I teased at the end to lighten the mood.

“Oh. I’m so sorry, Abriella. I’ll find you a manager myself,” he said firmly.

“No, you wanted me to do this on my own. I can handle it,” I said.

“Are you sure? There aren’t many more management companies left.”

“I’m sure,” I decided. “There has to be someone, somewhere, that’s willing to be my manager...  If it’s meant to be, it’ll happen.”

“If you say so, honey. Hey, I have an appointment in three minutes, I have to go now.”

“Alright, bye, Dad!”

“Bye, sweetheart!”

I flopped backwards onto my bed, staring at my ceiling in desperation. Would I be able to find someone? Maybe all the crazy managers in the world who were willing to put up with the craziness of the Cowell family were taken.

“Jerry!” I called out, struck by an idea.

“Yeah?” he popped his head around the doorframe.

“Who manages One Direction?”

“Oh… erm… Modest Management,” he said uncomfortably.

“Have we talked to them?”

“No…” he said.

“Why not?” I demanded. “They manage One Direction, obviously they’re willing to put up with Simon’s demands!”

“That’s the thing…” Jerry said awkwardly. “Part of the deal when you get one of their managers is that you sign a 2-year, non-breakable contract. You cannot change management for those 2 years or you’ll get slapped with such a heavy lawsuit that you’ll owe so much money, you won’t make any profit for yourself for the next 30 years.”

“So? I need a manager, Jerry.” He opened his mouth and I quickly said, “A professional one. Who’s worked with other acts that have made it big. I appreciate your offer, but we’ve been through this. I’d rather have you as a personal assistant anyway. That way we could still have fun and you wouldn’t have to be the buzzkill.” I grinned at him.

“That’s true. I still think you should make Modest Management your last resort. And I mean last resort. Like, there’s no other possible option and you’ve exhausted every resource you can possibly think of in any world, dimension, or timeline.”

I laughed at this before becoming serious. “I think we’re at that point, Jerry.”

And there you have it, ladies and gentlemen. The first chapter I have completely, and totally written. Please, please, please give me your opinion. I know it's short, but I felt like the end was a good place to stop, and the next chapter should be longer. And I kind of just wanted to get it out there.

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-Cassie