He has far more tension in his voice toward the end, but the annoyance is warranted if they only told him now that I was taking over the project. They signed off on me directing two weeks ago after Heath offered to consult from the safety of suburbia.

“Remi Sinner.” I slide my palm into his waiting one, but he more strokes the back of my hand with his thumb than shakes it. “The band sounded great,” I add, pulling my hand away.

“They always do.” Christian studies me for a beat before he claps. “So…” He pauses and holds his arms out to the sides. “Impress me, baby. Tell me how this is all going to go down.”

The second he brings up filming, a portion of the nerves dissolve. I reach in my bag for my phone to show him what I shot and edited together last week for a visual.

“The label’s vision was very on with the current documentaries a lot of musicians have been filming and releasing on streaming services. A camera crew follows the band around, and they give prompted confessionals. Nothing wrong with it, but I propose going in a different direction.”

I hit play on the video of the kids at the skate park and hold my phone out for Christian. He slips it out of my fingers, flipping the screen. A few seconds with nothing but the sounds from the speakers pass as he watches, and I can’t read his reaction.

“We’ll shoot with handheld cams,” I explain to him, “including from the band’s points of view when we can. It will be candid and raw—them showing a genuine depiction of their journey. Honestly, the overproduced, safe, and scripted side of singers and artists has been done to death. People want something real. They’re losing interest in the commercialized bullshit constantly shoved down their throats.”

“Amen,” the guard says from the hallway.

“Hand cams and unfiltered,” Christian mutters. He glances up, squinting, and then checks the video again. “This is how you’re gonna make my guys look like they’re worth the money the label’s pouring into this?”

“Well, I’m sure they’ll do that themselves. I’ll just be there to capture it.”

After a beat, he breaks into another grin, looking all the way up this time. “You keep talking like that, and you won’t only have me hard, but I might fall in love with you, Remi Sinner.”

The guard meets my skeptical gaze, followed by his eyes dramatically rolling. Borderline inappropriate must be the norm with Christian, then. Not shocking when it comes to music managers.

“You’ve won me over,” he says, already checking his phone when he hands over mine. “The guys have a few questions before they sign off on the whole thing. Mostly they want to know how in their faces you and a film crew plan on being.”