Jonas Lee steps in the room, the entire room filling with sound machines and a booth for his musician. The black soundproof walls hold records, with his companies name written in the middle. The Lee Records. A desk sat in front of the booth, full of knobs and buttons. The leather of the seats in the room are a dark red, almost mahogany.

He continues walking to the booth, setting down his case on the side table. Reaching in, he grabs the music folder that his assistant Mike gave him a few hours ago.

Ralph Nader is his singer today, a male in his twenties. He attracts the girls and audience to his label, piling in the money that keeps him open.

The door opens behind him, indicating the entrance of Ralph. Jonas looks over his shoulder and nods at the singer. Dark black hair and brown serene eyes with a defined jaw. Today, he wore a green button up with low slung jeans paired with white tennis shoes. Ralph grunts and walks toward him, sitting on a couch across from the desk.

While Jonas is normally business, Ralph has a tendency to be a child. The producer looks back at his papers, his nose wrinkling at the song choice.

One day, these girls will realize love songs are cliche and unnecessary. he comments inside his head. He grabs the sheet and turns in his seat to face Ralph.

"Mike spoke with the song writer, and agreed to do another love song," he states, handing the copied music sheet over, "But if this isn't as a hit as the first one, we are going back to the basics."

Ralph snorts, sitting straight. "Of course, you want that. You don't know the first thing a woman wants."

Jonas rolls his eyes, the conversation getting tiring. "We have this arguement every time, Ralph. And I am done with it. You have what you wanted, but as your producer and the owner of Lee Records, watch what you try."

The singer narrows his eyes, a tick in his cheek. "Do I hear a threat?"

He shakes his head. "No. I like you, but you got your popularity with the other songs. The upbeat ones."

Ralph looks like he wants to object, but decides not to say anything. "Fine. Are we ready?"

Jonas nods. The musician gets up and slides into the booth. He slips on the headset and taps the microphone, letting the thump radiate through the room. Jonas shoots a thumbs up and Ralph puts up the paper.

Sliding into his seat at the sound table, he hits the start button with the recorded version of the music. A soft melody floats out of the speaker, illuminating the room. Slipping on his own headset, he watches the paper. Counting the beats inside his head as he waits for Ralph's words.

It came, almost in a rush, but Ralph jumps in, the words sounding whimsical.

We are the opposite

But this is a story about being in love.

and you fit me like a glove. but aren't we a paradox?

Jonas nods his head, falling to the music. He puts a little base as he goes into the chorus, bringing it back down in the beautiful melody as he goes into the next verse.

I have an applauding heartbeat. And it tries to sing along when I write to you all of these songs. When I think of you is when I am alone. It gets louder and louder, so I call you on the phone.

Ralph sings, his voice a deep luxury. His eyes are concentrated on the paper, matching notes upon the page. Mat Parkes, his song writer, sat down with him a while ago. They did a little of improv, thinking of ways to better the song.

Jonas marks down where he goes to deep or too high, his voice straining each time. Ralph enters the final verse.

This is a story about being in love.

and you fit me like a glove. but aren't we a paradox?

Ralph sings out the last note, hitting it at the right tone that made Jonas throw him a thumbs up. His face broke out in a smile and clqwertyimbs out of the song booth.

"Yeah, man," he whistles smoothly, "third run through is pretty good."

Jonas shakes his head, a frown pulling at his lips. "Here is the notes I took. Your vocal instructor told you to never force your voice to reach higher or too low. It can impact your voice."

Ralph scowls, yanking the sheet away. He points at a red circle, towards the end of the song. "This I hit perfectly."

The producer shakes his head. "You were off. tried to go too high on the words louder."

Ralph shakes his head, shoving the paper back to Jonas. "Whatever, man. This has to be released by the end of next week and you are saying I am not even almost finished."

Jonas sighs. "Pretty much. Songs take more than two weeks to finish, Ralph. You have a lot to learn."

"Oh like you know everything? You are only thirty years old!" the singer snaps, "You barely run this company without me. You may have over thirty singers on your record label and you treat every one like complete trash."

"Oh, stop complaining. You didn't even have a record label banging down your door by the time I found you. I gave you a chance to become famous and sing." Jonas growls, standing from his seat at the desk.

"Maybe I didn't want to be just famous. I wanted to find happiness and love, not just my love for music." the singer states.

He rolls his eyes, counting in his head before leveling his eyes back at Ralph. "I do not care about what you do on your pass time. The contract between you and I states when I ask you in to sing, you are mine within the walls. When you leave, you are free to do whatever as long as it doesn't reflect poorly against Lee Records and it isn't criminal."

"Yes, I read the contract with a lawyer before I signed. I know what it states." he says.

Jonas packs up the papers littering the desk and shoves them into his case. He makes sure the desk is neat before slinging the strap over his shoulder. He makes his way to the door, ready to leave. "If you know, why keep fighting it? I am only trying to make sure the song is amazing before the release. You are a good singer, Ralph, but you act like a child when you get criticism. I am tired of this going back and forth. I gave you the love song and you have 2 other albums out."

Ralph seethes as he watches the producer walk out the door. Jonas slams the door with more force than he wanted to. He shakes his head as he walks down the hallway.

Music is a hard thing to love when you spend every day fighting it.