I study him, waiting for the grin, the smirk, a flicker of victory to brighten his eyes, but it doesn’t come. “All right,” he says evenly. “My guys will be in touch. If you want my number, I can—”
“I don’t.” I glance around the room that feels two sizes too small. “Let’s keep this strictly business. It’s better that way.”
Something splashes across his face, a sentiment I can’t pinpoint. “No problem,” he murmurs. “I’ll see you then.” Lex moves around me, reaching for the door handle, his leather coat brushing my arm. He falters, glancing at the contact before finding my eyes. “This probably doesn’t mean much coming from me…but you fucking killed it out there.”
Taken aback, I suck in a breath, my brows bending. “What?”
“Your song. On the piano.”
I part my lips to speak, to say something, but he disappears out the door before I can get a word in. I step outside into the hallway, watching him go as he slaps the baseball cap on his head and returns the sunglasses to his face, then traipses down the staircase, out of sight.
Your song.
“And this one’s for me,” I say, the whispered lyrics dissolving into piano chords from below as I gather my skirt and exit the hall.
Chapter 21
Lex
Rumor has it that the real “Sylvia Simmons” might make a surprise appearance at this year’s Silver Hope gala, held at the iconic Elysian Fields Ballroom. Sources say that Chicago piano performer Stevie St. James, known for her mysterious history with actor and producer Lexington Hall, is in talks to join the star-studded event, and there’s even speculation that she could attend as Hall’s date.’”
The worddatehas a nasty bite.
My mother pauses for dramatic effect on the other end of the line. When I don’t respond, she keeps going.
“‘“Their relationship is complicated,” a source tellsPeople. “There is a lot to unpack there.” If confirmed, St. James’s presence could add a prominent buzz to the already acclaimed event, further fueling relationship chatter among Hall’s rabid fanbase. Reps for Hall, twenty-one, did not respond toPeople’s requests for comment.’”
I can feel her scathing look from the other side of town.
“What the hell is this?” she blares over the speakerphone, her fury echoing through the sweeping space.
“I’m guessing aPeoplemagazine article, given the context clues.”
“Lexington, I swear to God, if you bring that girl to—”
“Don’t worry about it.” I stand from the couch and toss my smokingcigarette in the ashtray while Rudy yells obscenities atMario Kartlike he’s trying to perform an exorcism on the game console. “She doesn’t concern you.”
“She does concern me. She has information that could ruin your life.”
More than you have?
I don’t say it out loud though. We’re “beyond” that.
“We’ve made progress, you and me,” she continues, voice softening marginally. “I’d hate for you to backslide now.”
Right. Because I haven’t already backslid, ass first, off a steep cliff and landed right in the middle of a dumpster fire of everything I never wanted. “It’s really not a big deal,” I tell her, pushing back my overgrown hair and sauntering into the kitchen for an energy drink. “Rudy’s got it covered.”
Rudy holds up his fist in agreement.
“Rudy is no Bianca,” Mom scoffs. “She would never allow this circus act to unfold.”
Rudy lifts his middle finger.
“He’s more than capable,” I assure her.
“What’s your game plan here? You really shouldn’t go digging up things that are meant to stay buried.”
“It’s about publicity, Mother. That should excite you.”
