“Great!” I beam, clapping him on the shoulder. The new guy steps back, seemingly shocked by my sudden warmth. “Sounds like you’ll fit in.” I wave and blow a kiss before ducking into the blissful darkness of the waiting car.
My phone buzzes in my pocket, here I was hoping to nap on the drive. This is what I get for being in high demand. On the screen, Mom’s smiling contact stares up at me, her brown hair streaked with silver.
“That dress? Come on, it’s not her style. But you have to admit, in that lowlight, she looked like a flickering candle,” she says as soon as I answer, her voice drawling with her Tennessee accent. My own accent returns when I’m home, but over time it’s softened like a stone tossed in a river. From the lightthunk-swishon her end of the line, I can tell she’s chopping vegetables. “Glowing. But she’s always been like that, well, until—”
“Can we talk about anything else? I’m serious. Anything would be better.” It’s like I’m being reminded from every possible angle: Avery’s not mine.
And who’s fault is that?a voice in the back of my mind questions.
It’s what I had to do. I didn’t have a choice that night. Not if I wanted to give her a chance at happiness,I snap back.
“How’s your eye from that fight you lost?”
“What the hell! You think I lost? Aren’t you supposed to be on my side?”
“Don’t be mad at me. You’re the one who wanted to change the subject!” she sing-songs. “And you’ve never been the tallest one in any room. You’ve got a dancer’s build. I’m being realistic.”
“Yes, I’m aware.”
“Then don’t get into fights!”
“He said something about Avery.”
She pauses and when she speaks her voice is low. “Okay, then you should have figured out how to win. Don’t you know howto throw a punch? Maybe you should sign up for a self-defense class. I doubt you could take it at the Y. Is there some overpriced equivalent?”
“I’ll look into it.”
We talk the rest of the drive to Derek’s office, saying our goodbyes when the car parks out front of the glass building. The security guard at the desk waves me through, and I take an elevator to the tenth floor.
“Debra!” I beam as I stride toward his assistant’s desk. “Is that a new shade of mauve? I always love it when you show off for me.”
Debra, a woman in her sixties, doesn’t bother to look up and just keeps tapping away at her computer. “I’ve been wearing this shade since before you were born. But I can give you some concealer for that eye of yours. Purple isn’t your color.”
“What did I do to deserve you?” I lean, resting my arms on the edge of her desk.
“Stop stalling. He can see you.” Her eyes cut up to me. “And get some ice on that. You don’t have much going for you besides your pretty face.”
“You think I’m pretty?”
“Ithinkyour looks are part of the reason I look forward to a generous bonus every year.” She adores me, but I respect her attempts to practice restraint and stay professional.
With a parting wink, I head to Derek’s office. The room is illuminated by a wall of windows, a stark contrast to the stormy glower Derek’s giving his computer. As the door clicks shut behind me, he looks up and sighs.
“I thought the bar was in Hell, and then I realized we’re in a bit of a Divine Comedy situation, and I had yet to see the depths of your stupidity,” Derek says. The buttons of his shirt are done wrong. No doubt because of an early morning, thanks to yours truly. We’ve worked together for a decade and he’s in his mid-forties now, whispers of gray peppering the brown hair around his temples.
“Ten points for using your liberal arts minor!” I cheer and take a seat across from him.
“Wesley. This is serious. You’re starting fights with strangers in dive bars. This isn’t talking back to a reporter who disrespected you. Or fucking around with an executive’s daughter.”
“But you have a plan to make everyone forget and fall in love with me again. Because you’re a genius.” I lean forward and snatch the globe-shaped stress ball from his desk. Tossing it high in the air, I just barely miss the ceiling tiles.
“It’s hard to take your compliments seriously after you give me shit. But you’re right, there is a plan. We want to have a big name on your North American tour next year. Not just as an opener, but someone to collaborate with. The label sent over some prospects for us to discuss. They want a decision soon to start the press rollout.”
“Classic redirect, waving something shiny to catch their attention.” I toss the stress ball to him. “Catch.”
He doesn’t, but the ball lands in his lap before he puts it in a drawer. “In the meantime, stay out of trouble and focus on the reunion. You need to practice, especially after you forgot the lyrics the last time you performed a Fool’s Gambit song.”
The reunion. Marking ten years since we broke up and parted ways. It sold out in minutes.
