“Oh, there are plenty of videos of that particular debacle online. I made sure it went everywhere.” Dave chortles.
I turn around. “I’m not the same person, Billie. You know I’m sober now.”
She shakes her head. “Why didn’t you tell me? I’m done here.”
I reach out my hand, but she walks straight past me, eyes flashing, and slams the exit door.
“Don’t worry, mate. Come to Dubai and pretty girls like that will be ten a penny. You’ll forget about her once you’re on the jet.” Dave tries to pat me again.
I’ve had enough.
“I’m not going anywhere with you, Dave. Consider our arrangement terminated. I have a two-year agreement clause on the management contract. It’s expired. Find yourself another party buddy, or even better, get your ass into rehab. I can’t do this. I’m a musician. If I DJ again, it’s going to be a whole different sort of gig.” I stand up to walk after Billie.
Dave sags against the bar. “You’re turning down a lot of money. Are you sure? Without me, the big dollars are going to disappear pretty damn quickly, mate.”
“I’m not the same person I was. And I like being the way I am now. My head’s clearer and I can see how I want the future to pan out. And that’s with Billie, if you haven’t ruined my chance with her forever.” I grimace.
“That punky, dark-haired chick? She’s The One? Ol’ playboy Extra found the love of his life in Snowflake Falls?” Dave’s eyebrows shoot up.
“Yes. And if I read any stories about it, I will let the gossip sites and journalists know about what you got up to on the South American tour. With some very choice documentary evidence.”
Dave visibly pales. “You wouldn’t.”
“I would. Let’s make this a clean break. You go your way and I’ll go mine.” I walk towards the door and then turn around.
Dave’s slumped against the bar. I’m going to have to help him out if I want to turn off the lights and lock this place up.
“C’mon, I’ll put you in a taxi to the airport. Onwards and upwards, isn’t that what you always say?” I walk back over to him.
He’s asleep, passed out on the bar. I’m going to have to try to deal with this as quickly as possible so I can explain to Billie.
That is, if she’ll let me talk to her again. The idea of never seeing or speaking to her sends a cold chill down my spine.
I need to make this right. I lean down to Dave, putting my arm under his to heft him upwards. His skin is clammy, and he makes a groaning noise, his eyes rolling backwards. I don’t like this. Dave’s never ill, despite his hardcore lifestyle. I walk him over to one of the couches. His breathing isn’t normal.
I think I need to call an ambulance.
CHAPTER7
BILLIE
Christmas Eve.Another terrible Christmas in a row. My luck is unbelievable.
I haven’t seen Raff since the events of last night. Not that I want to. I’ve turned my phone off, bolted the door of my tiny studio apartment, and settled down to wallow in my misery. I wasn’t due into work today, so I’ve wallowed in alternately crying and confirming my worst suspicions by searching for Raff online.
There’s so much on here about DJ Extra. If I thought my ex-boyfriend was a player, then Raff is him times a thousand, on a celebrity scale and documented by the press. Drink, drugs and parties galore. Rumors of celebrity engagements, one-night stands and vacation trysts with some of the most beautiful women in the world.
I’m such an idiot for even thinking he really liked me. I’m surprised he even bothered to try to apologize as I was walking out the door. He got what he wanted in the escape room and he could have just fired me afterwards, I guess. Maybe he thinks of himself as a nice guy. For some reason, that makes it even worse.
I walk to the refrigerator, open the door, and stare inside. Mom had arranged a big food delivery to her house, but now they’re definitely stranded in Canada, so she re-routed it to mine. So I have a turkey the size of a beach ball, a bucket of cranberries and a ridiculous quantity of vegetables to get through. Plus ice cream, pumpkin puree, champagne, orange juice, and a metric ton of holiday food crowding the shelves.
How am I meant to eat all this? I get the ice cream out of the freezer and go to sit on the sofa. On television, every channel seems to be showing either a cheesy Hallmark Christmas romance movie or a cheesy Christmas family movie. All the happy families and lovestruck families make tears spring to my red-rimmed eyes.
I switch it off and go to look out the window. The snow is falling outside, making the roads look picture-perfect. Inside, my love life is an even bigger mess than usual. Somewhere far away, carol singers are coming to the end of “Hark the Herald Angels Sing.” Mom plays that on the piano every year. Except this one, when their house will be cold, dark, and empty.
I sit down on the sofa and open up my laptop. I might as well edit some of the photographs I’ve taken this month. I’ve been neglecting my Instagram account. I’m in the middle of changing the exposure levels on a picture I took of the outside of Gingerbread when a new email alert flashes up.
It’s Darius.
