“I’m not fighting you. I have too much to do to waste my time like this, Troy. I’m working.”
He rolls his eyes. “Working,” he says like it’s a slur. “You mean writing piano music and holding her hand.”
“I mean building a life.”
“Cute.” He leans closer, lower, like he’s about to whisper something worth hearing. “You should thank me. If I hadn’t broken in, Jake would have never sold it, and you never wouldhave bought that shit hole. You got to finally buy Sagebrush because of me. You owe me.”
I keep my face the same. Inside, a click. He’s bragging. He’s always bragging. He wants me to see him. He wants me to be impressed.
I sit back. “Maybe I do owe you. What time did you go in?”
“Three something. Thought I’d find you asleep on a rug like old times. No such luck.”
“Window?” I say.
“Cheap glass,” he says, pleased with himself. “I did you a favor.”
“Cameras?” I say.
“Cute toys,” he says. “Little blinky lights. You think I’m scared of lights? I walked right past.”
“Did you,” I say.
“I even checked the closet,” he says, laughing. “Took your lunch money.”
I don’t look at the lawyer. “The drives. You have them.”
“I’m keeping them safe.”
“Where?”
He grins. “What, you want to come over? You want to tuck me in? Or choke me in front of my groupies?”
“You should return them. Today. If you’re smart, you will.”
“So you can tape me returning them for evidence that I took them?” He grins, like he thinks he’s clever. “Do it. I look good on camera.”
“You look like a child on camera.”
He flinches. Small. The truth is a hand on the back of his neck. He hates it.
He recomposes with something cruel because that’s the reflex. “Lou’s going to get bored with you. She liked me because I was chaos.”
“She liked the part of you that wasn’t a liar and a cheat.”
“Now she likes the part of you that pretends you’re not,” he says. “Don’t forget, Salem. I know who you really are. You’re a fuckup, just like me.”
I let that one sit on the table and die by itself. He breathes like he scored. He didn’t. He keeps talking because silence is where he drowns.
“You know what I’m going to do? I’m going to call the hotel and tell them you stole my songs. I’m going to tell them Lou is a thief too. I’m going to say she took my brand. I’m going to say you sold your souls to get a girl who was never yours. I’m going to make sure radio doesn’t touch your little lullaby.”
How does he even know we have a song ready? “‘Locket’ will be a hit.”
He pushes his chair back two inches to make me blink. I don’t. He leans in one last time because he can’t help it. “I walked in,” he says, lower now. “I walked out. I left you a message in scratches. I took something that hurts. I’m going to take more, and you can’t stop me.”
Whatever warmth or care I had for him evaporates completely. “Okay. Is that it?”
He blinks.
