“Quiet down,” Keesha says, putting her hand on mine. Her eyes, always perceptive, search my face. “You must have your reasons. Did he hurt you?”
“Yes. No,” I say, instantly regretting my honesty.
“Which is it?” Keesha’s voice softens.
“He didn’t hurt me physically,” I clarify, staring at the condensation on my cup.
“And I’m still a virgin. It’s just that this morning, he left without even a note, like the night we spent cuddling together meant nothing.”
I take a deep breath. “Then when I saw him at Sterling’s studio today, he glared like he hated me. Like I was the enemy.”
“Look past that for a minute,” Zaza says. “Be practical. “That money is sitting over at that studio, winking like it’s your best friend. Didn’t you say you were struggling to pay tuition for next semester? That your stepdad refused to help? And your mother was standing by that?”
“Yes, but?—”
“Then the first step is to read the contract and see what you’re agreeing to,” Keesha interjects, always practical. “You’re not agreeing to have sex with him, are you?”
“Of course not!” I blurt. But then I realize I’m not sure what being Slayer’s girlfriend for the weekend entails.
“This is the music industry, not human trafficking.” Zaza rolls her eyes.
“They just want you to smile for the cameras, hold his hand, and look adoringly at him during the album launch. You’re acting like you’ve never flipped through an issue ofPeopleat the supermarket stand.”
“And maybe you should clarify what happens after,” Keesha adds. “Do they expect you to maintain this charade back in New York? Will there be a public breakup?”
I hadn’t thought that far ahead. “Sterling made it sound like a weekend thing only.”
“Then what’s the problem?” Zaza asks. “You get a fat paycheck, a free trip to Saint-Tropez on a private jet, and a chance to network with music industry bigwigs. Maybe you can interest a producer in your singing. All for pretending to like a guy you already slept with.”
“Only in the literal sense of the wordsleep,” I remind her. “Let’s say I take the job. Sterling wants me to use my real name, my identity. Even if I get discovered in Saint-Tropez, everyone’s going to think I only became famous because of Slayer.”
“Isn’t that better than never becoming famous at all?” Zaza asks. “Your voice never being heard? Life passing you by because you stood too high and mighty on your principles?”
“Keesha, what do you think?”
Though I always roll my eyes when Keesha gives one of her sermons, this time I really need to hear it.
She takes a thoughtful sip of her smoothie, looking up at a white-throated sparrow chirping on a tree branch above.
“Sometimes the door opens for the wrong reason,” she says quietly, meeting my gaze. “But once you’re inside, you can still look for the right opportunities.”
“What would Hilary say?” I ask, though I already know.
“She’d tell you to do it. So she could live vicariously through you,” Zaza says with certainty.
“I agree. And she’d tell you to trust your gut,” Keesha adds.
I check my phone. Thirty minutes before I need to give Sterling my answer.
“What if I go, and Slayer still hates me? What if this is just a miserable, awkward weekend?”
“Then you’re miserable and awkward on a yacht in Saint-Tropez with twenty-thousand dollars.” Zaza shrugs. “And you won’t have to add another unruly mutt to your menagerie.”
I look from Keesha to Zaza, these friends who’ve become my family since Hilary’s been gone.
“Fine,” I say finally. “I’ll do it. But I’m not sleeping with him again.”
Zaza grins wickedly. “Let’s revisit that statement when you’re back. I’ll bet you twenty bucks?—”
