She’s dressed in simple jeans and a top, those long strands of pearls catching the stage lights.
The pearls may be fake, but Bix’s presence is all too real.
Something dark and possessive coils in my gut when I see some kid in the front row blow her a kiss. The guy looks familiar...
Suddenly I place him. The DJ from Caroline. The one who helped her onto that table. The one she danced for while I sat with Valentina.
They clearly know each other. But how? When did they meet? What else don’t I know about Bix’s adventures in Saint-Tropez?
Gut instinct tells me there’s nothing romantic between them. The kid looks barely old enough to shave. He’s no threat that way.
But there’s something there, some shared secret I’m not part of.
“Isn’t that your little girlfriend?” Valentina says, following my gaze. “I thought she was indisposed.”
“So did I,” I reply, my voice tight.
Sterling leans forward, coffee forgotten. “What is she doing here?” he asks, sounding more curious than angry.
I ignore him, watching as Bix takes the microphone in hands that can’t quite hide their trembling. For a moment, everything in the room stills.
Then she begins to sing.
The first note hits me like a physical force. Pure, soulful, with a rawness that cuts through the polished veneer of the room.
This isn’t the voice of someone playing at being a singer. This is the real thing.
“Mon dieu,” Valentina breathes. “She’s actually good.”
Gooddoesn’t begin to cover it.
Bix’s voice carries emotional depth I’ve rarely heard outside of legendary recording studios. The emotion in her song fills every corner of the room like a soulful mist.
I watch her performance with restrained awe. Though I heard her sing in Sterling’s audition room, I had been too surprised, too angry, to focus on her voice, her charisma.
As she concludes, thundering applause fills the air, amplified by the cave-like walls.
You don’t often see this sort of enthusiastic response in too-cool-for-you clubs like Le Cave. But here is Bix, shining in her element.
“Well,” Valentina says softly. “Your girlfriend is full of surprises.”
I nod, watching Bix accept congratulations from VIPs of the fashion and music world who crowd closer to the stage.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see Prince Abdul snap at his attendants, whispering to them as he points at Bix.
My gut tightens.What’s Abdul planning?Would he invite Bix to his suite? Bix is my girlfriend, fake or not. This is getting out of hand.
Sterling sets down his glass, his eyes bright with interest. I’ve learned to read his mind over the years.
He’s mentally calculating the potential money to be made, connections to be formed.
Even Milo is applauding with genuine appreciation, his dating app long forgotten.
And Carlos Rhodes is watching from a corner table, his expression calculating as he studies Bix.
Unlike the other industry executives swarming the stage, he hangs back, observing rather than engaging.
When he catches me looking, he raises his glass in toast.
