Another predator in the water, sensing opportunity. First Sterling packaged Bix as my girlfriend, now Carlos is eyeing her as potential talent. Everyone wants a piece of her for their own purposes.
“This Bix of yours. She’s quite remarkable,” Valentina says.
Sterling seems to take her statement as if it’s meant for him. He strokes his fashionable gray stubble. I sense he’s seeing beyond our PR plan now, beyond the girlfriend charade.
He’s seeing what I saw that first night, what I tried to ignore when anger clouded everything else.
“Yes. She is, isn’t she? I missed the depth of her talent when she auditioned. At the time, it was the last thing on my mind.”
He takes a thoughtful sip of his drink.
“I was charmed by her spirit, her energy, her joie de vivre. I thought she’d make a good romantic sidekick for the Dark Prince. A bright force to counter the negative publicity barraging Slayer.”
“And now?” I ask with a smirk.
He gestures toward the stage, where Bix is taking another bow to lingering applause.
“My grandfather taught me to approach the business with amarketing-first mentality. That’s been my key to success. When Bix auditioned, I had no idea how to promote a singing style that died out nearly a century ago.”
“Do you now, boss?” Milo asks.
Sterling shrugs. “Necessity is the mother of invention. I’ll find a way. But this is definitely backburner until Slayer’s launch. No one say a word. I don’t want to raise her expectations until I’ve worked it out.”
I applaud Bix with the others, thinking of her voice. Raw, pure, impossible to package or control. The kind of talent that makes people feel something real.
The same honesty I heard from her that night we spent together, before contracts and lies complicated everything.
Now I watch as Paul—that’s his name; I remember Milo mentioning it—touches her elbow, guiding her through the crowd to meet some reporter.
My hands tighten on the arms of my chair, but I force them to relax. I have no right to jealousy. There’s nothing between us but a dry contract.
The crowd won’t let Bix leave the stage. Even the jaded Saint-Tropez elite, people who have seen everything, own almost everything, are still calling for more.
In her jeans and casual shirt, Bix looks beautiful, real. No trace of Sterling’s careful packaging remains.
“Our little Bix is sure turning heads,” Milo says, a smile on his lips.
Watching Paul guide Bix through her admirers, his hand hovering at her waist, twists something inside me.
Part of me wants to punch him in the face. The other part thinks it might be safer to avoid my fake girlfriend until our next scheduled publicity event.
“Well,” Sterling says, rising from his seat with the smooth efficiency of a man who’s made decisions. “We’d better collect Bix and get back to the hotel.”
“Why don’t you all join me for a nightcap at my villa?” Valentina suggests.
“Maybe tomorrow,” says Sterling. “Milo and I have some work to go through before we call it a night.”
“I’ll go with you, Valentina,” I say, surprising myself.
Valentina has nothing I’m interested in now, but no way do I want to share a hotel suite with Bix tonight.
Not after seeing her like this—authentic, talented, drawing everyone to her like moths to flame.
“Wonderful.” Valentina smiles.
“Okay. Milo and I will collect Bix and make sure she gets back to the hotel safely.” Sterling’s tone is light, but his eyes assess me carefully. “Don’t forget—yacht party at noon tomorrow.”
With a nod, we make our way toward the front of the club, where Bix now poses for photographs with several well-dressed patrons. She laughs at something Paul says, her face alight with genuine joy.
