I resist the temptation to ask what he thought of my performance. And then I catch myself.What do I care what Sterling thinks?
The crowd at the club loved me. Paul said several important people asked for my contact information.
Besides, Sterling already made it clear my jazz style wasn’t “fit for the modern age.” Or something to that effect.
But I do care what Sterling thinks, so when he moves to the front desk to speak with the concierge, I seize my chance with Milo.
“Is Sterling angry with me?”
“Angry about what?” he asks.
I hesitate, my fingers finding Keesha’s Ethiopian cross. “Well, I lied to him. Said I was sick. Then he saw me singing in the cabaret.”
Milo makes a dismissive gesture. “Please,” he says. “Sterling has bigger things to worry about than that.”
His voice softens. “But you’re good, Bix. Really good. I thought so the first time I heard you. You have something—a style I’ve never heard before.”
“But what does Sterling think?” The words burst out before I can stop them. “Sorry. It’s just that they call him the starmaker for a reason.”
Milo’s smile turns knowing as he takes my hand. “Don’t worry, honey. You have nothing to worry about. But if I were you, I’d show Slayer some extra love. That’s why you were hired.”
Hired.
The word hits like a slap, reminding me that none of this is real.
Except...
Sam at the noodle shop felt real.
Too real.
The way his hands moved over my body, the way he looked at me before everything went wrong.
“I’m not in danger of being fired, am I?” I swallow hard, thinking of my student loans.
Thinking of being taken way from this weekend with Slayer before it’s had a chance to really begin.
Before Slayer and I have a chance to really begin.
“No. Not fired,” Milo says, but something in his pause makes my stomach drop. His manicured finger taps against his phone case.
“But you have to understand Sterling like I understand him. He plays the role of nice guy. Everybody’s skinny Santa Claus. But he can be treacherous in situations when?—”
He breaks off suddenly.
“Situations when what?”
Milo shrugs, all studied nonchalance. “Nothing for you to worry about.”
“Tell me what you were going to say.”
His eyes flick to Sterling, making sure we can’t be overheard. “Just saying no one ever wins a negotiation with him.”
“What am I trying to negotiate?”
“All I’m saying,” he drops his voice as Sterling leaves the concierge desk, “is do whatever he says. Don’t counter him, and you’ll be fine.”
I leave them in the lobby and head to my suite. The door buzzes open with a quiet electronic beep.
