“Two sparkling waters withlimes, please.” Because I think Griffin will find that amusing.
The bartender nods and grabs a fresh pair of tumblers.
"Harmony Sonora,” someone says from a few feet away. “So good to see you.”
It’s a woman (in her mid-forties I’d guess) with a blonde pixie haircut. She wears a tweed Chanel blazer and a delicate gold chain necklace. She has the type or face that, at first glance, says “friendly,” a heart shape with blue eyes and a soft smile—but there’s something sharp about her too, something I can’t put my finger on.
"Do I know you?" I ask.
“You probably don't remember me.” She extends her hand and I accept it with a tentative grip. “Dana Hatton, Head of Catalog at FM Sound. We met once, briefly, during your exit meeting. At the time, I was only a catalog manager. There were other executives there, of course, and you were … pretty eager to be on your way, so I don’t blame you for not paying attention. How have you been?"
I rack my brain, trying to conjure the memory of that meeting, of who was there, what was said. That was eight years ago, though.
I may not know who this woman is, but I know one thing: She doesn’t give a fuck how I’ve been.
“What do you want?"
She chuckles. "You always were a feisty one."
“No, I just don’t tolerate bullshit.”
“And I admire that.” She nurses a gin and tonic. “Sometimes, though, you need to know when to back down, when to admit you’re no match for the big kids.”
“I assume you’re referring to my first two albums—the ones you and your people have been holding hostage since I left.”
“‘Hostage’?” She huffs a laugh. “That’s a little melodramatic, don’t you think?”
The bartender hands me my waters as someone else approaches to ask for a white wine spritzer. “Did you come here to taunt me on purpose,” I ask Dana, “or was this run-in just a happy coincidence for you?”
She sets down her glass, then stands and smooths her pencil skirt. “Why don't we go talk somewhere more private?”
“To what end? I don’t have anything else to say to you, and I definitely don’t want to hear anythingyouhave to say.”
“ That’s too bad. I wanted to give you the opportunity to salvage your career”—she lowers her voice significantly andleans close to my ear—“before the truth comes out about you and Riff Hurley.”
My whole body goes rigid.
Relax, I think.It’s a blind accusation. People have been making claims about us all over the internet for weeks—months. So what?
Except … I highly doubt this woman wouldn’t be so bold as to approach me like this, and with that tone, if there wasn’t the possibility that she had more information.
I try not to choke on my reply. “What?”
Still in a whisper, she guides me away from anyone within earshot and says, “Let’s just say I have some inside information.”
My pulse quickens. I clench my jaw. “Riff and I are together, end of story. And what does my relationship have to do with FM Sound anyway? You still have my masters. Now you don’t want me to be happy in mypersonallife either? Out of spite?”
Unbelievable.
Dana smiles but it doesn’t reach her eyes, clasping her hands in front of her. “Oh, sweetie. If only it were that petty.”
“Don’t tell me FM Sound is above being petty. You only made my masters available for purchase because you knew I could never afford them. Even with everything I’ve accomplished at this point, they’re still out of reach for me.”
“Not for long though. Isn’t that right?” She says this like it’s something I’m supposed to be ashamed of.
“I … Glambam said …”
Shit.If she really does have insider info about the dating stunt, then she must also know about the deal—the part where that stunt earns me Glambam’s purchasing power.That’swhat it has to do with FM Sound.
