There aren’t as many eyes on us at the moment, so I feel like it’s a safe time to broach the subject of our feud.
“You know,” I say to Harmony, “we’ve never actually talked about what happened.”
She looks over at me like she’s surprised I’m talking to her. “Sure we have. We’ve had an ongoing conversation for almosta year. I’m pretty sure we both know where we stand on the matter.”
“Except you never let me explain.”
“What’s to explain? You’re going to be different depending on where you are and who you’re with. That’s not something I’m interested in.”
She acts like I’m a full-on con artist.
I sigh and adjust my Stetson from the crown. “I wasn’t trying to hide who I am; I told you that. Of all people, you should understand what it’s like when the label wants you to project a certain image. Maybe not so much now that you’re a top earner and you have more control, but look at where we are right now, this whole charade … because Glambam has leverage and they’re using it to get us to do what they want.”
Harmony folds her arms. “You’re going to blame it on the label? On your last one, and now on Glambam? Like you don’t haveanyfree will?”
“Not all of us were lucky enough to be on national television at nineteen. Some of us had to compromise to get where we are.”
“I have no doubt you compromised your values many times—and thank God you did,” she replies venomously, “or you wouldn’t have had the chance to be on the cover ofMaverick, manspreading on the seat of your tractor with your shirt half open.”
She’s seen that?
It’s been a long time since that photo shoot. She must have gone looking for info about me online once she found out who I was. Looking for lyrical fuel, most likely. If she really thinks I’m that guy, I can see why she wouldn’t want much to do with me—a booze-and-babes man’s man who doesn’t care about anyone but himself.
I narrow my eyes. “If you think that’s what I wanted, we’re having completely different conversations.”
“Are we? You eat, sleep, and breathe this job, Riff. That’s one thing Idefinitelyunderstand, because my job is the same way. It’s not possible for you to do this day in and day out, and not mean it.”
The way she calls me “Riff” feels like nails on a chalkboard. Not like when she said “Griffin” in the dark, on that bench, with her fists clenched around my lapels.
“Why not?” I argue. “People all across the world do jobs they hate their whole lives. Plenty of them are even good at those jobs, and work hard at them because theyhaveto.”
“But being a famous musician isn’t exactly a plight. Most of those jobs don’t involve women fawning all over you all the time.”
I scoff-laugh. “Okay, so that’s what it is? You’re intimidated by the ‘competition’?”
Harmony stops in the middle of the walkway, which prompts me to stop too. “Don’t flatter yourself. You’re in a position to get what you want from most women, particularly when you say the right thing and present yourself the right way … and I think you’re prone to taking advantage of it.”
I lean in close to her suddenly—making her flinch—and lower my voice. “I’m pretty sure that night at the release party it wasyouwho got what you wanted fromme.”
Her face pales at that. She purses her lips. I swear she’s trembling. “You were about to get something too,” she breathes, strained. “And don’t tell me you don’t think about that when you … when you …”
My mouth goes crooked in a half grin. “When I what?”
“Never mind.” She huffs.
“Doyouthink about it?”
She turns to leave but I catch her by the hand. Frowning, she tugs in the opposite direction, but we both look up, suddenly remembering we’re not completely alone. The few people stilllingering in the surrounding lounge areas seem vaguely aware of us now that we’ve paused here.
Harmony forces herself to relax. The war within her plays out on her face, but she lets me take her soft hand fully into mine as I smile over my shoulder at onlookers.
She lets me take her to the cabana, where a free-standing sign displays both our names. The ends of the tied-back curtains billow gently. Under the canopy, there’s a sofa with half a dozen pillows, along with a small table holding a tray of canapés, two empty glasses, a bottle of wine on ice, and the bluetooth earpieces Jared mentioned.
Pulling her hand out of mine, Harmony takes a seat and brushes stray hairs off her face before she picks up her earpiece and pairs it. I sit down and pair my phone and earpiece as well.
A minute later, Jared calls me, says he’s adding Harmony. Her phone buzzes, she answers.
Jared’s voice comes through. “Set your phones on the table. If you haven’t already, make sure your earpiece is in the ear facing away from the cabana’s front opening; that way, anyone watching you won’t be able to see it.”
