My phone rings.
I drop the bags I’m holding on the console. By the time my hands are free, the call goes to voicemail.
I redial my publicist’s number. “What’s up?”
“If you’re busy, Kaz, I can call at another time.”
“My hands were full, that’s why I couldn’t answer. I’m all yours now.”
I walk back to the door and shut it. Homes on Grace Court Alley tend to attract a lot of attention from thestreets. Passersby are always eager to get a peek inside.
Alina lets out a sigh.
My stomach tightens. “What is it?”
“It’s Devlyn.”
“We’re divorced.” I exhale a frustrated breath. “Why is it that I still have to deal with that woman?”
“I swear to God, she needs to hire a publicist who can speak on her behalf or learn to shut her mouth.”
I rub a hand over my face.
“A reporter fromThe New York Tribune’s“Culture & Style” section asked her a straightforward question, but Devlyn had to turn it into a ‘poor me’ moment.”
“What lies did my ex-wife feed the reporter?”
I kick off my Converse, remove my socks, and stuff them into the shoes. I pick up Harley’s discarded beat-up ones that look more gray than white that are flipped sideways and align both pairs side by side.
The difference in size is comical.
“This woman is the definition of being entitled.”
Alina’s comment snaps me back to the moment. “What?”
“You didn’t hear a word I said?”
“Sorry, I got distracted.”
“Devlyn ran her mouth outside ofForêt,” Alina says. “She was dining at the three Michelin Star vegan restaurant on Madison Avenue that charges a cool three-hundred-and-thirty-five-dollars per person for their plant-based menu. Your charming ex-wife dropped an additional three hundred dollars on her bar tab.”
Her money. Not mine.
“When she stepped out of the restaurant, she was accosted by a reporter. Her answer was pure Devlyn Frostburg.
I have no doubt.“Lay it on me.”
Barefoot, I pace the heated concrete floor, clenching my phone to my ear.
And she does.
“Working single mom?” I scoff. “What a load of crap. That’s an insult to all the single moms who are struggling to make ends meet. Forget about the fact her son is a professional athlete—earning several millions of dollars every year—he has amassive social media following he monetizes, and tons of brand sponsorship contracts. Devlyn is his manager. She also has a massive social media following she monetizes. The woman isn’t hard up for cash.”
“She didn’t stop at that,” Alina says.
Of course not.
“She told the reporter she would’ve been able to donate part of her winnings had it not been for the fact she had to cover your legal fees because she lost the lawsuit against you?—”
