Thatfucker. He’s getting her hopes up all over again, but the man is never gonna show. He doesn’t have one ounce of genuine compassion in his body, and he wouldn’t waste one precious minute of his time to actually show up for his own kid.
Lexie was two when our mom died of cancer. She never saw how callous he was through her entire illness.
I start to text her back, then pause. I don’t mean to crush her dreams, but I need her to understand the reality of this situation so she isn’t blindsided.
ME: Lexie, you know he’s gonna flake again, right?
LEXIE: No, I’m serious! He canceled some event for The Riot just so he could be there.
The Riot’s our dad’s band. They were huge in the ’90s, by anyone’s measure, and their fame didn’t make living with the man any easier: You can just imagine the fucked-up hellscape created when you give a full-blown narcissist a taste of real-world success.
The fact that he would even suggest he’d change plans for her has me reeling. I’m sure his event got canceled for reasons out of his control and now he’s trying to save face—telling himself itwas his idea all along. The man has zero intention of seeing her play. I know this for a fact.
I text her back, trying to strike the right tone.
ME: I hope he keeps his word for once. I do. But don’t you let it get you down if he doesn’t show, all right? I’m gonna be rooting for you, and I’ll be in the front row at every show in the five-state area when you guys come back this way again. Deal?
LEXIE: Deal.
I bob my tea bag, then lift it out gently and set it on the plate. My phone pings once more as I take a sip, but it’s not Lexie.
CASS: We have confirmation. I need you in first thing tomorrow.
ME: Affirmative. Who’s the client?
I set my phone on the table, lifting my mug to sip my tea.
CASS: Harper Slade.
I do a spit take, and my mug wobbles in my hand, sending searing hot water straight into my lap.
“Shit!”
I leap to grab a towel to dab at the spill, but I’m still in shock.
This can’t be happening. Why would a megastar like Harper Slade set one foot in Cupid City?
But there it is, right there on the screen, her name glowing up at me.
I scowl at it.
I never push back against my boss without good reason; I do what he needs me to do, when and where he needs me to do it.
But this one’s not gonna fly. There’s no way in hell I’m signing up for the shit show that is this woman’s life.
ME: This one’s not mine. You’ll need to find another guy.
His reply comes swiftly.
CASS: Nonnegotiable. I need you here at 8 am sharp.
Ohh, fuck me.
Chapter 3
Harper
The sun is still low in the sky as my taxi crests the hill. Two small fishing boats bob in the rushing current of the river below, and as we round the bend, the morning sun is reflecting off the large green sign that welcomes us: “Cupid City, Population 32,008.”
