"We've talked about that."
"Exactly. But I don't see anything we've discussed written into the contract Sterling's expecting me to sign."
Milo holds up his hand. "I was in the room when Sterling explained his reasons. It's a fair contract," he says. “In any case, you have a few weeks to think about it.”
Milo flashes a grin, says a few insincere parting words, and disappears like some sleek magic trick.
I touch the cracked brown leather of my well-used guitar case, grounding myself before I check out the scene.
In a corner booth, three girls celebrate something, their laughter cutting through the din. One of them tosses her head back, curly blonde hair catching the neon light.
I can’t see her face, just the shimmer of gold and the joyful music of her laugh.
For a fleeting, disorienting second, it feels like a forgotten melody. A chord struck deep within me I didn’t know still existed.
Ridiculous.
Still, the sound lingers. A persistent echo in the sudden silence.
Two weeks to choose between safe and real. Two weeks to sign the contract that will reveal who Cameron Crow really is.
CHAPTER 4
TARA
"Another glass, birthday girl?” asks Zaza, pouring herself more fizz from the bottle.
I shake my head, still buzzing from too much sparkling wine and the tea reader's predictions. Luna may have disappeared into the crowd twenty minutes ago. Yet her words keep echoing, shimmering through my Prosecco haze like a half-forgotten melody.
Prince Charming will come. Tall, dark, handsome.
These weren't just words; they felt like a whisper of destiny.A secret just for me.
"We should probably head out soon," Keesha says, checking her phone.
Her voice, normally so grounding, vibrates in my ears.
"Wait. I need the bathroom before I get on public transportation." I stand unsteadily, grabbing the chair back for support.
"I'll escort you!" Keesha jumps up.
"No, I'm 21 tonight. I'm old enough to go to the bathroom by myself," I declare with a surge of tipsy independence.
I weave through Mickey's packed tables toward the bathroom but stop short when I see the line of women snaking around the corner.
The urge to pee is so intense I clench my inner thighs together like a five-year-old. This line can't be for the only bathroom.
As I scan for another restroom sign, the young, good-looking bartender nearby catches my eye.
"Really got to go, huh?" His smile borders on flirtatious.
"Yes. Is there anywhere else? I'm desperate.”
"I could give you the VIP access key," he says, a playful glint in his eyes. "But it's only for celebrities."
"Please don't tease!"
Sensing my urgency, he reaches beneath the counter.
