I blink at him. “Your boss wants me to perform?”
“Offered me a cut of the profits if I can make it happen.”
“Did he offer the cut, or did you negotiate it?”
Dom scoffs. “I negotiated. The man’s never offered anyone anything he didn’t have to.”
I can appreciate the need for a mercenary perspective. “Happy to help.”
Dom’s eyebrows shoot up. “Seriously? Just like that?”
“Just like that.”
“No strings? No demands about dressing rooms or imported water or whatever else celebrities usually demand?”
I laugh. “The guitar was a little out of tune last time. If you could get that fixed, I’d consider it a personal favor. And I’ll take a few free drinks in between sets.”
“Done.” Dom straightens, looking as excited as his normally dour countenance will allow. “Tomorrow night work? We can spread the word, pack the place.”
“Sounds good.”
I feel Dom’s gaze on my back as I walk away. I’m sure he’s trying to figure out what the hell just happened. Why would a musician who has sold out worldwide tours offer to play a dive bar in the middle of nowhere in exchange for a few beers?
He’ll figure out soon that I’m playing for something much more valuable than money.
THIRTY-FIVE
PHOENIX
Mabie standsat the kitchen island with a bowl of cereal in front of her, spoon suspended halfway to her mouth.
She freezes when I walk through the doorway, eyes going wide like I’ve caught her doing something illicit. Milk drips from the spoon back into the bowl with a soft plop.
“Oh my God,” she breathes.
“Hey, there,” I say a little nervously.”Welcome back and thanks for letting us take over your house for a few days.”
“Phoenix Riviera is in my kitchen.”
“She is.” I head for the refrigerator, operating on muscle memory at this point. The urge to cook breakfast for everyone has become a strange new habit over the past few days, one I’m not ready to examine too closely. “Do you want her to make you an omelet?”
Mabie opens her mouth and closes it again. “It’s weird to talk about you in third person, isn’t it?”
“Just a little.”
“Okay, let’s start over. I can be normal.” She takes a deep breath. “Good morning, nice to see you today. How are you doing?”
“I’m good,” I reply with a chuckle. I set the carton of eggs down on the counter. “You’re up early.”
“I could say the same about you.” She sets down the spoon, but nervously drums her fingers on the metal handle. “I thought you’d still be, um. Occupied.”
Heat crawls up the back of my neck.Occupied. Such a polite word for what’s been happening in that bedroom.
“We’re all pretty much back to normal.” I take a bowl down out of the cabinet, glad for something to occupy myself so I don’t have to look at her face. “Figured I’d make myself useful.”
Mabie nods slowly, but she’s still staring at me with that particular expression. Like I’m a zoo animal that’s wandered out of its enclosure. Part fascination, part disbelief, part I-can’t-believe-this-is-actually-happening.
“You really don’t have to do that,” she says. “Cook, I mean. You’re a guest.”
