I’ve mastered that too.
Mia catches me in the hallway.
“Levi, wait.”
I stop. Turn. Keep my expression neutral.
“I feel like we got off on the wrong foot,” she says. “Last time and now. I’m not trying to pressure you into anything.”
“Could’ve fooled me.”
“The label wants this collaboration. I’m just going along with it.” She tilts her head, and the overhead lights catch her cheekbones in a way that’s probably rehearsed. “But between us? I think you’re talented. I’d love to work with you. No pressure.”
“I appreciate that.”
“Maybe we could grab dinner? Talk about it more casually? Without all the suits watching?”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“Why not?” She steps closer. “It’s just dinner.”
“Because I’m with someone.”
The words come out easier than I expected. Because they’re true. Because saying them feels like breathing.
Mia’s expression flickers. Surprise, maybe. Or disappointment. It’s gone before I can be sure, replaced by that polished smile.
“Lucky girl,” she says.
“I’m the lucky one.”
She laughs, a polished camera-ready laugh that sounds like it was focus-grouped. “Well. If you change your mind about the duet. Or anything else.” She hands me a card. Her personal number, presumably. “You know where to find me.”
She walks away, heels clicking on the marble floor.
I wait until she’s gone, then drop the card in the nearest trash can.
Back at the hotel,I order room service and eat dinner alone in the suite, watching the city lights come on outside my window. The food is probably excellent, some kind of steak with vegetables arranged in a way that suggests someone went to culinary school, but it all tastes like cardboard.
I miss Delilah’s coffee and the pier. I miss the sound of Ruffy growling at me from across the room because I got too close to his human.
Harper returns my phone after dinner.
“You survived,” she says. “Barely.”
“Richard wants an answer by tomorrow.”
“Richard wants a lot of things. Thatdoesn’t mean he gets them.” She pauses at my door. “What do you want, Levi? And I mean actually want. Not what the label wants, not what the fans want. What do you want?”
I think about the pier. The fish that attacked me. Delilah laughing so hard she cried. The way she looked at me in the April sunshine, scared but staying anyway.
“I want to go home,” I say.
Harper nods like this doesn’t surprise her. “Then maybe it’s time to figure out how to make that happen. On your terms.”
She leaves. I close the door and pull out my phone.
Four missed texts from Delilah.
