“What the hell time do youcall this?” he asked. “You should have been at work hours ago.”
“We were just getting lunch,”Fox interrupted before I could come up with an answer. He was socalmin the face ofVincent’sconstant goading.
I’d always collapsed like ahouse of cards in a breeze.
“You feeding him crap again?”Uncle Vincent asked.
“He willnotdie of theoccasional indulgence,” Fox said. That was true, though I was beginning torealize his metabolism and mine were different. I’d watched him eat twice asmuch as I had in half the time, all with more enthusiasm than I’d ever felt forfood.
It was actually kind of hot.
Vincent glared. “Are you onschedule for this album or not?” he asked. “I’ve got the record companybreathing down my neck. You’re not gonna lose me everything after all the risksI’ve taken for this, are you?”
Foxdidstep in frontof me this time.
“I understood that was yourjob. Having therecord company breathe down your neck so Quinn can get on with the part of thework that requires some kind of talent. And actually, if you’ve got time tostalk the recording studio halls, I’ve got a few questions I’d like to ask youabout your whereabouts yesterday.”
Did Fox suspect UncleVincent?
Why would he have anythingto do with the leak? He’d only be shooting himself in the foot if he’d beeninvolved.
Wouldn’t he?
“I don’t have to answer yourquestions,” Vincent said.
Weird. But then, he didn’t like Fox, somaybe not allthatweird? He was probably being difficult for the sakeof making Fox’slife harder.
“I think the nice people atHarmony Records would disagree, but I understand if you’re too busy. Perhapsyou’d better get back to whatever it is you do, hmm? If you can’t stop to chat.”
Uncle Vincent looked betweenthe two of us, then at the elevator. After a moment’s hesitation, he startedmoving toward it.
A startled cry escaped me ashe grabbed my arm, tight enough to be bruising. “You’d better finish thisalbum on time,” he snarled before Fox could intervene, letting go of me ahalf-second later as Fox appeared at my side.
He hovered close until theelevator doors closed, and then put his hand on my arm in the same place myuncle had.
Fox’s touch was feather-lightin comparison, rubbing soothing circles where Vincent had squeezed hard.
“Sorry I didn’t get betweenyou,” Fox murmured, hand still on my arm.
This was too intimate for apublic space. If someonesawus, they’d know I… we…
They’dknow.
But the hallway was empty,and silent enough that anyone approaching could be heard from a mile away.
“Not your job,” I said aftera moment, a lump forming in my throat.
I’d had worse.
“Quinn,” Fox began, the wordhanging in the air between us. I knew what he was going to say—or at least, Iknew what the gist was going to be.
“He shouldn’t have donethat,” Fox said. “He shouldn’t treat you like this. It’s not right. It’sabusive.”
The lump threatened to cutoff my airways.
I knew. I’d known for awhile.
But what the hell was Isupposed to do about it? Thousands of miles away from home with a job thatrelied on his good graces, living in an apartmentherented, with anallowance that was only enough to live on?
