“Is this what you were doinginstead of recording?” Uncle Vincent snarled, waving my notebook around, histeeth bared like a wild dog issuing a warning.
I wanted to sink into thefloorboards and avoid this conversation, but unless some kind of dimensionalrip in the space-time continuum was about to open up under my feet, I was stuckhere.
“I was sick,” I said, mythroat tickling at even the thought. Ihadbeen sick.Honestly.
The sore throat had seemedless critical than the weight of my limbs, the absolute certainty that Icouldn’tget out of bedlast week. But he didn’t need to know that. No one needed to know that.
“You’re not supposed to getsick! You’re meant to be taking care of yourself. Your voice is the only thingyou have that’s worth a damn,yourjob is to take care of it.”
“I’m sorry,” I said. WhatelsecouldI say?
“Sorry isn’t good enough,”he repeated. I’d heard that so many times it was etched into my ear drums. “Sorrydoesn’t pay the bills, sorry doesn’t fulfill your contract. All you ever haveto say is sorry, after everything I’ve invested in you.”
“I’msorry,” I repeated,fear gripping my throat. I didn’t like fighting with my uncle at the best oftimes, and it felt like we were fighting more and more often.
“All of this is wasted onyou.” He gestured at my living room, and I felt the sting of the truth.
I didn’t deserveanything I had.
The only thing that set meapart from anyone else was a good singing voice. Uncle Vincent had arrangedeverything else. Gotten me my contract. Dealt with all the business things Ihad no idea about.
I was nothing without him.Without Harmony Records.
And I’d let them alldown.
“Don’t you haveanythingelse to say foryourself?”
“I… I…”
My throat closed up. WhatelsecouldI say?
“Everything all right inhere?” a familiar voice asked from the doorway.
I glanced over to where atall, dark-haired man was leaning against the frame.
Fox. It had to be Fox, didn’t it? I’drecognize that voice anywhere.
Shit.
Oh no.
Hewashot in person.Long-legged and square-shouldered, complete with dark jeans and leather bikerjacket. And hiseyes.
Even from here they wereclichégreen. The only word my brain could come up with was emerald, and I didn’t wantto fall back on that.
Jewel.
Bright.
Forest?
Forest green but deeper andricher, with a gleam like polished glass.
So, emerald. There wasn’t a better word.
“Who the hell is this?” myuncle asked, breaking the spell.
Wow. Fox was so hot he’d made me forgetI was in the middle of an argument with my uncle for a few seconds.
