“There’s a dress code, I think.” It’s apparent he’s not listening to me but at least that’s consistent. Thegirlfriendbit is not. And it’s weird how handsy he’s being.
“Grayson, did you hear me? I’ve been performing for three hours straight. Rehearsals have been nonstop for six days now. I really want to go to bed. Rain check on a meal?”
His smile fades. “Why? You got someone at your place waiting for you or something?” He lifts his brows accusingly. How do I know he means Taio? What is that angry glint in his eyes?
“Yeah. My very comfy bed and sheets.”
He holds my stare long enough to make my stomach twist into a pretzel. Finally, he relaxes. “Fine. Breakfast, tomorrow?”
“Okay,” I agree. “That works. I’ll text you when I wake up.”
“I’ll just pop by. Send me the address.”
There it is again… What is that?
My phone buzzes from in my clutch. I pull it out, heart lurching.
Taio
Tweety. I’m speechless.
Proud of you. So proud.
“Who are you texting?” Grayson asks, reading the glee in my expression.
My gut, intuition, and better judgment all team up to form one clear instruction. Do not let Grayson know what’s really going on with Taio. He probably thinks he was a hookup gone awry. From some primal place of protection comes this urge to keep Grayson in the dark how important Taio really is to me. “No one.”
I tuck my phone away and press my forehead against the window glass, letting the coolness seep into my skin. Grayson’svoice becomes background noise—something about a hotshot director, on-set gossip, Oscar predictions. My “mm-hmms” and “oh reallys” fall into a rhythm as automatic as my choreography. The Charlie Show continues, even with an audience of one.
But in my mind, I’m with someone else. Far away. We’re having much better conversations. We’re falling in love.
When we pull up to the rental property, Grayson wastes no time leaning in for a kiss. I turn my head at the last second, letting his lips land on my cheek instead. He looks at me like I spit in his face.
His lips twist into something between a sneer and a pout. “Okay, then.”
“See you tomorrow, Grayson. Have a good night.”
I get out of the car like it’s on fire. I’m already calling Taio’s number as I rush up the walkway, the screen’s glow illuminating my face in the darkness. But I’m too late.
I call him once. Then twice.
But whatever has been keeping him away from me must have struck again.
He doesn’t answer.
chapter 22
Taio
Castellano & Associates sprawls across the top three floors of a Midtown high-rise that screams old money. The kind of place where the elevator buttons are polished daily and the conference rooms have actual fresh flowers. I’ve memorized every painting in the hallway, but this visit hits different. No more strategy sessions about my father’s case. Just delivering these final documents, then walking away. I’m not going to let this consume my life again.
One trial was enough hell to last a lifetime.
I slide the stack of folders across Bradley Castellano’s mahogany conference table. “That’s everything. Bank statements, transaction records, correspondence—all highlighted and annotated like you asked.”
Bradley nods, but something’s off. He’s not reaching for the folders. Neither are the two junior associates flanking him. They’re all just…looking at me. With expressions I can’t quite read.
“Great work as always, Taio,” Bradley says carefully. “Very thorough.”
