“That feels healthy,” I said.
“The usual,” Sophie replied. “New album. Secret relationship. Surprise collaboration. Possible feud with a pop star you met once in an airport lounge.”
“She took my charger.”
“She says you took hers.”
“It was plugged into my phone.”
“Which is why we’re not discussing it.”
Rachel handed the tablet back to Sophie.
“No personal questions. No tour exhaustion. No relationship speculation. Keep it on the show and the next single.”
“Already handled.”
I stared at them.
“Do I need to be here for this conversation?”
“No,” Rachel said.
“Good. I’d hate to interrupt the planning of my personality.”
That earned me the smallest flicker of amusement from her.
Rachel came closer and adjusted the lapel of my jacket. Her movements were brisk, but her eyes stayed on my face for a beat longer than necessary.
“You sleep last night?”
“Of course.”
“How many hours?”
“Several.”
“That isn’t a number.”
“It is emotionally a number.”
“Savannah.”
“Four.”
Her mouth flattened.
“Four and a half.”
“Better.”
“I rounded down for drama.”
“You’re exhausted.”
“I’m wearing enough highlighter to reflect emergency signals. Nobody will know.”
“I’ll know.”
