rives at e

d windows, driver in a suit waiting by the passenger door. M

the house will do that. I've done my best with makeup-minimal, nothing that draws attention. Hair

to be normal. Like a ghost tryi

oice from downstairs

lie. I just left out the part about Giovanni Rivers and six-month arrangem

ortfolio. Armor. If this goes b

toward something I can't take back. At the bottom,

贝." His voice cracks.

I blink them back. "

es my face. Knows I'm hiding something. But he

wil

d. I memorize the fe

o leather seats that probably cost more than my entire wardrobe. Th

isappear in the side mirror. Jiao's Vinyl Paradise. Fad

ll

utes. My breathing gets shallower with each passing bl

Mr. Gray is waiting inside.

can do private. It's the pu

sive, the kind of place where you need a reservation three months in a

see Marcus Gr

al warmth that doesn't reach her

le eating, talking, laughing. Normal people doing normal things. A few glance up

he hostess opens a d

mid-forties, styled hair, practice

eath

nni R

, leather jacket draped over his chair. Tattoos covering both arms-intricate patt

ense, looking at me like he's trying to solv

ae." My name in his voice is different than I im

the man whose grief I've painted, whose hope I've captur

doesn't kn

t." He gestures to the empty chair. "

s out strangled. I cle

ouch. Close enough to see the shadows under his eyes, the tension in his

ner

three-time Grammy winner, platinum artist, man wh

ge. Recent events have been... damaging. His ex-girlfriend's allegations, however false, have creat

hing me, not Marcus. Something

s have to do w

e because you clearly don't want it." Marcus slides a folder across the tab

the folder's edge. "Wha

ces. Social media posts. Carefully staged relationshi

l blow. Girlfriend. Fake girlfr

to lie." My v

moothly. "A business transaction. You get the money you

y m

the last thing you want." His voice does things to me. Dangerous things. "That means you w

stinct screams at me to run. To hide. To go back to my sa

housand dollars. My father'

s. Compensation schedule. It's al

o think a

tone suggests he knows my answer

explode outsi

Paparazzi. Telephoto lenses. Poi

. The room tilts.

t here. Ple

over me like a wave. Can't breathe. Can't think. Can'

ras. Laughter. My face on every screen. E

s grip my