“Okay,” AnnieLee said, relieved. This, finally, was ground she felt comfortable on. Her fingers curved around the fretboard again. After thinking for a moment, she strummed the opening to “Dark Night, Bright Future.” She closed her eyes as she sang so she didn’t have to look at Mikey’s shrewd, avid face.
Like the phoenix from the ashes, I shall rise again
The song was yearning and insistent, and her voice flew around the glass-walled conference room, as bright and spectacular as a mythical bird.
Got so much ahead of me
The past is gonna set me free
Learn from it and just believe
That I can touch the sky
When the song was over, Mikey and his A team—and the assistant, too, who’d reappeared to listen—clapped so hard that the noise hurt AnnieLee’s ears. Mikey Shumer was giving her a one-man standing ovation.
Her cheeks felt hot, and she could feel a trickle of sweat running down between her breasts. “Thank you,” she said. “I can play another one if you want.”
“You don’t even need to. AnnieLee Keyes, you’re the real deal,” Mikey Shumer said. “I’ll bet anything on it. If you sign with me, I can get you a four-continent tour. Sixty dates. Paris, Barcelona, Tokyo—all the places you’ve ever dreamed of going. It won’t be tomorrow, but it’ll happen. I can make it happen for you.”
AnnieLee looked down at her guitar. What would it mean if she agreed to work with Mikey Shumer? He was smart and confident, he knew a thousand things she didn’t, and he wasn’t afraid to think big.
He’s dirty, AnnieLee, Ruthanna had said. But it wasn’t as if she’d given her any proof.
For a moment, AnnieLee allowed herself to imagine an easier path to the top. “I guess—” she began.
“We have a deal, don’t we?” Mikey Shumer interrupted. But it wasn’t a question. He was so convinced of his charms and his power.
It was that presumption that gave AnnieLee pause. “I guess,” she said again, “I guess I’d better consider your offer a little bit longer.”
Mikey Shumer was a man used to getting his way, and AnnieLee could see how he tried not to let his disappointment show. But his expression had darkened, and she watched as he reached into his pocket, his eyes never leaving her face. He began to pull something out of it, and for a crazy, stupid instant, AnnieLee thought he was pulling out a weapon.
But it was a brand-new iPhone in a glittering black case.
“This is for you,” Mikey Shumer said.
AnnieLee’s eyes widened. “Oh, no, I’ve got a prepaid,” she said. “It’s nothing special, but it does what I need it to do. I mean, it recorded about fifty messages from you, didn’t it?” She laughed nervously.
Mikey waved this information away. “I took the liberty of putting my number in the contacts. You call me, anytime, day or night.” He wasn’t smiling anymore. “You made it out of the gate, AnnieLee, but if you’re not careful, you’re going to stumble at the first curve. Don’t screw yourself.” He put the phone down on the table. “And don’t screw me, either.”
Chapter
38
Ruthanna plucked an antique milk glass vase from its kitchen shelf, filling it with water and then with the flowers she’d just cut from her garden: bursting dahlias, heavy-headed roses, feathery pink beeblossoms. On four-inch heels, she carried her bouquet to the narrow farm table that had been in her family for five generations, and which she’d already set with linen napkins, Spode china, and vintage silver she’d bought on one of her tours through France.
She looked around the lovely room with satisfaction. The salad was ready, Alice Waters’s cheese and pasta gratin was browning in the oven, and a bottle of rosé sat chilling in a silver ice bucket. Everything was perfect, and perfectly calm.
But it didn’t matter. Ruthanna Ryder felt like screaming.
When she thought about getting through the next hour, she wanted to pour herself three fingers’ worth of Scotch, neat. She wanted to crawl into bed. She wanted to call Jack.
Too late, she wished she’d asked him to join her tonight. He knew the story she had to tell, and, if need be, he could take over its telling. She reached for her phone, saying, “Siri, call—” But then she stopped. Jack was a busy man. Though he’d drop everything and come running, she didn’t want to ask it of him.
AnnieLee walked in at three minutes after six. She wore her hair in a messy bun, and there was a touch of pink gloss on her full lips. “I’m so sorry I’m late,” she said, her voice harried as she kicked off her boots at the door.