So can this guy.
Seemingly pleased by this, he smiles. “And that is precisely why I’m here. Storm told me about your volatile relationship. Or should I say, the way it ended.” He takes a sip of his drink. “You’re the perfect one for the job.”
He’s lucky I’m not throwing the second Manhattan I’m making in his face.
“What the hell are you talking about? What job?”
“I’d like to hire you to look after Phoenix while he’s on tour.”
“There’s a day care down the street,” I inform him, because what the actual fuck?
He’s not amused. “What I mean is, I’d like you to be his sober companion and make sure he doesn’t get into trouble. Our tour starts in two days. I’ll pay you one hundred thousand dollars for eight weeks, with a bonus at the end. Provided you make it to the end, that is.” He takes another sip of his drink. “Something tells me you will.”
I’m seriously regretting not asking Brian to handle this guy now.
“Hate to break it to you, but your crystal ball is broken because I’m not interested.”
I recently overheard someone in town mention that Phoenix was spiraling out of control ever since the accident that killed his bandmate three months ago, but it’s worse than I thought if this guy is willing to come here and offer me that much money to be his personal babysitter.
Not that it matters. I’m not budging.
He blinks in confusion, like he wasn’t prepared for me to turn him down. “There must be some way I can change your mind.”
I look him right in the eyes. “Trust me. There isn’t.”
“Lennon—”
“If you don’t quit bothering me, I’ll have security throw you out.”
Because something tells me this guy won’t take no for an answer.
Huffing, he takes a card out of his wallet, along with a fifty-dollar bill, and slides them across the bar. “Here’s my card. Please, just think about it.”
Not a chance in hell.
Spending my days and nights thinking about Phoenix Walker and worrying about his well-being is long over.
“How is he?” I ask Mrs. Palma as I walk inside the house.
She shuts off the television. “He was a little restless this evening, but we listened to The Beatles and it put him in a better mood.”
I smile, because when in doubt, music always helps. Especially his all-time favorite band.
“Thank you.”
“Stop thanking me, Lennon.” Standing, she gathers her things. “I put some leftovers in the fridge for you. I made salmon, though, so I’m not sure how well it will heat up.”
I follow behind her as she makes her way to the front door. “I’m sure it will be perfect.”
“You’re off tomorrow, right?”
“Yeah—”
The sound of the doorbell ringing cuts me off.
I’m not sure who’s on the other side of it, but I’m about ready to wring their neck because it’s three-thirty in the morning and my dad is sleeping.
Moving in front of Mrs. Palma, I answer it. “This better be—”
I stop talking when I see that Chandler guy from earlier. “How the hell did you get my address?”
Immediately, Mrs. Palma takes a protective stance. “If you don’t leave this instant, I will get my husband.”
Bracing an arm on the side of the house, Chandler sighs. “One hundred and fifty thousand dollars.”
“No.”
Then I slam the door in his face.
“Who was that?” Mrs. Palma questions.
“That was the manager of Sharp Objects.”
And a persistent asshole.
Her eyebrows shoot up to the ceiling. “You’re kidding. What in the world did he want?” Her mouth drops open. “Did Phoenix tell the truth?”
I ended up confiding in her about everything shortly after I found out he stole my song and took credit for it.
Unfortunately, she was just as sad and perplexed as I was.
She suggested telling my dad, but he would have wanted to take Phoenix to court.
I didn’t have a leg to stand on, though—because, unlike my dad—I didn’t copyright my music.
I was just a dumb teenager sharing something personal with a guy she thought she could trust.
A guy who pretended to be interested in me so he could plagiarize my art.
And not only did no one else witness me singing him my song. No one else ever heard my song period. Just him.
In the end, my dad would have spent a lot of money on a case we never would have won.