Her expression ices over. “Absolutely not.”
Slowly, I let out an exhale. My hands settle on my hips and I squint at the sun reflecting off nearby pool water as I try to draft a convincing response in my head. Eleanor is better at arguing than me, or she’s at least more stubborn than I am, but she has to know we’re out of options.
“Don’t you want this over with?”
“Yes. Obviously. But I’m not going to be beholden to that guy.”
“I won’t mention your name. He doesn’t have to know you’re involved.”
“That’s not—it’s the principle of the thing. And you expect me to believe he won’t needle you for details?”
Honestly? It’s difficult to say. If I told him I needed money, no questions asked, he’d probably respect that. Then again, I could just as easily picture him badgering me for details, assuming there’s some salacious story he’d feel entitled to in return.
“I wouldn’t tell him anything.”
The crease between Eleanor’s brows deepens. It’s more than irritation there—she seems genuinely upset about Billy getting involved. “You know he’s friendly with Griffin, right?”
“What?” That cannot be true—at least not in the way Eleanor’s implying. I’m sure they know each other, the wayanyone who has been in the industry for long enough knows each other. But Billy has hardly ever mentioned Griffin’s name, at least not outside of the context of Griffin’s involvement with Eleanor.
“They have a standing golf date,” she says. “Like, every month or two.”
I almost ask where she heard that, but the answer readily supplies itself. She was with Griffin for over a year. And if he was as involved in her life as she says, it makes sense she would’ve gotten to know his schedule pretty well in return.
“If Billy did find out about this, then so would Griffin. And I’d really like for that not to happen.”
I grit my teeth against the ugly, possessive feeling rising in me. I’m not sure what bothers me more, the implication that Eleanor still cares what her shitty ex thinks, or the idea that Billy and Griffin get together and talk about her. I want to call Billy up and warn him to keep Eleanor’s name out of his mouth. But that would be counterproductive. So. Instead, I just stand here, irritated and impotent, wishing I could magic all of Eleanor’s problems away.
“Can we at least try the casino first? We can see if anyone wants to buy the chips off us, or we can play a round of blackjack. Can we try that? Please?”
I rake my teeth over my bottom lip, completely helpless in the wake of that one word from Eleanor. And really, she’s right. Billy doesn’t need to be involved in this.
It’s something I have struggled with, in the past—knowing where to draw the line with Billy between the personal and the professional. Knowing how to draw a line in the first place.
The closest I’ve come was about a year ago, right before Billy got sober. We’d gone to a show in Silver Lake together, tosee an up-and-coming band that was getting a lot of buzz. We weren’t the only industry people in the audience that night, and after the first set I made my way over to the bar where Billy was camped out, drinking and networking.
He was quick to introduce me to a producer, someone he’d worked with before, albeit with an artist Billy no longer repped.
“Adam, do you know Rob Grimmer?”
“No, I don’t think we’ve met.” I stuck out my hand. “Adam Shaw.”
“Adam is my old protégé. He’s over at Exeter now, killing it.”
We shook hands and Rob nodded. “Nice to meet you.”
“Same. You enjoying the show?”
“For sure.” Rob glanced away as the bartender set three bottles down by his elbow. He passed over a few bills before turning back to me. “I’ve been following them for a while, but it’s nice when a band holds up live.”
“They’re something special,” Billy said with a decisive nod, and I had to suppress an eye roll because he spent the first few songs complaining to me about how overrated they were before I abandoned him at the bar so I could actuallyhearthem play.
“Anyway, I should get these to my friends,” Rob said before gathering all three bottles in one hand. “But I’m glad I ran into you guys.”
“We’ll see you around,” Billy told him.
“Bet.” Rob clasped each of our hands once more before heading over to his group.
“Sorry about that,” Billy said as soon as Rob was out of earshot. “Guy is a fucking hack.”
