Kai:when?
You:30 seconds ago. ;)
Kai:hoping you’d say that. I’ve got the night off.
You:Not anymore, you don’t. ♥♥♥
Kai:come and get it. gtg
You decide that it’s best not to reply. Surreptitiously looking around, you flatten your palm over your crotch, willing your dick to relax. You make it look like you’re just stretching your shoulders, which is a good thing. Because a split second later, Zhavia breezes through the door.
“Maeve’s not happy with you,” she announces by way of greeting. “She says I’m supposed to barge in here and not leave until you eat something.”
“That’s going to be tough considering that one of us needs to leave to go get sustenance,” you mutter dryly.
Zhavia waves her phone. “Oh, she’s got that covered. She ordered enough food for everyone. Asked how many assistant engineers there were, and if you had any musicians recording. If anyone had any food allergies. Sounds like she’s bought out the Korean place down the street.”
Raising an eyebrow, you look at your phone’s screen. You didn’t hear it chime again, but, sure enough, there’s a minutes-old message from Maeve.
Maeve:You didn’t answer, so you don’t get to choose. Hope you’re in the mood for bibimbap.
You huff a sigh and whip off a reply to Noemi, reminding her that she shouldn’t kill your parents and that there are worse things Dad could be doing with his retirement. When you look up, Zhavia is draped over a chair, her long, floaty skirt like a waterfall over her crossed ankles. She’s also poking at her phone.
“Hey, Zhay?” you say.
“Mmm?” She doesn’t look up.
“Instead of that sad song, let’s work on the one I wrote last week.”
She lifts her chin. “The guitar demo?”
“Uh-huh.”
That makes Zhavia smirk. “Oh, so we’re working onallthe sexy songs today? You get a wild hair?”
You grin. “I’m inspired. What can I say?”
Laughing, she shakes her head. “Good for you, Mister Inspiration.Music to Fuck Tois going to have to be a double album. I swear that you’ve already written 20 hits already, andGoldenjust came out. You trying to break a record?”
“Nah,” you say. “Like I said, just inspired. Really inspired.”
Zhavia rolls her eyes.
***
BLIND ITEM #391, 07/10/25:This mega A-Lister is nowhere to be seen. No pap walks, no red carpets, no strolls with their pets, who are almost as photogenic and famous as the A-Lister themselves. We know that this person is going through something of an image crisis at the moment, but hiding from problems doesn’t make them go away. Their athletic and notoriously tight-lipped partner has been seen at team events, studiously ignoring the crowds of photographers on the other side of the gated facility. Reporters have been fighting for space outside the bicoastal residences of the star, hoping for a peek, but so far have incurred only trespass warnings and zero proofof life. Where are you hiding, A-Lister? The skies are Gray without you—just like dull Sterling silver.
***
Later that week, you buy a villa. Two villas, to be exact.
It sounds spontaneous, but really, it’s something that’s been in the works for a while. All jokes about room service aside, it’s stupid to keep shelling out money for hotels with all the time you spend in Miami these days. You have three homes already; what’s adding a fourth to the mix?
Kai accompanies you to the showings, despite the fact that you two agreed that you will not be moving in together. Even though neither of you are ready for that just yet, he’ll be spending a lot of time with you in your new place, and it’s important to you that he likes it as well.
The Realtor does a good job; you give him that. Not only is he courteous and discreet, but all the properties he shows you fit your requirements to a “T.” Unfortunately, none of themspeakto you. All of your homes—Los Angeles, New York, and Nashville—have character. There’s something in you that can’t abide a cookie-cutter mansion, and Miami is packed full of them. Sure, they’re gorgeous: huge, airy, secluded, and with picture-perfect views of the ocean, but they are also soulless palaces in the name of new money, devoid of charm. You’re about ready to call it quits after a long day of politely admiring private elevators and helipads (you don’t even own a helicopter) when the agent, Stanley, clears his throat.
“I have a listing that just hit my desk, Mister Grayson,” he tells you. “It’s not exactly what you had in mind, but there’s a uniquesituation that I think you could make work. Can I take you on one more stop?”
