Page 43 of Rush

“You handled yourself perfectly, Elena. Well done,” Mark adds, reaching out to give my shoulder a reassuring pat.

“Yes, you did,” Kylie echoes, finally lifting her gaze to meet mine, a genuine smile breaking through. “I’m glad to see the media training is starting to pay off.”

“I hope it’s enough,” I murmur, wrapping both hands tighter around my cup. The coffee’s steam curls lazily upward, warming my face.

Kylie takes a slow sip, her sharp eyes already scanning ahead. “You did exactly what you needed to. Chad’s a jerk, but his show pulls in a loyal crowd. The more buzz we build before the tour, the better.”

Mark leans back, giving a casual shrug. “All of this comes with the territory if you want the leverage to get what you want.”

He’s right. Every interview, every headline—it’s all part of the plan. A carefully calculated climb so I can finally sit across that negotiation table and fight to strip out the morality and abandonment clauses—those suffocating shackles buried deep in my contract.

Later that evening,I meet Philippa, Andrew, and Riley for our fortnightly Friday night dinners atSORA, an upscale sushi spot in Manhattan. It’s become my favorite over the past few months—a little ritual I’ve grown to love. The low hum of conversation mixes with the soft clinking of glasses and the rhythmic chop of knives behind the sushi bar. The faint scent of soy, fresh fish, and yuzu fills the air.

I arrive late—as usual,Filipino time. Riley, Philippa, and Andrew are already seated, a half-empty bottle of sake on the table.

“Hey!” they chime in unison as Riley pops up to pull me into a warm hug before I slide into my seat beside her.

“I’m starving,” I say, reaching for the menu like rabid racoon.

“Your interview went well,” Philippa says, taking a slow sip of her martini, her diamond ring catching the low light.

“Thanks, the initial reactions were positive,” I reply, flipping open the menu.

“How was rehearsal?” Riley asks, popping an edamame bean into her mouth.

“Exhausting. I had no idea how unfit I was,” I laugh, already feeling my muscles ache just thinking about it.

“Well, you know my preferred method of cardio.” Riley grins, winking suggestively.

The table bursts into laughter.

“You could always join me for Pilates,” Philippa offers, her tone light but pointed.

“Or start running,” Andrew adds, ever the pragmatic one.

I groan dramatically, “Pip, you wake up at five every morning to do Pilates, and...I’d rather run off a cliff.” I shake my head, skimming the menu. “Have you guys ordered yet?”

They all nod in unison as Andrew signals for the waiter.

“For what it’s worth,” Philippa adds, setting her glass down, “you should probably start building good habits—both of you.” She nods between Riley and me. “Once you hit the road, Elena, it’s going to be full-on. You’ll want to take care of yourself if you want to keep performing.”

She’s right. At twenty-three, I’m still figuring out how to take care of myself. The first time truly on my own, no mother to hover.

“But adulting is hard.” Riley pouts, tossing her head back in mock despair. “Have pity on us.”

Philippa chuckles to herself shaking her head.

“How’s work going for everyone?” I ask, steering the conversation toward safer ground.

“Oh, don’t get her started,” Andrew teases, earning a playful glare from Philippa.

Without missing a beat, she launches into the latest details of a merger and acquisition she’s spearheading, her voice animated, hands moving as she explains complex financial moves like it’s light dinner conversation. Riley chimes in next, sharing the latest exhibits coming through the gallery, her eyes lighting up as she describes a new installation she’s obsessed with. Andrew rounds it out with talk of quarterly profits and losses, his tone casual but clipped, like his mind still lives in a spreadsheet.

The table gradually fills with colorful plates—delicate sashimi, perfectly rolled hand rolls, steaming bowls of miso. Theair is warm with the scent of soy and citrus. Chopsticks click against ceramic, sake glasses clink softly, and the conversation flows as easily as the wine. As the night winds on, we’re already halfway through another bottle of sake, laughter curling easily between us.

“Oh! Before I forget—” I sit up straighter, reaching eagerly into my bag. “I come bearing gifts.”

I pull out four glossy VIP tickets attached to hot-pink lanyards for my opening night on Ava Edwards’ New York stop, fanning them out with a flourish like a winning poker hand. “I hope you guys can make it.”