Page 75 of The Devil’s Feather

He grinned up at Rafael so brightly I had to squint. “We dated briefly.”

My stomach dropped.

Mandeep laughed and patted my hand, releasing it. “No, girl, it was a disaster. I couldn’t take his mood swings. He hated my unwavering positivity and dedication to glamor, because he’s determined to be miserable. Completely incompatible. We were doomed from the start.”

Rafael exhaled through his nose. “Must you always say all of that?”

Mandeep bobbed his head from side to side, grin unwavering. “See? Miserable, I told you.” He thumbed one of the elaborate gold chains around his neck. “I tried to give this beautiful piece to that ingrate, but he threatened to melt it down for scrap. Can you imagine? Spiteful!”

I liked Mandeep immensely. “He’s definitely ornery.”

“We are much better as colleagues; trust.”

“Mandeep is also a composer,” Rafael said. Was he actually bored or trying to sound like it? “We collaborate sometimes.”

“Someone has to infuse a little sunshine into your doldrums.” Mandeep winked at me. “Rafa pretends we aren’t friends because it fucks up his tortured musician image.”

Rafael folded his arms, shifting his weight onto one hip. “You are the most annoyingly cheerful person I have ever met. We are not friends.”

The sparkling man blissfully ignored him. “Tell me, gorgeous. How did you talk this grouch into leaving his trash can?”

I snorted. “I can’t take credit for that. It was Kathy Friedman’s doing.”

Mandeep clapped a hand against his thigh. “That old battleaxe, of course! I swear, she’s the only person who can bully Rafael into changing his mind.” He leaned in and whispered conspiratorially. “Careful, he projects all his weird mommy issues onto her.”

The cackle burst from my lips against my will.

“Shut the fuck up, Manny.” Rafael’s tone was tired rather than hostile.

“You first, Rafa.” Mandeep batted his eyelashes.

The tiniest smile cracked Rafael’s facade of aloof disdain.

I beamed at them both. “Y’all are adorable.”

Rafael glared. Mandeep reflected back my smile. Night and day.

Someone called Mandeep’s name, and he waved. “Gotta run!” He slapped Rafael’s arm. “Love ya, bitch, but I’ve been trying to catch Ja Seng’s ear for ages now. She’s impossible to pin down.” He blew effusive kisses at me as he glided away in a cloud of sunlight and sparkles. “Lovely to meet you, Elaine!”

“You too!” I tugged at Rafael’s sleeve. “Well, he’s a goddamn delight. ‘Rafa’, huh?” Was I jealous? Maybe a little, just for the shared history.

He arched an imperious brow. “‘Laney’, huh?”

I laughed. “Ok sassy, I was just asking.”

We meandered through the crowd, arm in arm. Heads turned everywhere Rafael went. He pointed out singers, songwriters, and even a few famous actors. All the creative talent wore eccentrically stylish clothes; some bordering on outlandish. Mandeep’s outfit actually paled in comparison to the theatrically sequined ensembles swanning around the floor. One singer I vaguely recognized was dressed as a literal swan, like a reimagining of Bjork’s famous look.

Rafael introduced me to a slew of execs in bland suits, musicians in dramatic finery, and professionals like music editors and scoring mixers dressed in a range of fashions—all of whose names I immediately forgot. Too many new faces blended together. Hopefully, none of them would expect me to remember them.

Many people tensed up and fidgeted around my composer; especially among the executive-types. Whether they were intimidated by his sheer physical presence, his reputation, or some past encounter, I couldn’t say. Others looked him up and down with unmistakable intent and side-eyed me. Rafael ignored all of it.

I caught a whiff of lavender. Out of the corner of my eye, I spied long, blonde hair and half of a familiar face. Fuck, what was Molly Lively doing here? At my side, Rafael stiffened, propelling me toward the opposite end of the ballroom.

He pointed out but distinctly did not introduce me to a stocky masc with short, spiky green hair and a huge septum ring. Dressed in an impeccably tailored, sleeveless plaid suit, floral tattoos graced their impressive arms.

“That is Benson Ives; a powerhouse in sound design and mixing.” A powerhouse in build, too. “We were involved in the past as well, but it ended badly.”

“Have you slept with every beautiful person in the industry?” I’d meant it teasingly, but Rafael’s mouth thinned.