Page 113 of Rebooting Conor Flynn

I had to strain to hear his voice, and I hit a pillow with my fist. “I knew it. You’d have done anything to keep your star-making machine running—even ruin people’s lives.”

“It didn’t ruin your lives, and you didn’t hear me. I gave the go-ahead for the switch. I did not give the order.”

I froze, my mouth hanging open. Then I laughed. “Who else would care enough about two young lovers?”

“It’s always the money, Con.”

“What does that mean?”

“Do you think it’s easy starting a production company? I had a lot of plans for Baker Street, plans that needed a cash infusion, and I got that backing after I agreed to have Louise make the switch."

“That’s...fucked up.”

“That’s business, mate. Your relationship never would’ve lasted anyway. You were on the brink of fame and fortune...and lots of tail. We did you a favor—and Noelle too. Could you imagine her pining for you during every tour? Successful acts don’t need distractions. And Baker Street got a chunk of change to develop into what we are today.”

“I don’t believe you. Who would go that far to tear apart a couple of kids?”

“You don’t wanna know.”

“Try me.”

“I didn’t come up with it.”

“But you agreed to it.”

“Correct.”

“Who?”

“The money came with strings—one of which was my silence.”

Gordon had just admitted he'd sold me out once. I wasn't about to bargain with him now.

“Do the math. Someone with a lot of money who didn’t want to see you two together.” Gordon heaved a heavy sigh. “Now I’m out. If you change your mind and actually want a successful reunion tour, give me a call back. Otherwise, I’m done talking about the past.”

For the second time that night, someone hung up on me.

I cupped my phone between my hands, replaying our conversation in my head. Who had that kind of money? Who knew about me and Noelle? Who had enough influence to get Gordon on board and invest in Baker Street?

Then the truth began to whisper in my ear, brush the back of my neck, stir my hair.

No. It couldn’t be.

Chapter 27

NOELLE

I covered my ears as Matt launched into another verse of “Sweet Jane,” imitating Lou Reed’s talk-singing...more talk than singing.

Then I jumped up and kicked open my screen door. “Will you shut up. Jane doesn’t even like Lou Reed.”

Matt glanced up from his 45-pound dumbbell and winked. “She does now. We broadened her horizons when you were away, Noelle.”

“I noticed. She turns her nose up at her healthy snacks now.”

“I got some bacon.”

“No, thanks. We’re cleansing her palette.”