Page 121

I head to the kitchen for beers.

Apparently, my role tonight is supplying alcohol to people who invited themselves into my apartment.

For forty minutes, it’s almost peaceful.

Drew explains football. Luca tells him a wildly embellished story about a show we did in Hamburg involving three models and a hotel fountain. I was there. Roughly twelve per cent of it happened.

Drew hangs on every word. By the end of one of Luca’s stories, Drew is laughing so hard he spills his beer.

“Oh—” He wipes at his jeans with the flat of his hand. “Hey. Nice job on the new girl, by the way.”

“What?”

“The new girl.” He looks up. “She’s smokin’, bro. Seriously. Well done.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Violet Marlowe?” he says it slowly, like I’ve taken a knock to the head. “It’s literally everywhere.”

Luca stops with his beer halfway to his mouth.

Drew’s already got his phone out, thumbing through something, and then he turns it around and holds it up in front of my face.

A restaurant, shot through the window from across the street. Grainy. Orange. Violet leaning in over the table. Me leaning in too, because the place was loud and she was two feet away telling me about how she got picked up.

CALLUM FOX AND VIOLET MARLOWE: NEW COUPLE ALERT?

“Fuck,” I say quietly.

“She’s like a nine, easily⁠—”

“Drew, shut the fuck up for a moment.” I take the phone from him and scroll.

I told him no press. I said it twice on that call.

“We’re not dating. It was a business dinner.”

Drew snorts.

“It was a business dinner,” he mocks. “Yeah. Course it was.” He takes the phone back, looks at the picture again, then at me with his eyebrows up.

And the thing is, he’s right. It’s a good photo. Whoever took it found the one angle in that whole restaurant where the table between us disappears, so it looks like my hand is about four inches from hers, and damn, it does look like we’re on a date.

I look at Luca. “Danny,” he says.

“Yup.”

“He wouldn’t.”

“He would. He has.”

I put my beer down, pick up my phone ready to call him, but then realize I don’t want this to ruin our time. Later, when they’ve gone, I’m going to call him, and I am going to be extremely fucking calm about it. And extremely fucking serious that this story better be buried.

“Let’s drop it. I’ll deal with it later,” I tell them, looking pointedly at Drew.

He shrugs and goes back to his beer, and Luca lets it drop, and the room goes back to normal in about nine seconds.

“Right! Enough bullshit.” I set my beer down. “You brought your bass?”