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Madelyn hadn’t approached her regarding a nanny position, which was a damn good thing. The woman had hit the mark when she’d matched her friends, but her situation was different. Plus, she simply didn’t have the disposition to act as a parental figure, especially after what her mother and father had done to her.
Dammit, why did her mind have to go there?
The empty place inside her, the place she hid behind a sharp tongue, a heap of sass, and a practiced scowl threatened to swallow her whole.
She removed her mask and dropped it into her tote. “You’re about to become the next hot online performer. Focus on the future. Do it for Babs. Think of Grandad,” she whispered, when a voice from her past cut through the air like a ripe fart.
“Harper? Harper Presley, is that you?”
Of all the hotels and event centers in this town, what was the chance she’d bump into Vance the prick?
Clearly, one hundred percent.
The universe seemed hell-bent on throwing every obstacle her way.
She steadied herself, ready to go off on the jerk, then remembered what she was wearing.
Universe, you really deserve a kick in the metaphysical balls.
She forced herself to meet Vance’s gaze, then caught salvation out of the corner of her eye. She spied a sign with The Next Hot Online Performer Try-outs at the entrance to a ballroom only a few feet away.
She was so close to solving her problems.
Inches away from making it big.
She couldn’t let this encounter with her ex throw her off. She shifted her bag to her other shoulder.
Don’t let him get into your head.
“How nice to see you, Harper,” Vance crooned. “Are you here to take in my concert?”
Gag.
“That would be a no,” she shot back.
“You’re certainly admiring my cutout. It’s hard not to,” Vance purred—no, oozed. The man oozed like pus pouring from a giant, gangrenous wound.
He sauntered toward her with a gaggle of busty women and a smattering of douchey bros in tow.
Despite raking in the cash, there was nothing remarkable about him. With mousy brown hair streaked with golden highlights, he’d become a cookie-cutter pop star. And he’d done it by stealing her work, her words, and her melodies.
“I’m here in a professional capacity. You’ll have to excuse me. I’m expected in the ballroom,” she touted while holding herself back from punching the smirk right off Vance’s stupid face.
He looked over his shoulder. “That’s what you’re doing instead of making music?”
What did he have against online performers?
The guy’s music was on every social platform. Like it or not, he was an online performer, too.
He looked her up and down. “I guess it’s not too far from your wheelhouse. You weren’t half bad in the sack.”
She tasted bile. This man was nauseating.
Every cell in her body wanted to stomp on his foot and drive the spike of her heel straight through his gaudy, expensive shoes.
Stay cool, girl.
Don’t let him take this away from you.
