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Chapter24
LANDON
He held his breath.
It was one thing to listen to “Every Time You Break My Heart” on the radio.
How would Harper react to hearing her song performed with Vance standing across from her?
He checked his wife.
Surprisingly, she’d barely batted an eyelash.
Maybe a super-dose of psychedelics was what she needed to get through this.
“Harper,” he said softly, when Barbie squealed. The annoying trill echoed through the auditorium as she danced around, tube top jiggling like a plate of Jell-O.
“Woo-hoo for Vancey-Poo,” the bouncy blonde gushed.
And what about Vance’s response?
That smug prick donned an arrogant smirk.
He really was the King of the Douche Nozzles.
A pale woman with sheet music in her hands emerged from backstage and started toward the piano. She’d almost made it when she heaved and produced a guttural gag. In the blink of an eye, her dishwater-gray skin gave way to a pallid puce hue. She heaved again, pressed her hand to her lips, and booked it off the stage.
“We need a bucket,” called a PA somewhere behind the curtains.
Ew!
The audience expelled a collective gasp.
“My goodness, it appears the choir’s pianist isn’t feeling well,” Donna drawled as the gasps coming from the audience morphed into a low murmur.
Maybe they’d have to cut the choir’s rendition of Vance’s—no—Harper’ssong.
He turned to his wife, hoping to get a read on her, when the warmth that had engulfed his hand gave way to a cool chill. Breezy, like blades of grass carried on calm winds, she let go. She pushed onto her tiptoes, kissed his cheek, then glided across the stage and headed for the Steinway.
“What are you doing?” he whispered as the cameras followed her.
“I can accompany you,” she offered, addressing the choir. “I know ‘Every Time You Break My Heart’ like it was my own.”
Damn!
“No, you don’t have to do that,” Vance blathered. His cocksure expression dissolved as he bolted toward the piano. “Harper, go back to your table. They can sing it without the accompaniment.”
Oh, hell no!
He didn’t know what in God’s name Harper was up to, but he wasn’t about to let Vance Vibe get in her way.
Striding like he owned the stage, he blocked the pop douche’s path. “Don’t move,” he seethed and sized up the man. “I’m not kidding when I say that if you take one more step toward my wife, it will be your last.”
Was this an over-the-top display of a pop star swinging around his dick?
You bet your ball sac, penis-shaped cookies it was.
But was it an exaggeration?
