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“I get it. You were recovering. But I don’t understand why it didn’t mention Harper anywhere.”
Mitzi reclined in the chair. “I’m not sure either. But it’s an easy fix. I’ve already spoken to their legal team. You could have told Harper that.”
Sure, if he’d been able to read it.
“I almost signed, Mitz. The lawyer said the legal team was in a hurry. He glossed over the terms. He said they were the same as what you’d negotiated for Heartthrob Warfare. They sent this paper copy to the house, and I…”
He couldn’t go on, but Mitzi knew his secret.
“You couldn’t read it,” she supplied and narrowed her gaze. “You’re not telling me everything.”
He removed his cap and ran his hands through his hair. “I took the attorney’s call on speakerphone. The guy mentioned that the Luxes were interested in Harper and wanted to know if she wanted to pursue her own music.”
Mitzi crossed her arms. “Let me guess. You said it wasn’t a good time.”
She knew him—faults and all.
He returned his ball cap to his head and nodded.
“Is it that you don’t think she has what it takes, or is it something else?” his manager asked like she already knew what thesomething elsewas.
But it wasn’t that goddamned easy to answer.
“It’s a lot with the press and crowds and the fans.”
“It was a lot for you, Trey, and Leighton in the beginning,” Mitzi countered. “What’s the real reason?”
“Do you want me to say it?”
“I’d like you to be honest with yourself,” she fired back.
“If Harper started making her own music, she wouldn’t be able to…” He trailed off as the acrid taste of shame flooded his mouth.
“To help you with yours and ensure your transition from pop to rock went smoothly because you can’t ask anyone else for help,” Mitzi supplied.
Those words had rattled around in his head since Harper had hurled them at him.
To hear Mitzi repeat it added salt to the wound, but the fear of his neurodiversity getting out still ran the show. He had to keep it hidden, but he needed Harper to do it. And she sure as hell wasn’t about to help his self-serving ass. And yes, he was doing this for himself. But he was also doing this for Leighton, Trey—and even Aria.
It was a goddamned paradox.
“She also wants me to be more candid about my learning issues. I can’t do it, Mitzi. I won’t do it.”
“It amazes me that you’ve always seen it as a problem,” Mitzi mused.
He picked up the contract and held it in front of his face. “What the hell else would you call a grown man who would take hours to read this?” he hissed, then folded the damn thing and stuffed it into his pocket. He paced in front of the piano. “Could you leave me in peace, Mitz? I messed up. I can’t be the man Harper wants me to be. I don’t know how I’ll keep the promise I made to Trey and Leighton. There’s a great chance I’m about to cost Aria the aunt she loves and adores. I can’t deal with reality quite yet, and I—”
Mitzi’s phone chimed like a buzzer cutting off his tirade. The woman scanned the screen. “No, I can’t leave you in peace. You’ve got an event.”
It was as if someone had doused him with a bucket of ice-cold water.
“Today?” he shot back, shock coating the word.
“At four o’clock.”
“What time is it?”
“Almost four o’clock,” she barked, going into no-nonsense manager mode. “Do you have a change of clothes?”
