Chapter 20 #2
“Look,” Richard says, his tone shifting to something almost paternal. “I get it. You’re burned out. It happens to everyone. But walking away isn’t the answer. You’ve built something incredible. You don’t want to throw that away.”
“I’m not throwing anything away. I’m just…figuring out what I want it to look like going forward.”
“And what do you want it to look like?”
I think about Delilah. About Twin Waves. About the life I’m starting to imagine, one where music is part of it but not the whole thing. One where I have space to breathe.
“Smaller,” I say finally. “More sustainable. Tours that don’t destroy me. Music that actually means something instead of content to feed the algorithm.”
Richard exchanges a look with someone across the table. The kind of look that says “here we go again.”
“We can discuss parameters,” he says carefully. “But we need something from you. A commitment. A timeline. Something to show the board that you’re still in this.”
“I’ll think about it.”
“That’s what you said last time.”
“And I’m still thinking.”
Mia leans forward, and I catch another wave of that perfume. It’s the kind of scent that announces itself from across the room and refuses to leave. “I think we could make something really special together, Levi. Our voices would blend beautifully.”
She puts her hand on my arm.
I move my arm.
“I’ll think about the album,” I say. “The tour. But the duet isn’t happening.”
The room goes quiet again. This time it feels heavier.
Diane’s jaw tightens. She’s going to have words for me later. Many words.
Richard’s jaw tightens further. “Let’s not make any hasty decisions. Take some time. Look over the proposal.” He taps the folder. “We’ll talk again before you leave.”
The meeting wraps up shortly after that. Lots of handshakes and “great to see you,” but absolutely nothing getting resolved. One of the junior executives tries to make small talk about my “creative process” and I give him answers that are technically true but reveal nothing.
Diane intercepts me before I can escape. “We need to talk.”
“Later.”
“Levi...”
“Later, Diane. I promise.”
She doesn’t look happy, but she lets me go. Harper is waiting by the elevator, and I’ve never been more grateful for an exit strategy.
I’ve mastered that too.
Mia catches me in the hallway.
“Levi, wait.”
I stop. Turn. Keep my expression neutral.
“I feel like we got off on the wrong foot,” she says. “Last time and now. I’m not trying to pressure you into anything.”
“Could’ve fooled me.”
“The label wants this collaboration. I’m just going along with it.” She tilts her head, and the overhead lights catch her cheekbones in a way that’s probably rehearsed. “But between us? I think you’re talented. I’d love to work with you. No pressure.”
“I appreciate that.”
“Maybe we could grab dinner? Talk about it more casually? Without all the suits watching?”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“Why not?” She steps closer. “It’s just dinner.”
“Because I’m with someone.”
The words come out easier than I expected. Because they’re true. Because saying them feels like breathing.
Mia’s expression flickers. Surprise, maybe. Or disappointment. It’s gone before I can be sure, replaced by that polished smile.
“Lucky girl,” she says.
“I’m the lucky one.”
She laughs, a polished camera-ready laugh that sounds like it was focus-grouped. “Well. If you change your mind about the duet. Or anything else.” She hands me a card. Her personal number, presumably. “You know where to find me.”
She walks away, heels clicking on the marble floor.
I wait until she’s gone, then drop the card in the nearest trash can.
Back at the hotel, I order room service and eat dinner alone in the suite, watching the city lights come on outside my window. The food is probably excellent, some kind of steak with vegetables arranged in a way that suggests someone went to culinary school, but it all tastes like cardboard.
I miss Delilah’s coffee and the pier. I miss the sound of Ruffy growling at me from across the room because I got too close to his human.
Harper returns my phone after dinner.
“You survived,” she says. “Barely.”
“Richard wants an answer by tomorrow.”
“Richard wants a lot of things. That doesn’t mean he gets them.” She pauses at my door. “What do you want, Levi? And I mean actually want. Not what the label wants, not what the fans want. What do you want?”
I think about the pier. The fish that attacked me. Delilah laughing so hard she cried. The way she looked at me in the April sunshine, scared but staying anyway.
“I want to go home,” I say.
Harper nods like this doesn’t surprise her. “Then maybe it’s time to figure out how to make that happen. On your terms.”
She leaves. I close the door and pull out my phone.
Four missed texts from Delilah.
Delilah: Lucky Susan update: he came back for more roses. Apparently the first batch “worked too well” and now he needs anniversary flowers.
Delilah: I pointed out they’re not married.
Delilah: He said “not yet, but Susan’s warming up to me.”
Delilah: I love my job.
I smile. Sink onto the bed. This stupid, oversized hotel bed that’s probably worth more than everything I own back in Twin Waves.
I call her instead of texting.
She picks up on the fourth ring. “Hey.”
Her voice sounds off. Flat.
“Hey yourself. Everything okay?”
“Yeah. Fine. How was the meeting?”
She doesn’t sound fine. But maybe I’m imagining it. Maybe it’s just the distance, the phone connection, the fact that I’m three thousand miles away and can’t see her face.
“Long. Complicated. Full of people in expensive suits who don’t actually make music.”
“That sounds miserable.”
“It was. Until right now.”
She doesn’t respond to that. No smile in her voice. No teasing. Just silence.
“Delilah? You sure you’re okay?”
“Yeah. Just tired. Long day at the shop.”
I want to push. Something feels wrong. But I don’t know how to ask “what’s wrong” when she’s already said nothing is.
“Where are you?” I ask instead.
“Home. Mom made dinner.”
No mention of Eleanor eavesdropping. No warmth. Just short answers.
“I missed you today,” I say. “Which is stupid because I’ve only been gone one day.”
A pause. Then, softer: “I missed you too.”
There she is. For just a second, she sounds like herself again.
Then she asks, “So what did they want? At the meeting?”
I take a breath. “The usual. New album. Tour. And they want me to do a duet with Mia Monroe.”
Silence. A long one.
“Mia Monroe?” she asks. Her voice has gone even flatter.
“Yeah.”
“She’s…really famous.”
“I guess.”
“And gorgeous. She was on the cover of Vogue.”
“So people keep telling me.”
Another pause. This one feels heavy.
“She was at the meeting?” Delilah asks.
“She was. The label’s pushing this collaboration hard. They think it’ll boost my numbers.”
“What do you think?”
“I think I don’t want to do it. I told them no. I’ve been telling them no. They keep asking anyway.”
“And Mia?”
“She asked me to dinner.”
The silence this time stretches so long I check to make sure the call didn’t drop.
“I said no,” I add quickly. “Obviously. I told her I’m with someone.”
“Did you.” It’s not a question. It’s flat. Almost cold.
“Delilah, what’s going on? You sound...”
“I’m just tired.”
She’s three thousand miles away and I can’t reach through the phone and hold her and make her tell me what’s wrong.
“I don’t care about Mia Monroe,” I say. “I don’t care about duets or crossover appeal or any of it. The whole time I was in that meeting, you know what I was thinking about?”
“What?”
“That fish. The one that attacked me. And the way you laughed so hard you almost fell off the bench.”
She doesn’t laugh. She doesn’t even respond for a moment.
Then, quietly: “Levi, I should go.”
“What? Why?”
“I’m just…I need to think about some things.”
“Think about what? Delilah, talk to me.”
“I can’t. Not right now.” Her voice cracks, just slightly. “I’ll call you tomorrow, okay?”
“You’re scaring me.”
“I’m sorry. I just…I need some time.”
“Time for what?”
But she’s already gone. The call ends, and I’m left staring at my phone in a hotel room that suddenly feels even emptier than before.
I call back. Voicemail.
I text.
Levi: Please talk to me.
Levi: Whatever it is, we can figure it out.
Levi: Delilah?
Nothing. No response.
I’m pacing the room, trying to figure out what went wrong, when my phone rings. Diane.
“Have you seen it?” she asks before I can say hello.
“Seen what?”
“Check your mentions. Or just Google yourself. Call me back.”
She hangs up.
I pull up my browser with shaking hands. Type my name.
The first result is a tabloid headline: “LEVI COLE’S NEW ROMANCE? Rock Star Gets Cozy with Pop Princess Mia Monroe”
And there’s the photo.
It’s from my last trip. Mia hugging me outside the label building. Her arms around me, her hand on my back, her face tilted toward mine like she’s about to kiss me. My expression is caught mid-surprise, but in the photo it looks like something else entirely. It looks like I’m enjoying it.
It looks like I’m with her.
My stomach drops.
This is what Delilah saw. This is why her voice went flat. This is why she said she needed to “think about some things.”
She thinks I’m cheating on her.
I call her. Voicemail. Again.
Levi: Delilah, I just saw the photo. It’s not what it looks like.
Levi: She hugged me. I didn’t want it. I pushed her away right after.
Levi: Please let me explain.
Nothing.
I call Harper. “Get the jet ready. I need to leave tonight.”
“Tonight? Levi, it’s almost midnight. The pilot...”
“Triple his pay. Whatever it takes. I need to get home.”
A pause. “What happened?”
“There’s a photo. Mia Monroe. Delilah saw it and she’s not answering my calls.”
Harper doesn’t ask any more questions. “Give me twenty minutes.”
I hang up and stare at the photo again. At Mia’s arms around me. At my face, frozen in a moment that tells a completely different story than the truth.
I didn’t do anything wrong. But it doesn’t matter. The photo exists. And Delilah saw it.
By the time I land tomorrow, she might already be gone.
I spend the rest of the night calling her, texting her, leaving voicemails that probably sound desperate because I am desperate.
She doesn’t answer any of them.