Chapter 25 Stevie #2
Last week, my future was eating pickled gummy bears on the couch until the end of time, wallowing in my shattered dreams and part-time job at a piano bar. No boyfriend, no direction, no hope. But now…
“Okay,” I murmur, the word nearly cracking me in two. “But only because you’re making me.”
Her jade eyes brighten to a near-emerald glow. “I will one thousand percent take responsibility for this. Hold me fully accountable, please. It’ll be the shining star on my résumé.”
“I’ll miss you.”
Mist shimmers in her gaze. “I’ll miss you eventually. After you decide you never want to come home.”
“Yeah, right.” I smile back at her. “We can pretend.”
***
Less than an hour later, I’m standing in the foyer of Lex’s enormous, polished condominium. Blacks, grays, whites. Crystal and stone. It’s a colorless oasis of wealthy, bachelorhood dreams. “Holy crap.”
Lex saunters ahead of me, tossing his sunglasses onto the huge marble island that gleams jet-black with shimmery gold veining. “Make yourself at home.”
Home.
This type of living is so far out of my price range, I can’t wrap my head around even spending a single night here.
I move slowly through the entryway, discarding my lone suitcase by the door. “This is…”
“It’s four walls. A place to sleep.”
“There are four trillion walls.”
He scratches at his mop of hair, the sun-kissed tips glinting under a modern chandelier. “We should probably lay some ground rules.”
Frowning, I step into the kitchen off the foyer, grazing my fingertips over the lustrous stone island. “Ground rules? Are there things I’m not allowed to touch?” He’s worried I’m going to break something. That’s fair. I did fall off a stage once. “A mysterious, off-limits west wing?”
“No. And you can break whatever you want.” He watches my fingers leave invisible trails along his countertop. “I’m talking about rules for us. You and me.”
My hand pauses its unproductive trek. “What do you mean?”
“Well, dating for one. Seeing other people.”
The frown deepens.
“You can’t date anybody. No hookups while you’re out here.”
Cheeks burning, I look away. “Noted. I’m assuming the same goes for you.”
“Obviously.”
I return my arm to my side and approach him, gaze drifting to the floor-to-ceiling window. A work of art. The architecture and the view. “Will that be difficult for you?” I ask, clearly fishing. “I’ve seen the tabloids. The social media pictures. There’s always a girl on your arm.”
“You’ll be the girl on my arm.”
“I know, but three months is a long time to go without—”
“It’s not an issue, Nicks.”
We share a glance.
It’s the wrong time to be thinking about how many women he’s been with. Hundreds, probably. And it’s never a good time to think about how much that stings, considering he was disgusted by the thought of even kissing me.
Forcing away the residual shame, I clear my throat and tip my chin. “Okay. No seeing other people.”
“Good. We should also go over your interview…etiquette.”
“My incompetence, you mean.” My throat tightens. “Valid. Was Rudy pissed?”
“Pissed?” An eyebrow raises. “No, he was taken off guard by the initial curveball, but now he’s fucking delighted.
This was always his endgame. You just pressed the fast-forward button and saved him the headache of trying to piece together a foolproof dissertation he could send you, convincing you to do this very thing. He says thanks.”
I blink repeatedly.
“Anyway,” Lex continues, collapsing to the couch and tossing a silk-threaded pillow to the floor. “Keep things vague in your interviews. If any questions feel too personal, I’ll take over. No talk of marriage, babies, or white picket fence shit.”
“Of course.” I press my tongue against my cheek. My thoughts go to a weird place as I stare at him sitting on the couch, and I envision future movie nights, board games on the coffee table, and sharing paper pails of Chinese takeout.
I shake away the images.
Clearly, we’ll be keeping our distance. Interactions will be brief, and the intimate, chummy moments will be reserved for the spotlight only.
Then a new thought crosses my mind as I glance down at my black tank top and worn denim shorts. “I don’t have any clothes.”
He looks at me like he’s waiting for the second head to appear. “Right. I can afford to pay you ten K a week, but clothes are sadly out of budget.”
“You don’t have to buy me clothes. I can have my sister ship my things—”
“Nicks.”
I swallow. “What?”
“Just go with it.” He leans back, our eyes locking. “I’m going to be paying for everything. Your food, clothes, toiletries, whatever. If you want a pedicure, there’s spare cash in the junk drawer. If you want to order pizza, take my card. I don’t fucking care. It’s just money.”
A warm feeling filters through me. Soft and floaty.
I’ve never lived a life without wanting for something. For more. I don’t know what it’s like to not struggle, to not yearn. Living paycheck to paycheck is a burden, but it’s also eye-opening. You appreciate everything.
Lex has never experienced that, never had to count every penny or feel the anxiety gnawing when rent is due and the fridge is empty. He’s offering me a glimpse into his world, where money is an afterthought, not a lifeline.
He studies me from his place on the couch, an arm draped over the top, his posture rigid. He watches my wheels spin, my thoughts scatter. “Something the matter?”
I shake my head slightly. “No. I’m just…processing.”
He hesitates for a beat before he nods. “I’ll show you your room.”
When he pops off the couch, I follow behind, ignoring the smell of whatever sinful cologne he’s wearing. Masculine and musky but sweet and clean too. Lemon peels and sea breezes. We file up a winding staircase that leads to a plethora of rooms, landing at the second on the right.
“I didn’t have time to girlify it. Pretty basic and boring.” He waves a hand around aimlessly. “White walls, a dresser. The bed was ordered off some TikTok ad. Rudy says it’s magical.”
“Okay.” I step inside, eyeing the barren space. It’s three times bigger than my room. “Thanks.”
“My room is…uh…next door. To the left. If you need anything.”
I peer at him over my shoulder, wondering what I could possibly need from him while he’s in his bedroom. “Got it.”
“If you want to personalize the room or whatever, you can go shopping. Luda knows where all the best shit is. I know you like extra pillows.”
My eyes glaze over. I think this is the first time he’s referenced anything from our past. Part of me wondered if he’d erased us, if he’d forgotten all our little moments.
“This is good. I don’t need anything.” I pump my fingers into fists and shuffle between feet, fidgety and out of place. “So what are we supposed to do now?”
“What do you mean?”
“I understand the long-term plan, but what’s the short-term plan?”
His brows crease, eyes narrowing a fraction.
“My calendar is pretty full. You can tag along to the social commitments. Rudy’s birthday party is coming up.
Pool day and drinks at his place. Willa is hosting a postpremiere event at Pulse.
It’s a club.” He scrolls through a digital calendar in his mind.
“There are some interviews lined up, a photo shoot with Billy, probably some—”
“I mean really short-term,” I interject, my mind whirling with extravagant events I can’t begin to process. “Like right now.”
The crease evolves into a frown. “Why, you want to hang or something?”
I shrug.
No. Yes. I have no idea.
He palms the back of his head, then scratches his nape. “I’m not the best company.”
“Right, no, we don’t need to hang.” A tinge of embarrassment brightens my cheekbones. “I’m just not sure what to do with myself. I feel like I’m invading your privacy. Should I…keep to myself? Stay in my room?”
“You can do whatever you want.”
I fold my hands together, bite my lip.
Nodding, I glance around the room, streaks of sunlight pouring in from the enormous uncovered window and splashing prisms across the bedspread.
“Actually…” Lex clears his throat, propping his shoulder against the doorframe. “I want to show you something.”
I stare at him, perking up. “Show me what?”
A minute later, we’re back downstairs, weaving around a corridor and entering another living space adjacent to the main room.
It doesn’t take long for me to spot it: a grand piano, standing in the corner of the room.
It’s a Steinway—astronomically expensive—sleek and polished to a mirrorlike finish, the ebony surface reflecting the soft lighting.
The lid is propped open, revealing intricate inner workings, the strings and hammers gleaming like gold under a contemporary chandelier.
A freight train of emotion plows into me. Right through the center of my chest. I make a sound, a mousy little croak. The piano blurs through glossy eyes as tears prick and burn. I’m not sure what I expected to find, but it wasn’t this. Never this.
“Do you…play?” I turn to him, finding him staring at the instrument with distant eyes. They’re not deadened, but they’re jaded. Almost sorry.
“Not well.” Lex swallows, flicking his gaze to the window.
I imagine him playing it. Sitting on the wooden bench, hunched over the keys, the passion I witnessed onstage years ago flowing through him, reawakening his soul, making him shine again. Music does that. It brings things back to life.
Moving toward the piano in a trancelike state, I send him a quick glance. “Can I?”
A noncommittal shrug. “Sure.”
That’s all I need. I pull out the bench and take a seat, gliding my fingertips over the keys. New and hardly used. “Any requests?”
“Whatever you want,” he says, sounding faraway.
I take a moment to zip through a playbook in my mind, then settle on a song.
A cover of “California Dreamin’.”
Fitting.
My voice starts off soft, weaving through the familiar song with a trace of nostalgia.
As I reach the chorus, I let it swell, filling the room with rich, husky melodies that sweep through the echoey space, my fingers dancing across ivory keys.
Each note is laced with a longing that feels almost too personal, like I’m singing directly to my past. Directly to him.
The lyrics ground me as warm music pulls me deeper into fractured reveries.
When the final note sounds and my voice fades into the silence, I take a moment to close my eyes. I breathe in deeply through my nose, letting the chords settle in my bones, a smile curling at my lips. It feels good. Familiar and sweet.
I turn on the bench to face him. “Well, that was—”
But the words lodge in my throat.
My heart sinks, shoulders slumping, as I stare at the space where he once stood.
The room is empty.
He’s not there.