Chapter 18
BIX
Milo looks me up and down with sharp eyes as we wait to be summoned to Sterling’s office.
He doesn’t strike me as your average assistant. Something about him suggests he’s Sterling’s protector, confidant, and critic all wrapped into one smirking package.
“So,” I say, uncomfortable with his scrutiny, “how long have you been working for Mr. Sterling?”
“Quite a while now,” he says.
“Working your way up in the music business?”
“No, honey. No work for me in the future. I aim to marry rich. And this job? It provides VIP access to the richest, most-connected men in the world.”
Milo meets my eyes. “The best parties, best galas. And this weekend, I may find my Prince Charming in Saint-Tropez.”
“Saint-Tropez?” The name conjures images of yachts and movie stars. “Tell me about it.”
“Gorgeous place. I’ve helped plan the publicity campaign for Slayer’s launch, and it’s strictly A-list. Everyone who’s anyone in the music business will be there.”
His voice turns dreamy. “Movers, shakers, yacht parties—and this year’s boat is even bigger than last year’s.”
“I suppose you chose the crew yourself,” I say, now understanding where Milo is coming from.
“You got it, honey.” His eyes light up, his smile suggesting more than professional interest. “Pierre, our head steward, is a dream. He’ll be on our private plane, too.”
“Private plane? What’s it like?”
“Oh, sweetheart.” Milo leans forward like he’s sharing state secrets.
“Picture the living room of the richest person you know, but thirty-three thousand feet in the air. White leather everywhere. Private bedrooms. En suite bathrooms.”
“Bedrooms? On a plane? I have to see that!”
Something shifts in his expression. He opens his mouth, then closes it, like he knows something I don’t. “Que sera sera,” he says.
“What does that mean?”
“Whatever will be, will be,” he says cryptically.
Before I can ask anything else, his phone buzzes. He looks down at it. “Mr. S wants to see you in his office. Right away.”
“Is this good news?” My stomach tightens.
“Well, either way, you’ll find out soon.”
He rises smoothly. To my surprise, Milo takes my hand and leads me to the elevator. For someone so precisely put together, there’s nothing delicate about the way he half-drags me along.
“Mr. Sterling,” Milo announces crisply when we reach the office. “I have Ms. Bismark for you.”
As I step in, I half expect to see Slayer inside. But he’s gone. There’s just Sterling behind his massive desk, the weathered theaters of 42nd Street beyond his windows.
“Ms. Bismark. Please, sit.” He gestures to a white leather chair.
My heart races. This is the moment I’ve dreamed of. Me, Hilary, Lola—all of us. I think of my grandmother’s years of struggle, my sister’s lost future. Maybe I can make it all mean something.
“You’re talented,” he says. “Unconventional, but talented.”
“Thank you.” I try to keep my voice steady.
“But that’s not why you’re here.”
My stomach drops. “It’s not?”
“I have a unique opportunity for you. This weekend in Saint-Tropez, Slayer’s launching his new album—press, industry elite, major publicity.”
I smile and try to control my racing pulse. I knew my big chance would come.
But not so soon. I can imagine the New York Herald headline now: From Central Park busker and part-time dog walker to the Billboard Hot 100.
“Exciting!” I begin, but Sterling’s already speaking.
“We would like you to pose as Slayer’s girlfriend,” he says. “Just for the weekend.”
“What did you say?”
Sterling repeats himself, his smile unwavering.
I let that sink in. “You called me, asked me to come in for an audition, and had me sing. But you don’t want to sign me?”
He shrugs. “Anything is possible. But at this moment, we’re more interested in hiring you for what you might call an acting role.”
He looks at me a long moment. “What I have to offer you now is a generous paycheck for playing Slayer’s girlfriend for the weekend.”
He slides a paper across his desk. The figure makes my eyes widen—more money than I’ve ever had at once. Enough to make a huge dent in my student loan.
I stare up at the record producer, trying to process this bizarre turn of events. “Why me? Slayer seems more than capable of finding his own girlfriends.”
“But they’re not like you,” says Sterling. “The photo of you two taken outside the noodle bar in this morning’s Herald has already generated significant buzz.”
“So you want me to be Slayer’s fake girlfriend...”
“You’re not looking at it the right way. You’ll be taking the first step in launching your career.”
“I don’t see how.”
“Look at it this way. The music industry isn’t just about talent, Ms. Bismark. It’s about opportunity, timing, the right connections.”
I remember my grandmother struggling to make ends meet, taking that backup-singer position with Ella Fitzgerald, hoping the connections would lead to something. But they never did.
“I appreciate the offer, Mr. Sterling. But I don’t think—”
“You have two hours,” he cuts in. “The jet leaves late tomorrow afternoon. Milo has my private number, if you change your mind.”
“Thank you for your time.” I close the door quietly behind me.
In the elevator, my hands shake. Girlfriend. Contract. Saint-Tropez. Sam. Slayer.
Once I’ve returned to the sidewalk outside Sterling Records, I text Zaza and Keesha, hoping they can help me decide.