2. A Deal with the Devil
A Deal with the Devil
Evan
The second Evan steps out of the car, a camera flash nearly blinds him.
"Mr. Stone! Is it true you left your niece alone while you partied in Malibu?"
"How do you respond to allegations from Ms. Caldwells family?"
"Did you really scream at a preschool director last week?"
He doesnt answer. Jaw tight. Shoulders squared.
He muscles through the shouting mob, shielding Piper with one arm as they cross the sidewalk.
A reporter lunges too close, and Evan nearly snaps.
His hand curls protectively around Pipers small frame, and she buries her face into his shirt.
The doorman flinches as Evan storms past, ushering Evan and Piper into the elevator. Flashbulbs still dance behind his eyelids.
Inside the elevator, silence. Then Piper tugs on his sleeve.
"Why are they mad, Unca Evan?"
His throat tightens. He crouches down, smoothing a hand over her curls. "Theyre not mad, sweetheart. Just confused. Grown-ups can be really dumb sometimes."
She nods solemnly. "Like when people think pizza is yucky."
He forces a smile. "Exactly."
She goes quiet again, clinging to her plush dinosaur like its her shield. His chest twists.
As soon as the doors slide open to the penthouse, he hands Piper off to her part-time tutor, murmuring instructions before stalking into his studio.
Guitar cases and amps are pushed aside. The lights are off. Its his cave. His escape.
He grabs his phone and calls Jonah.
"This is a nightmare, Jonah. You told me we had control of the press."
"It leaked," Jonah says flatly. "Somebody from Caldwells circle. Theyre questioning your parenting again. We need a counterstrike."
Evan paces, running a hand through his hair. "Im not dragging Piper into another media stunt. Not again."
Jonah sighs. "We wouldnt. Not if it looked real."
Evan stops. "Meaning?"
"Meaning youre single. Volatile. But if youre seen as settled, reformed, committed to this kid people will chill."
Evan laughs, bitter. "Reformed? What am I, Batman, post-rehab?"
"We spin a narrative, not sell a fantasy. You hired a nanny, right? The sweet girl? Use her. Shes sunshine in a sundress. Media catnip. Picture-perfect caregiver. If shes willing to play along, we give the press what they want. Modern family, healing together."
Evan pinches the bridge of his nose. Every part of him revolts at the idea. But he flashes back to Pipers terrified face in court last year, gripping his hand while lawyers argued like she wasnt even there.
He sits heavily on the edge of the piano bench, vision blurring slightly as the memory deepens. The judge had glanced at Evan over the rim of his glasses, voice dry as paper.
"Mr. Stone, do you believe your lifestyle is compatible with the long-term welfare of a child?"
His hands had clenched. The room had spun. Piper was crying in the hallway.
Now, Evan stares at the silent keys of the grand piano. His fingers twitch with the memory of callused strings and smoky applause, but the silence now rings louder than any crowd.
He closes his eyes. "Let me talk to her."
Before Sarah arrives, Evan attempts to brush Pipers hair.
Bad idea.
She wiggles and protests as the comb gets caught in a curl. Evan winces. "Kid, I was a rockstar. I survived a tour bus full of drunk drummers. Youve officially bested them all."
She giggles, and he manages to get the worst tangles out before handing her off to the tutor with a silent prayer.
Hes about to head back to his office when his phone buzzes again, this time, a legal contact. A new report has been filed with Child Protective Services. No formal action. Yet.
But its enough to make his stomach turn.
When Sarah arrives the next morning, shes all practicality and ponytail, a tote bag slung over one shoulder. Evan is waiting for her in the lounge, coffee steaming on the table, phone facedown.
He tries to act casual. Fails.
"I need to ask you something ridiculous," he says before she even sets the bag down.
She raises a brow. "Before or after coffee?"
He gestures to the second mug. "Both."
She sits slowly, takes a sip, then narrows her eyes. "Alright, shoot."
He leans forward. "What if we let the public think this is more than it is? That you and I are closer. That Pipers in a loving, stable home. For the press."
She stares at him. Then blinks. Then bursts out laughing.
He scowls. "Not that funny."
"Youre asking me to fake-date you for the sake of your image? This is straight out of a rom-com."
"Its strategic."
"Its insane."
He leans back, arms crossed. "Jonah thinks itll work. If the world believes Ive traded vodka and vices for bedtime stories and banana pancakes, theyll back off. And Piper needs that peace."
Sarah sobers at the mention of Piper. She sets the mug down carefully.
"If I say yes, big if then we do it on my terms. Piper comes first. Always. No lies that confuse her, no manipulating her into photo ops."
Evan nods. "Agreed."
"And ground rules," she adds. "We keep it professional in front of her. She doesnt need mixed messages."
"Fine."
"You dont touch me unless its for the cameras. No surprise sleepovers. No comments about how mouthy I am."
He smirks. "But you are."
She pulls out a small notepad from her tote. "Ill make a list."
Evan arches a brow, something between curiosity and dread flickering in his eyes. His fingers twitch subtly against the side of his coffee mug, bracing for whatever shes about to read aloud.
He blinks. "Youre joking."
She flips to the page. "Clause one: no late-night texting unless it involves vomiting or fire. Clause two: you dont get to rewrite your tragic ballads into a couples anthem. Clause three"
He holds up a hand, laughing now. "Okay, okay. I get it."
She taps the pen against her chin, mock-serious. "Clause four: no smirking like that unless youre trying to start a war."
"Wars already started, sunshine."
They shake hands. Her grip is firm. Confidence.
And thats when it happens. Her fingers brush his wrist, and something electric snaps between themsharp and hot, like static shock with a heartbeat.
It streaks up his arm, lodges in his chest, and leaves his breath snagged mid-throat.
She flinches back, cheeks going red. Evan tilts his head.
"You alright there, sunshine?"
"Fine," she says too quickly, grabbing her mug like its a life preserver.
He watches her over the rim of his cup. "You sure? You look like youve seen a ghost."
She mutters something under her breath.
"What was that?"
She glares. "I mightve had a little teenage crush on you, alright? Back when you were still wearing eyeliner and writing songs about heartbreak."
A slow, wicked smile spreads across his face. "Oh, really?"
"Dont get smug. It was a phase."
"Are you sure about that? Youre blushing."
"Maybe Im allergic to ego."
"Oh, sweetheart. Youre gonna need a whole pharmacy, then."
She stands quickly. "I have breakfast to make. And dragons to feed."
He leans back, watching her disappear into the kitchen.
Then calls after her, "Which song was it? Come on, let me guess. Wasted Youth? Give Me a Reason? Sin and Satellites?"
Her voice floats from the kitchen. "If you must know Bulletproof Halo."
He chuckles. "Classic. Tragic. Obsessed-with-redemption Evan."
"Exactly. I was fourteen and had no taste."
He grins, but the smile falters a second later. That song was one of the hardest hed ever written about loss, guilt, and forgiveness he never thought hed get. Knowing shed memorized it once, hummed along in the dark with headphones in and no clue how broken he really was...
Something tightens in his chest. A strange, fragile awe.
This mightve started as a PR stunt.
But suddenly, its personal.