“But you don’t have to be afraid of them,” Holly continues. “There are a few real wolves out there, but most of them are puppies who used to be as afraid as you are. You’re a chart-topper. You’re their equal. You deserve respect, and don’t you forget it.”
“I just...I feel like a kid here,” Easterly says, twining her fingers together. “Sure, I’ve sold some albums, but I’m still so new...”
With a smile, Milah rests her hand on Easterly’s shoulder. “We all had to start somewhere. We all know what it’s like. It’s nothing to worry ab—”
She breaks off then and whips around sharply.
Narrowed eyes lock on me, and I flinch, swallowing a squeak.
“Who’s there?” Milah snaps. It’s not hard to notice how she positions herself defensively in front of Easterly. “If you have a camera, I swear to God I’ll break it over your head.”
I don’t know whether to laugh, be terrified, or swoon in admiration.
I take two deep breaths.
I’m amazed my voice is steady when I hold up my hands in surrender and step into the light.
“No camera!” I say cautiously. “I just came out here for some fresh air before I realized the veranda was already occupied.” There’s a badge on a lanyard in my cleavage, and I tug it out. “Caroline Landry. I’m with Just Vibing, but I wasn’t trying to scoop you. Honest to God.”
Milah eyes me suspiciously and glances at my badge before smiling tightly and looking away.
“Fine. At least you’re with a decent mag. I thought it would be one of those tabloid-fuck vultures.” She glances over her shoulder, where Easterly’s practically hiding against her. “...you can come out. Just Vibing is a real magazine. Good shit. No trash, no smack, no worries. I don’t think she’ll bug you.”
It takes everything in me not to wince.
I already feel like I’m betraying their trust, and I haven’t asked a single question.
But Easterly peers around Milah, wide-eyed.
“Hey—didn’t you do that deep dive on Peggy Lee? The one in that New Orleans blues mag?”
I blink. “You read that? Oh, my. I didn’t...I didn’t even know that article was still floating around. I wrote it during my internship.”
“I...yeah.” Easterly smiles shyly, ducking her head. “Like, I always just loved Peggy Lee’s vocals, her whole sound. She was a big influence on me. So I read everything I could get my hands on when I was in high school. I remember your name ’cause you talked about her like you knew her.”
I clear my throat with a pleased flush.
“Oh, I’m not that old. But when you love someone’s music enough, it feels personal when you deep-dive into their lives, their inspiration.” I tuck my hair behind my ear and offer her a smile. “I’ve heard your first album, and I could hear the inspiration. It’s like you went and gave her style a makeover with a modern pop beat.”
“Hell yeah!” Easterly lights up. “That’s totally what I was going for. Like, what if Peggy Lee was born in today’s scene?”
God, she’s so sweet. So eager.
And these are juicy quotes for the magazine—if she’ll let me use them.
If only a spotlight was the only thing Roland sent me here for.
I hate myself for it, but I try to make it sound casual when I ask, “So is that what Mr. Haydn was looking for when he scouted you out? Someone looking to translate old jazz to pop?”
She instantly brightens with the flustered look of a girl drowning in love.
Something uneasy flips my stomach, even as she beams at me.
“He said I’ve got cross-generational appeal,” Easterly says. “And he’s done so much for me, so yeah, I—”
“But at what cost?” Milah cuts in sourly.
It’s not cruel, exactly, but there’s a touch of tired cynicism there.
We both look at her.
“Men like Vance Haydn don’t give anything away for free. They sure as hell don’t give anything away for love. Not that this is love, Easty. It’s infatuation, girl, and the faster you get over it, the less you’ll hurt. Trust me. Some men are dangerous. You fall in with the wrong dude, and you’ll end up owing some mafia sleazebag a ton of money and hiring a scrumptious team of elite bodyguards. You might even find your little sister a husband.”
She makes a coughing sound.
I cock my head, biting back a smile, surprised at how easily she brings up old drama that’s made the Holly family infamous.
“Um, what?” Easterly tilts her face the other way like a curious puppy.
“Nothing,” Milah hisses. “I’m just saying...I don’t trust that guy’s intentions. I’m not out to hurt your feelings, and I know you don’t want to hear it, but neither should you.”
Awk-ward.
I feel like I should say something, but I’m technically on Milah’s side. I don’t want to risk alienating either of them.
I never get a chance when a sharp male voice cuts in from behind.