“Thebig dealis that I’m on a deadline here. Two weeks. And, like I already told you, the plan is to sell this place.”
“So?” I cross my arms, squaring my shoulders as I stand opposite her.
“So? How much do you think it’s going to cost to move all this recording equipment out of here?”
“I don’t know. I’ll figure it out,” I reply with irritation.
I’m caught off guard by her anger, which seems kind of unwarranted. The house will get fixed up. Maybe she’ll have to push her mysterious work deadline or whatever. But what’s the tragedy here?
“Well, figure it outfast. We’re on the clock here. Decide which one of your mega mansions you want to move your fancy recording studio to, and get it done.”
“My mega mansions?” I ask incredulously.
“Sure, what are your options these days, your farmhouse-style Nashville country home or your sleek and modern Hollywood Hills villa?” She asks, her voice getting louder and her eyes crackling with anger.
“My… what?!” I stare at her in surprise.
And then, I can’t help it, I let out a burst of laughter. My hearty chuckles roll around the recording studio, enveloping us in a cloud of sound. Meanwhile, Lacy continues to stare at me in a silent, seething rage.
“I don’t see what’s so funny,” she finally says when I’ve calmed down. I’m literally wiping tears of laughter from my eyes. And, weirdly enough, I realize that I haven’t laughed out loud in the six months since I’ve been cut off from the world.
“Did you read that cheesy pieceArchitectural Digestdid about my houses?” I ask, grinning. “Because I swear you just quoted it right back to me.”
“I might have glanced at it. On an airplane or something,” Lacy says defensively. But she blinks in surprise, and the anger dissipates from her eyes, giving way to embarrassment.
“Sure. On an airplane or something.”
I know that look. I’ve seen it in plenty of girls’ eyes, and some guys too. After my publicist insisted I do a photoshoot forAttitudemagazine, I did grow a bit of a gay fanbase. Lacy might not want to admit it, but she is clearly keeping an eye on my career. Is it just curiosity about her old step-sibling or something else? I eye her curiously.
“Anyway, point is, this stuff has got to go,” she gestures again to the recording studio. “ASAP,” she adds firmly.
Her cheeks are turning a brilliant shade of pink. I’m not sure if it’s because she’s pissed at me about the whole house thing or if she’s embarrassed that I busted her celeb-stalking ways.
“Sure, Lace. I’ll take care of it.”
“I’m serious. The sooner you get this crap out of here, the better. Now that I know how fucked up the house is, I’ve got a lot of work to do. I don’t need you fiddling around on your guitars and getting in the way.”
“Geez, Lace, I said I’ll take care of it,” I answer in irritation. Why’s she being such a hard ass? My recording studio isn’t crap.
“Good. I’ll have to tell dad about this too, you know.”
“You’re gonna tell on me?” I can’t help jeering at her.
I briefly flashback to the time she told on me for smoking cigarettes in my bedroom, claiming I had almost burned the house down. Goody two-shoes.
“Dad is planning to sell this place. You’ve complicated that plan with your ‘state-of-the-art’ recording studio,” she says snidely, using air quotes aroundstate-of-the-art. “Apparently, now that you’re a big rock star, you think that your needs and wants take priority over everyone else’s. Guess what? They don’t. Rose Manor isn’t even your house.”
I open my mouth to defend myself, but Lacy is gaining steam and barrels on before I can get a word in.
“On top of that, you’ve managed to ignore basic repairs—despite squatting here for SIX MONTHS—and let the house fall apart.”
“Come on, Lace, that’s not fair. Clearly, Rose Manor has been crumbling for years.” Again, I think with trepidation of what she’ll do if she finds out that I’ve been stopping by here regularly for years.
“Still. You’ve been here for six months. You could have done something. Like fixing that damn pipe upstairs.”
“I already called the plumber, and they’ll be here tomorrow,” I answer defensively. But a pang of guilt is twisting my stomach.
“Too little, too late,” Lacy replies in clipped tones. “I’m going to go call dad.” Then she turns on her heel and marches back up the stairs without me.