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“Yes.”

I frown, pacing the patio. “You’ve granted me two months. I will get to the bottom of this.”

“The terms are changing. Mischa raised his offer yesterday by a million.”

The blood in my veins heats. “My offer was more than fair, and it’s untainted. Do you want Ivanov’s way of doing business as a stain on your soul? A father, a grandfather, has no reason to carry that burden.”

“You have thirty days. Provide me the assurances we discussed and the club is yours.”

“What does Ivanov think of this?” I challenge. “He doesn’t know, does he?”

Christian clicks off without answering.

9

RAE

When your requests don’t get a response, it’s a good idea to escalate.

Sure, doing that with Echo Entertainment and Harrison King landed me an unplanned gig with an unwanted billionaire that sent my world spinning, but that was an anomaly.

Once I saw a social post announcing two new headliners at Wild Fest when I got out of bed at noon after last night’s show, I knew I was running out of time.

Despite my verbal jousting matches with Harrison to date, I’m not good with confrontation. But I tracked down one of the Wild Fest organizers and am following her down Santa Monica.

I catch up to Victoria Ames at a stoplight where she’s riffling through her handbag, cursing. She knocks it to the ground, and I bend to help pick up the contents.

“Thanks. I have a meeting in an hour, and this wasn’t on my schedule.”

“Victoria? Don’t freak out,” I go on when she stiffens. “I’m Little Queen. I was talking with the cofounders about playing Wild Fest but haven’t heard from them in awhile.”

She relaxes a degree. “I know who you are.”

I hold out a lipstick, the two pieces of which have come apart. She frowns.

“Five-second rule?” I suggest.

Her mouth twitches, but she takes the tube from me and recaps it. “Everyone wants to play this festival. We have the best acts in the world lined up. Why are you the right fit?”

“Come to a gig I’m playing in town next weekend and I’ll show you.”

“Post the details on your social and I’ll take a look,” she counters.

“I’ll send them to you.” I pull up the graphic and DM it to her account that I found earlier. I call after her, “You notice anything about the headliners you’ve announced so far?”

She slows her steps but keeps walking. “They’re all top-100 DJs?”

“They all have dicks!”

I shout it loud enough the entire block looks over.

“A donut break was a good idea,” Callie says as we head out the door of the place a few blocks from the charity, our small paper bags in hand, later that afternoon.

“I was in the neighborhood.”

“This is LA. No one’s ever in the neighborhood.”

“I had a meeting about this huge festival, Wild Fest, at Santa Monica and Sepulveda.”