Page 73 of Dream On

As the liquid heat rolls down my throat, sans the bourbon, I settle back into the chair. “Why am I here again? And what’s with the cavalry?”

Rudy tosses his decaf in the trash where it belongs while the rest of the crew collect their drinks and shuffle around us. Folding his arms, he levels me with aduhlook. “Jill is the marketing guru, Carla is our brand consultant, and Mike is the best media liaison—”

“I know who they are,” I deadpan, waving my hand, eager for him to get to the point. “I want to know why they’re here.”

He puckers his lips. “I have an idea.”

“Never good.”

“This one is. You’re going to love it.”

“And it couldn’t wait until morning? I was busy with Lindsey.”

“Who?” He frowns. “The blond you took to the Crystal Rose dinner? I thought her name was Mindy.”

“That’s the one.”

Pinching the bridge of his nose, he takes a seat beside me and rolls his chair over. “All right, hear me out. The series is huge. This is big-league shit.”

I drum my fingertips on the giant table in the middle of the sterile room, eyeing him as I wait for more.

“I have a proposal for you,” he continues, fidgeting with his half-slackened pink tie. Shaggy dark hair falls over his eyes as he props his elbows on his knees, a sheen of sweat glimmering on his brow line. “A promotional tactic, if you will. Think it over before you say no.”

“I thought you said I was going to love it.”

“I may be overly optimistic.”

I blow out a breath and continue to swivel the chair left to right. “Spit it out. I’m tired as shit.”

“You do look like you’re on loan from the morgue.”

My eyes slant, glaring daggers at him.

“Okay. Fine.” He skates his focus from me to Jill and takes a deep breath, then dives in. “This might be a stretch, but I think it’s a really solid plan, so please consider it to the highest degree. Basically, in a nutshell, I think maybe you should reach out to Stevie St. James and proposition her to—”

“What?” I fly off the chair as if a puppeteer launched me skyward by two strings. “No. Immediate no.”

“I’m not finished.”

“I am. I’m out.”

“Lex, wait.” Rudy’s chair nearly tips over as he chases after me. “Just listen to what I have to say, will you?”

I stall my frazzled trek out of the suite, multiple sets of eyes on me. My stomach lurches, palms clamming up. Her name alone has my skin prickling with heat, my heart pounding with feelings and memories better left dead.

I feel my lungs locking up as my hands clench to stones. Swallowing, I slowly swivel around to face him, teeth grinding together. “I said no.”

He presses his lips together, carefully piecing together his next words. “Look,” he says, extending a hand like he’s trying to calm a rabid dog. “This could work out for both of you. Right now, you’re at the center of attention, and we need to keep that momentum going. Everyone’s curious about the real Stevie—or Sylvia in the show. Your fans are eager to meet her, to uncover the woman behind the story.”

Her image flickers across my mind—the look she sent me in that hospital room when she was pricked with needles, tangled in cords, wrapped up in bandages. The moment everything good and pure in my life turned to ashes and decay.

I avert my eyes, staring down at the ugly beige carpet. “And what exactly are you suggesting?”

He clears his throat. “Date her.”

My head snaps back up. “What the fuck?”

“Date her.”